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I think I am ready ……..
The pumpkins are carved.
Tomorrow’s attire is laid out.
The candy is sorted.
The pumpkin seeds are toasting.
The tarot cards are ready of reading.
The Hallowe’en spirits are stirring (or stirred).
Happy Hallowe’en to Spo-fans far and wide!
Blessed Samhain to Jim!
Anne Marie – don’t fall off the broomstick !
Boo!
I love ghost stories. When I was in the boy scouts, stories around the campfire were not proper stories unless they had a ghost in them. Disappointed in the tales I heard, I took it upon myself to learn as many ghost stories and take over the job. Happily there was no dearth of ghost stories to explore; people have been telling ghost stories for thousands of years. Just about every famous author has written at least one. So I dug in to find the gems.
I was quickly amazed and disappointed to discover there were so many bad ones. Spo-fans know I frequently use the word ‘rubbish’ but this was particularly applicable to the majority of ghost stories I read. Curiously, some of the greatest writers wrote some of the worst ghost stories. There were silly or boring. Boring is the worst you can say about a ghost story.
What made them bad was their failure to scare. A proper ghost story should give you the creeps. You should be disturbed. Over the decades of reading ghost stories I’ve discovered the best ghost stories often don’t have a ghost in them at all; you merely sense its presence or see the results of its actions. If there is a ghost it doesn’t seem ‘ghostly’ but as an ordinary person.
Another intriguing finding: nearly half of the best ghost stories were written by women. When it comes to ghost stories the female sex almost beats the men. I still wonder why is this. Perhaps the ladies have more flair for the uncanny?
For those interested in a truly scary and creepy read, I recommend one of the following. They are guaranteed to give you the willies.
The Upper Berth – F. Marion Crawford
Afterward – Edith Wharton
Harry – Rosemary Timperley
In the tube – E.F. Benson
The Sweeper – A. M. Burrage
The Signalman – Charles Dickens
The Telephone – Mary Treadgold
A bonus: a perfect example of what a good ghost story should do, from one of best: Shirley Jackson’s “The Haunting”
A curious coincidence has occurred: I am reviewing immunology and within 24 hours I have the flu. I have all the disagreeable body sensations I just studied. It is small comfort, having the knowledge the severe aches and loss of energy are coming from interleukins (mostly type 2).
As there is nothing I can do, here is “Immunology 101” written mostly so I can remember it. Perhaps Spo-fans may find it interesting.
The point of ‘life’ gets down to “sex and not dying”. While the former is an option (although jolly good fun) the latter is indispensable. We are continually barraged by wee-beasties (properly called pathogens). They are hell bent on using us as food or as a breeding ground. Happily we have an intricate and awesome defense called ‘The Immune System” which works to not make this not so. It is a marvel of nature, to be sure.
The immune system is divided into two types: the innate and the acquired immune system.
The innate system (what you are both with): Our first line of defense is the skin. We think of it as holding things in but it serves to keep things out. It secretes oils and acids to help wash away pathogens. We live in harmony with ‘our own wee-beasties” which help us keep off the riffraff. There are also the mucus membranes which secrete things to wash away the invaders.
2nd line of defense is inflammation. Mast cells secrete histamine which allows white blood cells (WBCs) and fluid to seep into an area. Redness, heat, and swelling help keep down pathogens who got past the first line.
Got it?
The acquired immune system is a complicated ballet of several types of white blood cells working with each other to produce antibodies, kill infected cells, and ‘keep records’ so a second invasion is not possible. It is frightfully complicated and more than when I was in medical school.There are T cells, and B cells and NK cells (Natural Killer cells). The later is my favorite as it is the cell type we got trained to kill off other cells. Resistance is useless.
Those familiar with HIV know of ’T-helper cells”. These are specialized white blood cells who ‘sound the alarm’ and tell a variety of other cells there is an invasion and do something about it now. HIV attacks and kills T-helper cells. So there are no “Paul Revere” cells and the body can’t surmount an attack on invaders. HIV doesn’t ‘kill’; pathogens which are normally fought off is what kills HIV patients, through opportunistic infections.
Although I am appreciative of my immune system (currently quite active), I will be grateful when this present battle is over. I don’t make a good patient, really. Just ask Someone or see “Diary of a mad housewife”.
I wish I had something to write that is witty or profound or newsworthy. Alas, I do not. I live a dull life, as Uncle would say. We had a nice time at the “Nose” opera; I spent the afternoon dictating charts. For dinner, we ate at the local sushi diner. Then we walked the dog looking for Hallowe’en decorations. We organized a grocery list for a Hallowe’en dinner. As you can see, this sort of gay-lifestyle reprobate living is near-guaranteed to destroy marriages and bring the nation down. Around us I don’t hear any houses falling down so far. I suppose I must try harder tomorrow.
Seeing the orange lights around the neighborhood and reading the recipes for Thursday cheered me up. It gets harder with each passing year to squeeze some more magic out of the tetrad holiday of Hallowe’en, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve.* The part of me which thinks ‘Why bother” grows stronger every year. Since we are trying to watch our diets, the Hallowe’en candy, the Thanksgiving feast, and the avalanche of Christmas cookies coming out of kitchen would not be missed this year if it was all canceled.
