Tonight I remember all the people I used to know or thought I knew. Tonight I spend a little time with those who died and I do more than remember, I celebrate, weep, laugh, drink, dance, and sing for all those who can no longer do such things.

I think of Rosa Parks who stood up by sitting down.  She showed us all that a little thing like not giving up your seat on the bus can lead to big changes for everyone.  Sometimes all it takes is a little rain drop to set off a storm...

I think of all the people whose homes were blown away by bombs, hurricanes, tsunami, earthquakes, and domestic violence.  I recall all the stories of survivors in the news and I remember all the pictures of the beloved dead -- all those people unknown and so faraway from me yet they all have faces, they all had lives, and they weren't all that different from me.  I realize that tonight it could be me.  That death comes uninvited for us all...

I think of all the big men who died; the Pope, the judge, the statesmen, the warmongers, policymakers...  They all did big things only to become small souls on their way to whatever reward they worked so hard to achieve in the afterlife...

And of course there are so many celebrities each year who pass away.  Death didn't think they were so much different than me.

But, a little closer to my heart, there is a young man out there who, in his own way, symbolised death to me this year.  An old friend I thought I knew or maybe just dreamt that I knew, yet from the very beginning our friendship was a sad story, however contrary to the goofy portrait of us below:
In its own way, a friendship, like any relationship, can weaken and die and sometimes it's not due to any one person's fault or for lack of love. Sometimes it's circumstance, but other times it's only natural for people to fall away from each other as much as they fall in love with each other. I'm not saying that Andrew and I were perfect for each other, I'm only saying that, at the peak of the life of our friendship, WE WERE THE BOMB!  In the fall of 2000, we were like an odd couple of pals: a 30 year old woman longing to settle down and a 19 year old who couldn't help but stir things up.  We learned a lot from each other and helped foster each other's development spiritually and emotionally.  Not seeing eye to eye was beneficial; he got me to see things differently and I got him to take another, different look at things he thought he knew everything about.  A part of each other is in the other and that's what will never die, but, as with any end, I'm now finally at peace with never seeing him again.

I focus on the positive but don't forget the negative.  The nasty details of death are best left be unstated, it's the muck of life that springboards me to remember the loves I had and hold them close once more before the future carries me off into that long good-bye.
And I stop to think of another thing I will miss so very terribly: MY OLD JOB. I worked for Vagabond Imports off and on for the better part of a decade. I will miss selling bundles of incense, tapestries, jewlery, and answering endless questions about artifacts from the whole world over. In the photo at left is how the store looked this afternoon after we emptied it. It's just a husk of a place right now, but the echoes of the years we spent there still linger. We discovered old ads and newspapers from as far back as the late 70's. There were photos of past employees and window displays and it was sad to see myself among those photos. It's as if a part of my life has ended to remind me that someday my body will end up some big dustball in an empty hole somewhere rotting pleasantly away while outside and upstairs life goes on in its garish way.  That's Dala, the manager, heading into the backroom in this photo.  She doesn't know I captured her.  But it's only fitting I show you a picture of the store at its end with her in it.  She kept that place going for over 20 years and she taught me herbal lore and kept me healthy last year by getting me to drink LOTS of Ginger root and Fennel tea.

What is All Hallow's without a ghost story?  As I write this, I next think of the man who died in our backroom.  Dala still has yet to tell me the whole story behind that one.  Today, while we were packing and moving, I snapped a few photos of the backroom and basement and managed to capture a vortex:

This is the vortex. Just a smoky line of light that, believe it or not, I did not see when I took the picture.

Here's the same picture yet this time inverted to darkly highlight the vortex. You can clearly start to see what may be the outline of a figure...

Here I outlined the figure's face in white to see how closely it resembles a face. Spooky, eh?  It could just be my over active imagination, but you never know...

The photo above is an image taken just a few steps away from where I photographed the vortex. You can see the tail end of the vortex in the right hand corner.  Funny how it looks just like smoke but no one was smoking in that backroom and it wasn't cold enough to see your own breath.  If it is the unfortunate soul who killed himself 23 years ago, I hope he finds peace one day soon.  He wasn't very talkative so what could I do?

The following looks like something out of Blair Witch, but this is the basement.  Only once did I ever venture down there for safety during a tornado.  I would've rather faced the tornado!  That basement is over 150 years old!  I've always been too creeped out down there to explore it long enough to find any artifacts from the past century.  No one else has been brave enough either!  Yet what hides away in those shadowy places?  What little lives come and go in the dark corners?

True to the process of my thoughts, my mind turns to memories of experiencing Beaver Island, Michigan with Andrew Jacob and Genessa Smith...

It was the most fun I had being mesrible on a mostly uninhabited set of islands in upper Michigan surrounded by misquitoes and stuck in a tent that was falling apart with my best friend and the best friend of his later-to-be ex fiance.  For seven weeks we lived together and it was worth it.  I remember this as the penultimate time of my past friendship.  We did a lot of good together then, and I walk away fondly now, yet I must admit a part of me is still sneering at Andrew's jerky goofy dorkdom!  He was my *and I make a Dr. Evil face* special boy!

I can't be serious for too much longer.  I don't think that thinking about death and endings is meant to be tearful.  At some point, I have to laugh.  It's the one thing my nephews wonder about.  They ask me, "Auntie Val, why do you laugh so much?"  I ponder for a few moments and then say (just before they get distracted by their video games) "I guess I laugh a lot because it's better than just smiling!"

And at that, I leave you with this vintage postcard from 1974 that I found in the backroom of my old store:

Mine are scrambled already enough, thank you please!!!

Here's to another year over and another year just begun.  Happy Samhain to all my loved ones and a big hug to all of you I have yet to know and love!