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OneAndOneIs2

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Fri, Oct 31, 2008

[Icon][Icon]Happy Halloween

• Post categories: Omni, My Life

I'm in rural France, so no chance of trick-or-treaters tonight. Shame, really.

Halloween is, of course, a pagan festival originating in Britain. It was the end of the year - the day the year 'died' - and also around the time when the animals no longer needed - mostly the males, since it only takes one male to ensure the next generation - were slaughtered to reduce the amount of food that would need to be supplied.

It's often mistaken as an American festival, of course, simply because they have such over-the-top parties for it. By this logic, though, it should really be thought of as more of a Mexican festival - tho their Day of the Dead will, of course, not start until tomorrow. It still puts even the Americans to shame.

Trick or treating dates back to when people would go from door to door asking for "soul cakes" in return for prayers for the souls of the dead. As so often happens, the point of the tradition became forgotten and all that was remembered was the going door-to-door to be given cakes.

I don't know quite where the "trick" part of trick or treating came into it though. When did "Give us sweets in honor of the dead" evolve into "Give us sweets or we'll throw eggs at your car!"

Anyone know?

Alternatively, anyone know of any good tricks that were played on people who refused to hand over candy? ;o)

2 comments

titanium_geek
Comment from: titanium_geek [Visitor] · http://www.creativehedgehog.com
I love the Calvin and Hobbes where Calvin tells Hobbes that his mom is going to come with them trick-or-treating, and his dad is going to hide in the bushes with a hose to dissuade TP-ers.
02/11/08 @ 04:08
oneandoneis2
Comment from: oneandoneis2 [Member] · http://geekblog.oneandoneis2.org/
Yeah.. that one gets kinda "lost in translation" as nobody I know in England has a clue what a TPer actually IS.

My best guess is that the TP stands for "toilet paper" and they're talking about having the stuff strewn liberally all over the garden, house, tress, etc..?
02/11/08 @ 09:33

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03/08/10 - The Bible ? On The Waterfront

[icon] Advice From a Single Girl

I was giddy and hopeful when I first met Cary and spent a brief amount of time with him.

The week after that I was happily high on the idea of what could be, the possibility of getting to know someone interesting and intriguing, the wide open potential of what could be.

And I wanted to tell my friends all about him and what had, and hadn't happened, but I also wanted to keep it to myself, sealed safely in the happy bubble that was floating inside me. So I talked to some close friends about him, told them he lived in Vancouver and they, meaning well, told me quite firmly that they would not allow me to go through another long distance relationship. That I shouldn't even consider it.

My bubble had been burst.

I was completely deflated. Hurt. Let down.

I talked to C-Dawg, a sad tinge to the story now that I'd been told it could. . . should never work out.

"Vancouver?" she said, her voice somewhere between amused and incredulous. "That's not long distance! Get serious. Go for it."

And I let my bubble maybe start to re-inflate. Cautiously. Maybe just a little.

Then I talked to my friend about Cary. She said good things.

Maybe there was reason to be hopefully optimistic. Maybe it was ok to be a little girly and dreamy over what-ifs.

I went for a walk with S. We had life to catch up on.

Life including Cary and the story that still makes me smile.

She encouraged me to get his email, which I did, and then she went home and tried to find out what she could about him.

See, I'm not on Facebook. (No, really.) But S is, and in the small world way that Facebook seems to work, she found that Cary and she had a mutual friend and so she looked him up for me. (The modern background check.)

You can sometimes tell a lot about a person by what they put on their Facebook, she cautioned me. Sometimes.

How old is he?

Me: I don't know.

Is he a smoker?

Me: Um, I don't know? (God, I hope not)

Could he maybe be a little bit immature?

Me: I don't know. I suppose.

Well, he seems like a good guy. Cute. Interesting. I'd say he was my type, you know. (We laugh, we already know we share similar excellent taste in men.)

"I say go for it." She says, "just be aware that he's human. Not perfect."

I don't want to hear it.

Don't want to know the reality of him.

Find myself running away from all the what might have been's towards it'll never work what what I thinking's.

It's all or nothing. Perfect or awful. It'll work or it'll be a disaster.

And I realize that my bubble, the one that's been growing and floating inside me will burst on its own, without anyone's help if I get too far into imagining just how great Cary is, how great we'd be together, how perfectly perfect it all will be.

I'm Icarus. My friends don't want me flying too close to the sun.

But I like the feeling.

I like the soaring giddiness of how utterly fantastic this thing I've found will be.

Every single time I meet someone I like that feeling.

And I ride it higher and higher until I'm flapping my bare arms, feathers fallen into the sea and the crash is coming, the relationship splintering and I'm left staring at the brokenness wondering how on earth I could have been so wrong again.

The extremes are familiar. Addictive perhaps.

But I'm trying to learn to ride in the middle.

Safer. A shorter distance to fall.

A smaller bubble to burst.

Expectations that can be met and exceeded.

A safe, yet joyful and giddy flight. Wings intact.
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