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Pre-Halloween Weekend
Oct. 28th, 2018 03:38 pmLast year, my cousin Mark threw a big Halloween party, completely with haunted forest, and he invited Darwin and me. Unfortunately, we couldn't go. This year, Mark decided to make the party an annual tradition, and he repeated the invitation. This year, we went!
Mark lives a couple hours from us, so we decided to make an overnight trip of it. I found an apartment for rent above a shop in Lowell, not far from where Mark lives. Darwin and I love exploring little downtowns, so we grabbed the place and drove out there on Saturday.
We arrived in Lowell to dreary clouds and chilly rain. But the apartment was exactly the kind that we like--in an 1800s building with a number of architectural features to puzzle out. ("When was that put in?" "Is that original to the building?" "What year did this go up?" and so on.) The staircase to the second floor was a wonder. It was really wide and extremely steep. When you stood at the top (which was a good story and a half above the first floor), you could see the bottom step was only twelve or so feet ahead of you--nearly straight down down. It was unnerving, really, and gave acrophobic Darwin some willies. But the apartment itself was newly redone and warm and dry and airy and decorated in a vaguely steampunk style, which we liked very much.
With our luggage in place, we set out to explore the downtown a little. Lowell sits at the intersection of three rivers, and it has a long history of mills that use water power. It's had a mill for woolens, a mill for grain, a mill for flour, and a mill for buttons. Only the flour mill remains--King Flour--but it's huge, the size of many factories. They still use the river to turn the milling machinery.
Lowell also clearly caters to tourists. The entire downtown has been declared an historic district, with buildings originally erected in the mid-1800s and early 1900s in the tall, spindly style so common to American downtowns of that era, and most of the first floor stores are antique shops, curio shops, and women's boutiques. Tourist stuff. But it's a pleasant-looking place.
One store front caught my eye. It was called The Lowell Serenity Club. It was closed, so I peered through the glass and saw a little play area for kids and a couple open-style rooms that looked ready for conversations or meetings. A big coffee maker sat to one side. I wanted to know what it was about, but there was nothing except the name to go by. Eventually, we did learn what the Club was, but not until later.
We stopped in at a barbecue restaurant for a snack. Oh, it was good! A delicious brisket sandwich with the best cucumber salad in the world as a side. The place was insanely busy, and we could see why.
Then it was back up to the apartment to get ready for the party. We had costumes to do!
A side-effect of being Wiccan is the costume trunk. Nearly every Wiccan has one. We collect cloaks and robes and tunics and masks and props of all sorts for ritual work, and with a little tweaking, you can create dozens of good costumes. I had already decided to go as Mother Berchte, since I don't get to play her much. She once was a fire goddess in Germany, but has since become a cross between a fairy tale witch and Santa Claus. I got out a gray robe, my red cloak, my big boots, and my old lady mask. Darwin put on a black robe and cloak and fished out a red demon half-mask. He decided to put red makeup around it to heighten the effect, and wear a pair of clawed gloves.
After Darwin covered his face in makeup, he tried to wash the stuff off his hands, and was disconcerted to see that soap wouldn't remove it. Was it permanent or something? I assured him that cold cream would take it right off and we'd pick some up, but he was still uneasy.
Meanwhile, I realized that the car was parked about a block away from the apartment entryway. "We'll have walk down the street in costume," I said.
"Well," Darwin said, "it's getting dark, and the stores are closed. No one will be around."
Cough cough.
We headed downstairs, and of course moments before we reached the bottom, the door to the street opened, and a man came in, intending to go up to one of the other apartments. He was a little bemused. And when we got past him to the sidewalk, we turned a corner and immediately bumbled into a group of half a dozen barflies. They were also bemused. While we were disentangling ourselves from that, a long line of traffic sped past us on the main street. A couple of them honked.
Sigh.
On the way to Mark's house, we passed a drug store that was still open. "We can grab some cold cream there," I said.
After the debacle on the street, Darwin refused to go inside, and instead made ME go into the store in costume (though I didn't wear the mask). Not that it bothered me. I ignored the looks and hunted for cold cream and makeup remover pads until I found them. Perfect! The cashier said, "Oh! Nice costume."