Tomorrow we go get the Hallowe’en candy and pick out our pumpkins, which I hope stirs up some happy hallowe’en holiday spirit.
Speaking of spirits, here is one of my favorite childhood Hallowe’en stories. a six minute long bed time story of Georgie the Ghost.
* Department stores manage to combine the holiday tetrad into a monad, demonstrated by the pumpkins next to the turkeys, which are next to santa clauses on every self.
This weekend I attend an opera titled ‘The Nose”. Apparently the plot entails a man who wakes up one morning to discover his nose has run off and he spends the next few hours pursuing it around stage while singing in Russian.**
It makes me think about noses in general. Mine isn’t disproportionate or unattractive, but as a functionary organ it is a bust. Mine constantly itches (inside and out). My schnoze is prone to allergies so it sneezes a lot. The port side nostril is constantly congested. If I woke up someday to find my nose a-missing I don’t think I would bother looking for it.
I suppose many (most?) people are not content with their nose. Once in a while a plastic surgeon sends me a patient for consultation with the question: is this person a screwball whom I shouldn’t be touch. The number one complaint and reason for nasal plastic surgery: “my nose is too big”. Women outnumber the men with this one. Men seeking nose surgery more often think their nose is asymmetric or makes them look bad.
Perhaps there is some truth to the psychological hypothesis ‘The nose is the penis of the face”. When men want a reductive nosejob they often regret it later on.
I am content if my proboscis supports my spectacles, stops to smell the roses, and doesn’t drip too much. If it wants to stick itself in other people’s business, so be it.
Just so long as it comes back.
** Quoting Anna Russell: “I am not making this up you know!”
I spend a fair amount of time staring off into space. The vacuous expression which goes along with this awesome activity is constant. In contrast, what is going on in the recesses of my pumpkin – what is happening below the surface – varies a great degree. And what is going on can be at either extreme.
Come into the inner compartment of my mind and see……
The State of ADD
Beneath this placid demeanor the hummingbirds of my mind are flitting around fast and furious. Racing thoughts combine with vascillating topics to create quite a kaleidoscope. This is jolly good fun, but please don’t do this when someone (or Someone) is talking to you, lest you are called out and you have to confess your mind was orbiting the moons of Jupiter.
The State of Zen
This is at the opposite end of my universe; the second Foundation at Star’s End. I am focused on on topic or a nondescript object: I am at peace and centred. This is the gold to the fool’s gold of State #1. It takes some effort and practice to obtain and stay in State #2.
The State of Memory
Sometimes I withdraw into the inner-bubble of my mind to recollect and reflect on my memories. If I were to wear a sign around my neck it would say “In the Attic: back in five minutes”. I may be problem solving or meditating on a thought. If you were to ask, I would quickly respond to you, unlike in States 1 and 2, for which you need to shout or slap me silly to bring me back from the Land of the Lost.
finally ….
The State of Boketto
“Boketto” is a Japanese word which doesn’t have an English equivalent, which is too bad as it is lovely. I translate Boketto as the state of staring off into space without thought. While States 1,2, 3 have thought (messy or organized) Boketto is that lack of thought; a void, in which I am thinking of nothing. It is neutral staring with the mind a blank. Imagine: sitting across from me in a train as I stare out the window at the landscape whizzing by. “What you are thinking?” you ask. I would blink and (realizing you are speaking to me) say “Oh, nothing”. If this answer is doubted you would probably say “Oh, you must have been thinking of something!” to which I would reply, “No, I was in Boketto”.
Since my mind is usually going (and going) I find The State of Boketto preferable to the State of Zen. In the latter I am centred; in the former I am mercifully free of the ravages of thought and intelligence. Lovely indeed !
I removed the bookmarks for six blogs on my blog list. Every season or so I review my daily reads and links for those who aren’t active any more. I give them the ‘Six months’ rule: after six months I assume they are ‘no longer with us’, and it isn’t worth my time to continually drop by, hoping they will post. Among the six I eliminated one hasn’t blogged in nearly a year. I’ve hung onto them out of sentiment: I don’t want to admit they are really gone.
It’s sad for me to see the demise of a blog. I have to remind myself blogging is a hobby; if it isn’t fulfilling or fun it makes sense to put it down. Nobody is obliged to carry on for my sake. No one is required to announce “I’m closed” to avoid waiting for Godot.
The hardest part is feeling the loss of a friendship. Dammit these were not just writers, they were friends, people I cared about. If a ‘real friend’ suddenly disappeared without notice I’d be both worried as well as hurt. I wouldn’t allow this to happen without some process.
Oh well, such is bloging as well as Life. It stings and pangs now, but I know later on I will struggle trying to recall them. It’s like that song from Evita :
Call in in three month’s time and I’ll be fine somehow
Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow.
I won’t recall the names and places or this sad occasion,
but that’s no consolation, here and now.
