Let go of the rosebush: There's a bat in my sink

Of course there is, and it makes me smile. You see, it's a few days after Halloween and giving one of my two rubber bats a rinse before giving it to Joey, my five-year-old neighbor on one side.

The other one is already with Jaiden, my five-year-old neighbor on the other side, who pre-empted my gift with the question on the lips of every five-year-old little boy: "Can I have that?" "Of course you can!" was my response. I had premeditated the gift, after all. Jaiden's question simply moved the gifting to before the rinsing. And that is why there's a bat in my sink.

The reason why a bat in my sink is so significant requires a little more telling. You see, those bats are my favorite Halloween decorations. They are pretty realistic looking as long as it is dusk or dark. And before I had to take down the big tree, I used to hang them on fishing line over the sidewalk. They really freaked a couple of trick-or-treating kids (or parents!). This year, I almost worked out a way to attach one to a fishing pole, the same way Bill T of Five Houses fame makes his bats fly and his trick-or-treaters scream.

So the bats are my favorite Halloween decorations, and Halloween is my favorite holiday. Never more so than here, in my Paulstan Court neighborhood, among my Paulstan Court Neighbors.

Why? First, I closed on my home on Halloween '99. The very first thing I did after the ink was dry was a mad dash to the grocery store for candy and then the party store where I picked up a few decorations and luminaria. The fact that my house was lit and open for Halloween business for the first time in years did more to connect me to this neighborhood than any other gesture might have done. And the beauty of it is that wasn't even my intention!

Second, as I learned that first year, our street has one heck of a reputation. It's one of those streets that attracts carloads of costumed kids in addition to the locals. And it's not because we hand out the best stuff or the most stuff. It's because we're consistently welcoming, and we're an old-fashioned kind of real neighborhood. No snowbirds, so most everyone is home, and it's not too far between driveways. Lots of kids get a big payload in a short time...a parent's dream!

So with all that said, why give the bats to the boys? It's simple. This is likely my last year in my little home. I have no recourse or remedy to foreclosure in sight. It was a bit tempting to just hole up and turn out the lights this year. Instead, I put out a few extra candles, invited Joey's grandmother to dress up with me and hand out candy, sat back an enjoyed the evening.

And it was a truly magical night. The veil between me and the departed was translucent. They more effortlessly and completely surrounded me. The veil between the path behind me and the mystery before me was transparent, and not at all scary. With one foot on each side of this life's next divide, I found an evening's peace. I have that night, Halloween 09, to take with me as I step forward into the mystery.

In my imagination, Joey and Jaiden are playing together next October, sharing Halloween stuff, and discover that they both have the same black rubber bat. One says, "I got mine from Moira. She used to live next door." And the other says, "Me too!" As my unseen fairy dust sprinkles down upon these two wonderful boys, their friendship is bonded and they run around with their bats looking for people to scare. If you find yourself the object of their black rubber scare tactics, please scream bloody murder (the louder you scream, the harder they'll laugh), then laugh with them, and know it's all part of the plan.