By now it was dark, but we found Mark's house without incident. The party was out back in the pole barn. There were many things to eat and many children (these two things are unrelated, unless you're Mother Berchte), and many new people to meet, along with people I already knew. Mark guided several groups through the haunted forest out back, which sported an animatronic werewolf, the serial killer from the Halloween movies, and a chainsaw, among other things. It was great fun!
Back at the party, I wandered around as Mother Berchte. I had with me a sack filled with candy and other interesting objects, so I amused myself by walking up to total strangers and saying, "I'm Mother Berchte. Who are you?" and "Want something from my sack?" I pulled out various objects: a skull ("old boyfriend"), a bloody machete ("too on the nose?"), a stuffed Garfield doll ("scariest thing I own"), and a Santa Claus head ("looks like I won"). After a couple of objects went by, I'd hand out a piece of candy. The children were especially fascinated with this process and were convinced I was someone else. ("You're Santa!" "He wishes," I snapped.) Since no one knew who I was, I figured I'd tell the story of Mother Berchte.
"Want to hear a story?" I boomed in the middle of the party, and without waiting for an answer, I went into storytelling mode and gave the origin story of Mother Berchte. The move was well received by both adults and children, so I also told the story of Prometheus giving humanity the gift of fire (also known as "Why the Eagle No Longer Has to Hunt for Lunch"). And that went down well.
Mark next set up a pumpkin pinata, which the children bashed with enthusiasm. The pinata finally came off the rope and crashed to the floor. It was still intact, but the children rushed in from all directions like piranhas smelling fresh blood. In seconds, the pinata was stripped bare. The adults stayed well back and cringed in horror.
Mark also started a costume contest for the kids, but partway through realized that he didn't have the heart to tell any of the kids they had lost.
"I'll do it!" I announced as Berchte. Of course. "All the kids line up here! Now when I point to you, strike a pose in your costume and say who you are. The six =I= like best go to semi-finals." And before anyone could object, because who can object to Berchte, I pointed to the first kid in line. "Go!"
The kids gamely struck poses that ranged from funny to cute to scary and Berchte provided commentary. "Oooo! Deliciously frightening." "A silent murderer? We'll talk later, dearie." "I love cats. They're delicious." Then I chose six kids more or less at random and had them step forward. "Now each of you will do a two-second scene with the person next to you. You both have to say one thing." I pointed to the first two kids. "Go!"
The key to doing this kind of thing with children, you see, is not stopping long enough for them to ask questions or to object. Speed right along, and they'll come with you. The kids did a fun job of it, actually, and improvised snippets of dialogue, to the great amusement of the adults. In the end, Berchte chose three winners, who got a cupful of candy each, and since the other kids had already stuffed their pockets with candy, no one minded losing.
And then it was time to leave. The party was great fun and Mark says he'll do it again next year. Cool!
Back at the apartment, Darwin nervously approached the mirror. I showed him how to use the cold cream and makeup remover pads. (I have a degree in theater, you know.) To Darwin's relief, the makeup came right off, as advertised. And then we fell into bed.
The morning brought cold, driving rain with it, but we braved it in search of breakfast. The apartment owner suggested a cafe just up the street, so that's where we went. The place defined "hole in the wall." It was a total dive, with a grubby, broken ice cream freezer by the cash register, a stained drop ceiling, and worn dining room furniture. Darwin instantly fell in love with the place. So, apparently, had the rest of Lowell. Within minutes of our arrival, people streamed through the door. The wait staff was very friendly and very nice, but not very efficient. Well, Darwin and I weren't in a hurry.
The food was fantastic. Between us, we had a "Dam Omelette" (because the cafe sits next to a river dam), spicy sausage, salty ham, a huge pile of fried potatoes with peppers and onions, bacon, and several thick slices of home-made toasted wheat bread. (The menu admonishes the customers not to ask for recipes because "if we told you, we'd have to kill you afterward.") And I ordered hot tea, which was actually HOT! Darwin declared that if we lived in Lowell, he'd soon have a regular table.
When I approached the cash register to pay the bill, I asked the waitress, "I saw the Serenity Club up the street, and I was curious. What's it for?"
"You mean on Main Street?" she asked, and off my nod, added, "They use it as a meeting place for AA and stuff like that."
When she said "stuff like that," I figured she also meant Narcotics Anonymous for opioid addiction, which is hitting rural America pretty hard. A necessary thing, and sad that it's necessary.
