Don't be afraid

Don't be scared. It's only the pumpkin I carved frantically last night. Somehow, some way, Halloween kinda snuck up on me this year. Maybe it was the traveling. Maybe it's because I have been so busy with work and such. I don't know, but for whatever reason, I am certainly behind on everything these days and working steadily to catch up. I can't even see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, but I know it's there.

However, I did manage to stop and smell the roses (or the pumpkins) a bit last night as I carved our pumpkin. It's something I do each year with great care. This time around it was a bit more haphazard, but alas, here it is, in all its glory.

Whenever I moved into my own place, I began a few traditions that I still hold to dearly. Holidays are always crazy with my family. There is a lot of stress. Sometimes a few tears. And rest-assured, lots of hurt feelings.

These traditions I created on my own give me some peace in the midst of the storm. For instance, each year in December I pick out a live tree with my dad. We don't get actual quality time together during the holiday season, so it's nice for it to be the two of us, trudging and bickering through lots and farms in search of a tree. It's kinda our father-daughter thing. I spend hours decorating that tree and every time the season starts to smother me or my family moves in a little too close, I retreat to a blanket spread out beside my well-lit and scentful tree.

My Halloween tradition is, of course, carving my own jack-o-lantern (or Jill-O-Lantern for you feminists out there.) I hold to this for several reasons. A friend, who we lost to breast cancer a few years ago, once took me to a guy's house that sells pumpkins in his front yard. Little red wagons await you to transport your pumpkins and it's so very quaint. I think of her each time I go there. I am reminded of her and that cool autumn day each time I turn onto the street where the pumpkins sit.

By the time we got to the pumpkin man's house this year, the yard was bare and I had to resort to stopping by the grocery and nabbing a "leftover" pumpkin. It's the one you see above. I felt a little sad that I had strayed from my tradition. However, I always carve the same face, and maybe that's my tradition. I find comfort in consistency. To some that would make me adverse to change and maybe that's so.

I think the rituals you perform for each season are what help in making your home a sanctuary. I cling to those desperately. They keep me sane, they restore my inner peace (everyone say "Ohm....."). Lately they have been key in making my new place a home. With each seasonal rite of passage, I am starting to feel like the "new" place is my home. The moment we put Jack on the front porch, I felt a little more settled, a little more at home.

Tonight we will greet trick-or-treaters donning their finest and scariest costumes and I will be one step closer to making this house my home.

Soon I will be baking pecan pies and gathering leaves for a centerpiece. . . I am home.