Those three days are nearly upon us again. All Hallow's Eve, All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day. If you listen closely, you can hear the faint yet menacing strains of Night On Bald Mountain beneath the dry-bones rattle of fallen leaves. Little Himself is ready to take on the Night Of Candy as a fierce pirate:
I'm very fond of these three days. Some are born weird, some achieve weirdness, others have weirdness thrust upon them. In my case, all of these apply. I was born on All Soul's Day during a full moon in the month of a blue moon. I have blue eyes, a white streak in my hair, and I'm left handed.
In clairvoyant circles, this is called overkill.
I like my particular brand of weirdness, though. It's a family trait. My dad will often announce, out of the blue, "So-and-so's coming", and sure enough, a car will pull into the drive half an hour later. Even though So-and-so hasn't been around, or called, or written in months.
Mom is the restorer. "Hey. Drink this." Twenty minutes later, that nagging behind your eyes (or the ache in your kidney, or the pull in your back) will be gone.
My sister is the visitor. Rather, she knows when there's an extra presence in the room. More importantly, she knows if it should be allowed to stay, or if it should be persuaded to go. She can be very persuasive when she needs to be.
And me? Oh, I have my little hobbies...