After that, Darwin and I packed up and drove home through more rain. It cleared up just in time for us to arrive.
It was a fine pre-Halloween weekend!
Mark lives a couple hours from us, so we decided to make an overnight trip of it. I found an apartment for rent above a shop in Lowell, not far from where Mark lives. Darwin and I love exploring little downtowns, so we grabbed the place and drove out there on Saturday.
We arrived in Lowell to dreary clouds and chilly rain. But the apartment was exactly the kind that we like--in an 1800s building with a number of architectural features to puzzle out. ("When was that put in?" "Is that original to the building?" "What year did this go up?" and so on.) The staircase to the second floor was a wonder. It was really wide and extremely steep. When you stood at the top (which was a good story and a half above the first floor), you could see the bottom step was only twelve or so feet ahead of you--nearly straight down down. It was unnerving, really, and gave acrophobic Darwin some willies. But the apartment itself was newly redone and warm and dry and airy and decorated in a vaguely steampunk style, which we liked very much.
With our luggage in place, we set out to explore the downtown a little. Lowell sits at the intersection of three rivers, and it has a long history of mills that use water power. It's had a mill for woolens, a mill for grain, a mill for flour, and a mill for buttons. Only the flour mill remains--King Flour--but it's huge, the size of many factories. They still use the river to turn the milling machinery.
Lowell also clearly caters to tourists. The entire downtown has been declared an historic district, with buildings originally erected in the mid-1800s and early 1900s in the tall, spindly style so common to American downtowns of that era, and most of the first floor stores are antique shops, curio shops, and women's boutiques. Tourist stuff. But it's a pleasant-looking place.
One store front caught my eye. It was called The Lowell Serenity Club. It was closed, so I peered through the glass and saw a little play area for kids and a couple open-style rooms that looked ready for conversations or meetings. A big coffee maker sat to one side. I wanted to know what it was about, but there was nothing except the name to go by. Eventually, we did learn what the Club was, but not until later.
We stopped in at a barbecue restaurant for a snack. Oh, it was good! A delicious brisket sandwich with the best cucumber salad in the world as a side. The place was insanely busy, and we could see why.
Then it was back up to the apartment to get ready for the party. We had costumes to do!
A side-effect of being Wiccan is the costume trunk. Nearly every Wiccan has one. We collect cloaks and robes and tunics and masks and props of all sorts for ritual work, and with a little tweaking, you can create dozens of good costumes. I had already decided to go as Mother Berchte, since I don't get to play her much. She once was a fire goddess in Germany, but has since become a cross between a fairy tale witch and Santa Claus. I got out a gray robe, my red cloak, my big boots, and my old lady mask. Darwin put on a black robe and cloak and fished out a red demon half-mask. He decided to put red makeup around it to heighten the effect, and wear a pair of clawed gloves.
After Darwin covered his face in makeup, he tried to wash the stuff off his hands, and was disconcerted to see that soap wouldn't remove it. Was it permanent or something? I assured him that cold cream would take it right off and we'd pick some up, but he was still uneasy.
Meanwhile, I realized that the car was parked about a block away from the apartment entryway. "We'll have walk down the street in costume," I said.
"Well," Darwin said, "it's getting dark, and the stores are closed. No one will be around."
Cough cough.
We headed downstairs, and of course moments before we reached the bottom, the door to the street opened, and a man came in, intending to go up to one of the other apartments. He was a little bemused. And when we got past him to the sidewalk, we turned a corner and immediately bumbled into a group of half a dozen barflies. They were also bemused. While we were disentangling ourselves from that, a long line of traffic sped past us on the main street. A couple of them honked.
Sigh.
On the way to Mark's house, we passed a drug store that was still open. "We can grab some cold cream there," I said.
After the debacle on the street, Darwin refused to go inside, and instead made ME go into the store in costume (though I didn't wear the mask). Not that it bothered me. I ignored the looks and hunted for cold cream and makeup remover pads until I found them. Perfect! The cashier said, "Oh! Nice costume."
By now it was dark, but we found Mark's house without incident. The party was out back in the pole barn. There were many things to eat and many children (these two things are unrelated, unless you're Mother Berchte), and many new people to meet, along with people I already knew. Mark guided several groups through the haunted forest out back, which sported an animatronic werewolf, the serial killer from the Halloween movies, and a chainsaw, among other things. It was great fun!
