Cleopatra conquers "Ladies Man"

A tardy report.

I have been meaning to post entry in the several days since I last did and have become sidetracked by all of my darting around Georgia (I am now in Athens). With all of the juggling of bags and dogs and other necessities, the coordinating of people and meet-up times and locations, and the finalizing of projects, well- I have been a slacker writer. As one of Nick's old college golf teammates and former roommates said to me this morning, "Y'all are the traveling-est couple of people I know." We do move around a lot. Either we are really moving- home and all, or we are jumping from location to location, whether it be a long distance or short, we are en route. I remember in 2008 we moved all of our belongings to Saint Simons Island to unpack and then pack again and move it all to storage in Atlanta. Nick did a project Cabo San Lucas and I did work on our house in Atlanta. We moved in and unpacked fully, and then only months later packed it all up again to move to Edenton, NC. And when I say 'we' packed, I mean 'me'. And that was just since 2008. When we lived in Anguilla we moved five times in one year. I said it before and it is true still. Gypsy Queen.

Recently I have noticed something new. I have been saying, "It will be good to get home." Home! I have acknowledged Edenton as home. Before, I liked it very much but was quick to say that it didn't feel like home, I didn't claim it as my own, I didn't feel a sense of belonging between the town and me. And with this trip south I see that I have slowly moved toward establishing my new world as home. Significant, this is... very noteworthy.

But, before October's shadow is out of sight, here is my past due report.

November 1, day after Goblin Madness:

H to the A to the L-L-O--- WE to the E to the N.O.
Just kiddin'.
I said "Y.E.S, of course" to the Halloween and trick-or-treating festivities that my sister's kiddos wanted to share with me and the verdict is... this Grump stands corrected. It was fun. Granted, the neighborhood was full of small children, as it should be, and the parents all walked along or performed door duty with a cheerful attitude or beer in hand or both- participating and proud. My sister's bunch dressed as the cast of Peter Pan for the night. Tinkerbell, Captain Hook, and the Indian. I improvised- put my hair in a high floppy bun and put a red tulle bow around my neck, painted lips red and drew polka dots around my eyes. Pretty good for a Grinch, right? I took little China too and put her red collar on. My mom said "What are you supposed to be? A floozy?" I dismissed this immediately. The shirt I had on was one of my own (with a really neat beaded, detachable neckplate with satin ribbon I might add) that I had already been wearing. I responded, "No... I am... Nothing In-particular." My niece, Katherine, looked at me with bewilderment, trying to understand the appeal, but thrilled that I had decided to be the usual whacked-out, unpredictable Aunt. (A role I adore filling.) As for my off the cuff costume name, I am not exactly funny. I already admitted that. I do trip myself out in my own head though.

We hit the 'hood hard and by the time the sixteen year old crashers came to the door I didn't even have time to frown because Paige had run out of candy. Which means I was spared the task of looking upward as a 6 foot tall Frankenstein asked me, with his husky voice, for a Snicker's bar. The night was then dedicated to answering Madeline. "I ohn canny! Be'a, canny?" (translation: "I want candy! Beth, candy?) Grinch duty resumes, "Nope." Per Mommy's orders, I'm off the captain's hook. She is like a mini cookie monster with a charm worthy of a mythological siren. Take Odysseus' advice and plug ears, sail through until she forgets about the candy festival. My poor sister had to remain on the journey for nearly 48 hours until finally sweet Madeline had forgotten about sugar.

The best Halloween I had was not one dedicated to door to door action. I was in college and was dedicated to bar to bar action. October + Athens, GA and a valid reason to throw a party- you can imagine the hysteria. On an average week night Athens is insanely fun. Add masks and ghouls and presidential heads bobbing in the mix and one comes out with slurring satisfaction. Every time I turned around I saw a Bill Clinton head accompanied by a black-haired girl sporting a beret. And then there was George W., grinning and walking arm in arm with his pops. It was the easy way to get into the costume-required clubs; grab mask and go. Although, my now husband was even lazier and grabbed a fro, stuck it on his head and claimed it passed as Saturday Night Live's "Ladies Man". I was Cleopatra. A very proud Cleopatra. I wrapped myself in an Egyptian inspired robe, had gold arm bands on, and a gold cobra head dress. I didn't stop there. I sprayed my hair with black hair paint- like an idiot. I have really dark brown hair. I was going out at night. I was only coming in contact with people too drunk to know the difference in one or two shades of darkness on my locks.

Nevertheless, I channeled Cleopatra and walked around confidently, showing off my eye makeup that in my opinion looked just like what is shown in ancient hieroglyphics and Egyptian symbols. Later in the night Nick and I met up in a very romantic reuniting sort of way. He had been gone on tournaments and we hadn't seen one another in a long while, so we talked on our cell phones as we walked and found our way to the same corner and there Cleopatra and the "Ladies Man" had a movie worthy moment of hugs and twirls.

The night was great. I actually felt like a sexy Cleopatra who got my boy. That was until I looked in the mirror at the very end of the night. I was horrified. I had been running my fingers through my hair, as I always do, and then wiping my face, blotting my lips, you know, regular contact with the face. I had unknowingly painted a beard on my face. Cleopatra with full facial hair. Mortified!

It became funny soon after, because I didn't scare my boy off, but it was stupid that I thought I needed to darken my already dark hair with messy, smudging paint. Whatever though, Cleopatra worked. Her trance on men I borrowed and directed onto one, Nick Cassini. We were inseparable from then on. Best Halloween ever.

That is also, I realize only now, the last time I dressed up with full fledged enthusiasm. It may have been my own reflection that scared me away from the holiday! No, I exaggerate. I mean... I did have a black painted beard on my face, but I am full of false proclamation here. I am less grinchy than I put on... I think. Drama Queen, Gypsy Queen, hokus pokus... no difference. Magically, one is this, then changed to that... Abracadabra one minute here, then gone.

poof.