Punch It Broomzelda and Hotdog Sandwhiches

This morning I hung up "Punch it Broomzelda" on the wall in the living room. I don't know if you guys remember her? She's the little wall hang mom made a few years ago with the old fat witch on a broomstick with a black cat trying desperately to hang on. It's one of the few things I brought with me from the old house. I had actually almost forgotten that it was packed away until Ginny and I went on a walk this morning and talked about the halloween decorations that people were putting up in the yard.

October is always the hardest month for me with Mom. It's not that it's her birthday, it's the fact that it's fall and halloween and that was a time of the year where she and I always celebrated together as we went Halloween shopping, got into Samhain. This holiday also bears strong resemblances and memories of the pagan side of our life together, something that was just ours.

I've really missed her lately. More so than usual. Maybe it's the autumn leaves, the halloween decorations, the holiday season that's arriving, or how my life seems so distant now from the one I shared with her. But for some reason she keeps creeping into my mind and into my heart.

Even this afternoon, as I sliced the hotdogs and put them on the grill, I think about the sandwhiches she use to make us. I think about her coming into the living room with a plate and a mason jar full of tea, chewing out one of the cats (usually Stormi) who tried to get on her lap while she was still trying to get comfortable on the couch and moving him patiently off to the side until she was done eating....

I miss our house full of cat smell (although I can't say I miss most of the cats). I miss all the weird witches decorating the house. I miss the big crochet basket and her "nest" at one corner of the couch. I miss the cottonwood shedding leaves in our yard. I miss the sweet tea. I miss the smell of spaghetti simmering all day. I miss the smell of pinion. I miss the cigarette breaks on the front porch. I miss how the house could never really, truly be clean (as hard as Dad tried). I miss hearing Mom talk on the phone from my room. I miss her watching Jeopardy and The Wheel of Fortune. I miss her calling me "Rachel-LA" to get me to come out of my room, I miss sitting on the front porch planning our gardens together (that never happened) and listening to her try to decipher her dreams...

I miss her.