Back at the party, I wandered around as Mother Berchte. I had with me a sack filled with candy and other interesting objects, so I amused myself by walking up to total strangers and saying, "I'm Mother Berchte. Who are you?" and "Want something from my sack?" I pulled out various objects: a skull ("old boyfriend"), a bloody machete ("too on the nose?"), a stuffed Garfield doll ("scariest thing I own"), and a Santa Claus head ("looks like I won"). After a couple of objects went by, I'd hand out a piece of candy. The children were especially fascinated with this process and were convinced I was someone else. ("You're Santa!" "He wishes," I snapped.) Since no one knew who I was, I figured I'd tell the story of Mother Berchte.
"Want to hear a story?" I boomed in the middle of the party, and without waiting for an answer, I went into storytelling mode and gave the origin story of Mother Berchte. The move was well received by both adults and children, so I also told the story of Prometheus giving humanity the gift of fire (also known as "Why the Eagle No Longer Has to Hunt for Lunch"). And that went down well.
Mark next set up a pumpkin pinata, which the children bashed with enthusiasm. The pinata finally came off the rope and crashed to the floor. It was still intact, but the children rushed in from all directions like piranhas smelling fresh blood. In seconds, the pinata was stripped bare. The adults stayed well back and cringed in horror.
Mark also started a costume contest for the kids, but partway through realized that he didn't have the heart to tell any of the kids they had lost.
"I'll do it!" I announced as Berchte. Of course. "All the kids line up here! Now when I point to you, strike a pose in your costume and say who you are. The six =I= like best go to semi-finals." And before anyone could object, because who can object to Berchte, I pointed to the first kid in line. "Go!"
The kids gamely struck poses that ranged from funny to cute to scary and Berchte provided commentary. "Oooo! Deliciously frightening." "A silent murderer? We'll talk later, dearie." "I love cats. They're delicious." Then I chose six kids more or less at random and had them step forward. "Now each of you will do a two-second scene with the person next to you. You both have to say one thing." I pointed to the first two kids. "Go!"
The key to doing this kind of thing with children, you see, is not stopping long enough for them to ask questions or to object. Speed right along, and they'll come with you. The kids did a fun job of it, actually, and improvised snippets of dialogue, to the great amusement of the adults. In the end, Berchte chose three winners, who got a cupful of candy each, and since the other kids had already stuffed their pockets with candy, no one minded losing.
And then it was time to leave. The party was great fun and Mark says he'll do it again next year. Cool!
Back at the apartment, Darwin nervously approached the mirror. I showed him how to use the cold cream and makeup remover pads. (I have a degree in theater, you know.) To Darwin's relief, the makeup came right off, as advertised. And then we fell into bed.
The morning brought cold, driving rain with it, but we braved it in search of breakfast. The apartment owner suggested a cafe just up the street, so that's where we went. The place defined "hole in the wall." It was a total dive, with a grubby, broken ice cream freezer by the cash register, a stained drop ceiling, and worn dining room furniture. Darwin instantly fell in love with the place. So, apparently, had the rest of Lowell. Within minutes of our arrival, people streamed through the door. The wait staff was very friendly and very nice, but not very efficient. Well, Darwin and I weren't in a hurry.
The food was fantastic. Between us, we had a "Dam Omelette" (because the cafe sits next to a river dam), spicy sausage, salty ham, a huge pile of fried potatoes with peppers and onions, bacon, and several thick slices of home-made toasted wheat bread. (The menu admonishes the customers not to ask for recipes because "if we told you, we'd have to kill you afterward.") And I ordered hot tea, which was actually HOT! Darwin declared that if we lived in Lowell, he'd soon have a regular table.
When I approached the cash register to pay the bill, I asked the waitress, "I saw the Serenity Club up the street, and I was curious. What's it for?"
"You mean on Main Street?" she asked, and off my nod, added, "They use it as a meeting place for AA and stuff like that."
When she said "stuff like that," I figured she also meant Narcotics Anonymous for opioid addiction, which is hitting rural America pretty hard. A necessary thing, and sad that it's necessary.
After that, Darwin and I packed up and drove home through more rain. It cleared up just in time for us to arrive.
It was a fine pre-Halloween weekend!
