I’ve been pondering the coming celebrations of Samhain - the time of the year when the veil between this Earth plane and the Spirit plane is at its thinnest - and what I can do to honour the memories of my loved ones who are no longer here. And when I say ‘here’ I mean they are not physically able to pop round for a cup of tea and a biscuit. Of course, they are still ‘here’ because energy never dies, but they’re not as instantly available as once they were. For example, I can still sense Flora Bijou Mybug around the house, but she is no longer available to personally check my oral hygiene as once she did. Nor attempt to murder me on the stairs. Anyway, All Hallow’s Eve, All Souls’ Day and All Saints’ Day are fast approaching and a little ceremony is called for.
…but ‘demonic’? Winter does not deserve that particular soubriquet. Winter has its own beauty that is very necessary for the continuing balance of our world.
Traditionally, one lights a bonfire, not only in remembrance but to scare away the demonic forces of Winter. To be honest, I think this is a bit harsh on Winter - it’s not my favourite season but I can appreciate the chance to withdraw into the dark evenings, to enjoy candlelight, soups and pies, snuggling on the sofa in front of the fire. To wear something like this…
Last year I planned on having a bonfire. But it chucked it down with rain, so I stayed inside and lit candles instead. I’m such a lightweight.
In Scotland, apparently, the tradition has grown to offer baked custard to the spirits of animals that are prone to prey on sheep flocks - eagles, crows, foxes and the suchlike. Call me old-fashioned but I’m pretty certain that, given the choice between a bit of rubbery custard and a nice juicy lamb, an eagle will go carnivore every time. Custard indeed. Pah! Now that IS something that can be described as demonic. All custard does is make everything it touches taste of, well, custard. It does nothing to enhance any pudding with the exception of a banana, in which case banana+custard = banana custard. This is the only acceptable use of custard. Banana custard. At my last school, the cook was obsessed with custard.
‘I’ll have the flapjack, please.’
‘Do you want custard on that?’
‘Errr…thanks, but no.’
Seriously, she made it normal practice to serve biscuits with custard. Madness.
I came home from a girly lunch date yesterday to discover a mangled-to-death fat pigeon on the middle garden lawn. I don’t think I have ever seen the contents and covering of a bird spread over such a wide area. I imagine it was victim to a sparrowhawk attack. A sparrowhawk particularly partial to pigeon breast and pigeon head. We do have a sparrowhawk that hangs around the garden from time to time. Waiting until a pigeon is too fat to get off the ground. Bleurgh….
Not keen to leave what was left of the pigeon lying around (because, sadly, Idiot Bantams do have cannibalistic tendencies. I mean, they might have already had a go, if you get my drift….double bleurgh…) I donned my heavy duty gloves, did a bit of scooping and sweeping, and consigned the remains of the pigeon (bless its soul) to the side field. I said, ‘Next time, come back as something quicker.’
I like to think we never stop. That our energy, our essence, is eternal, and that life continues on, just in a different form. And for that reason, I shall use Samhain as a special remembrance of all the lives that have been a part of my life. And when I am gone from here, perhaps someone might do the same for me. But no offerings of baked custard. If you don’t mind.
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KJ