I will probably get a few e-mails or comments telling me don’t be so sensitive, but we “Cancers” are quite the feeling types.
I hope where a door closes a window opens. I look to encounter new bloggers, wonderful and marvelous.
Spo-fans interested in zthe AIDS Walk should visit Someone’s blog. He does a splendid job (although I will take credit for most of the photographs!).
Studies show one of the most helpful things you can do for longevity and good mental/physical health is a daily half-hour long walk with another person. I thought of this panacea as I walked with chums among hundreds of strangers. I was struck by the metaphor of the Walk. People were on a journey, going at different paces towards the same end. Some were in groups; some went by themselves. They were young, old, gay, and straight. Some were in a festive mood; others in solemnity, holding photographs of the deceased. The common bond was doing something for a cause, for the benefit of others.
As I walked, I talked with my two friends, a male couple of nearly forty years. We discussed a mutual couple-friend, who recently announced they will marry in California next month. I got some updates on their lives and I learned a few things of their pasts I hadn’t known. We four are no spring chickens and our talks contained aging matters.
Time was the leitmotif. Throughout the hour I thought of the dead, the many living (with and with HIV), and what may be ahead, when we reach the end of the walk, 5 kilometers hence.
At the literal end, Harper had won a prize for the monies pledged to her. The four (five) of us went to brunch and we ate, drank, and stayed in The Present – which is best. It is the duty of the living to make meaningful the sacrifices of the dead, and to remember those gone. Sometimes we do this best by merely living as well as possible, doing good work, and being grateful in all we have and do.
Keep walking. With each other. Discuss your day and talk about your loved ones, past and present. It will do your Walk well.
I haven’t written anything for a few days. This is out of two simple matters:
- I’ve been busy
- I’ve nothing to say
“1” is not bad. I’ve been to the bell choir practice, a ballet rehearsal, and the symphony (Sibelius, mostly). “2” is a worry. During the dry periods I wonder if ‘this is the end” viz. my blogging days are coming to an end. But I am wise enough to recognize “The Law of Undulation” is at hand; this too shall pass.
The trouble is, my life is prosaic but not unpleasant. There are ‘no major events’ ,nor are there any juicy bits of gossip or profound essays to pen. I go to work, I exercise, I do paperwork.
Tomorrow is the annual AIDS walk. I very much thank every one who has contributed money toward this worthy and (alas) still necessary cause. Harper has gotten more support than either one of us. ** Someone tells me she is in the ‘top ten dogs’ for gathering pledges. Way to go, pooch! Someone will no doubt do a splendid job photographing and documenting the doings. This will give me plenty of time to think of something interesting on which to post. I hope to run into The Muses (or somebody like them) along the route, who can give me inspiration along with the bottles of water.
The weather is good for the event. We have highs in the 80s; lows in the lower 60s. This is quite delightful but hardly “Halloween weather”. I need to get cracking on a Halloween menu to conjure up some holiday cheer. Perhaps I can look into this tonight after I read my blogs.
See you soon.
** I have 550$ ; she has 935$. The highest bidder is 150$.
If you are looking to snipe or top this for the shirt, could you please donate to Harper? She wins some sort of prize if she is #3 (so far she is neck to neck at #3 and #4).
![HERDING CATS[5]](https://sporeflections.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/herding-cats5.png)
Herding cats :
- An idiomatic saying that refers to an attempt to control or organize a class of entities which are uncontrollable or chaotic. Implies a task that is extremely difficult or impossible to do, primarily due to chaotic factors
I don’t like organizing and coordinating events. Nor am I very good at doing so. Despite my disdain at such activities, I seem to be in the midst herding cats for several trips. Between now and February I go to Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Mexico. All of these evoke some ‘need’ in me to round up the troops into cohesive battle plans and get my nearest and dearest on the same pages with lodgings, arrival times, and events.
I prefer to do things impromptu. “Make it up as we go along” is my preference. Alas, this seldom happens or is allowed. My Germanic roots want – demand? – to have things planned and orderly. My Midwest neurotic nature “wants to make everyone happy” and leave no one out.
Add a pinch of ADHD and my attempts are further muddied by what I thought people said.
I would hope technology with all its email, texts, and electronic coordination devices would make herding cats more easy, but I don’t see much evidence of this.
My weekend trip to PA in early November has some elements of angst to try to balance three sets of couples over three days; who sees whom and where and what will we do and when etc.
Christmas will be even more ticklish as this involves not three couples but five family groups – all of them Spos! We are not known for focus and constancy. This isn’t so much “herding cats” as it is “herding squirrels”. Much worse, in my opinion.
I need to remind myself
a) I am not time keeper, whistle blower, referee.
b) I am not responsible for other people’s happiness.
One way to avoid confusion and angst is to declare myself suzerain. How easy – and jolly good fun! – it would be to subjugate people and tell them where to go and what to do. Alas again, this isn’t in my nature. Friends would be shocked and family members would merely laugh at it.
Oh well.
One of the nice things about my friends and family is they are plastic and not easily slighted !
Spo-Reflections 