Oh, the Places We've Gone!

A quick stop for lunch on our way to Boston left us with some great inspiration for the next leg of our adventure.

And an adventure it was.

It was a nonstop, action-packed, cousin-filled, crazy three and a half days that somehow felt like both a blink and a lifetime at the same time. I can't explain it.

It began with lobster and steak and s'mores and a "driveway-in" movie.

The next day, there were spooks and haunts and true historical tales and visits to memorials for our 9th great grandmother, who was hanged as a witch in Salem.

"Let Goody Martin rest in peace, I never knew her harm a fly,

And witch or not - God knows - not I?

I know who swore her life away;

And as God lives, I'd not condemn

An Indian dog on word of them."  -John Greenleaf Whittier

After we had done all we could manage and seen as much of the town as humanly possible with the munchkins in tow, we decided it would be a great idea to go to the carnival. 

Because. Childhood. Y'all it ends so quickly. Sometimes you just have to ride the rides.

There was about 500 miles of walking as we first toured Boston Common and the Public Garden then walked the entire freedom trail, including the 294 steps to the top of the Bunker Hill monument. Sing along with us, now, as we Follow the Yellow Red Brick Road with Sweet Caroline.

Please remember that this was 3 adults plus FIVE CHILDREN UNDER TEN YEARS OLD.  We must be crazy.

If we weren't then, they might have driven us there now.

Then just for fun we basically did the whole trail again while riding on a trolley.

After that, I'm pretty sure our feet were about to fall off. And the kids' brains could not possibly absorb another historical detail. We all needed a break.

So what did we do?

We hopped in the car and drove to New Hampshire. Because they have pretty lakes there. And mountains. And more cousins. Who have kayaks and are gracious hosts who don't mind having their own vacation crashed for an afternoon. And it was glorious. 

A perfect ending.

Haunted.

Mary : Does everyone who dies become a ghost?  

Archibald: They’re only a ghost if someone alive is still holding onto them.

(The Secret Garden, musical)

My Octobers are haunted.

October has been my favorite month for as long as I can remember. There are still deliciously sunny days that let you know that you have just left summer behind, and they are so much sweeter knowing they won't last. The nights are crisp with autumn's chill, just right for sitting around a fire. Everything seems to smell and taste of apples, cinnamon, and pumpkin. And those colors?

Perfection.

And as if that weren't enough to make me love this month so much, it all ends with one giant costume party. I'm like a little child when it comes to playing dress up. Seriously. I think one day a week should be designated to dressing in costume. It never gets old.

Perhaps my favorite thing about October, though, is that  October made me a mommy. I love celebrating my little men, and the fact that their birthday falls squarely in the best month of the year is the icing on the cake.

Even though I'm already in love, October woos me again year after year. *swoon*

But my Octobers are haunted.

Two years ago we were balancing the amazing weather, food, beauty, birthdays, candy, and costumes with watching my mother die. I'm not going to lie. There were some pretty rough days. On the whole, though, we managed to create some wonderful memories, and no celebrations were interrupted or overshadowed by funeral arrangements.

In fact, we had arrived back home after the Halloween parade, had changed into pjs, and had the kids all tucked in bed for the night before the phone rang with the news that she had gone.

"Well," I thought, "she gave me October. Thanks for that gift, Mom."

I didn't realize it then, but she also took October.

Every leaf.

Every cool breeze.

Every sip of warm cider.

Every costumed child.

She's there. Haunting my Octobers. Casting a little shadow of sorrow and memory over every glorious day. Sometimes it makes me cry. Sometimes I get mad at her. Sometimes it makes me smile, albeit often through tears. And sometimes I am grateful for the painful memories, for they make the good ones so much sweeter.

Sometimes I think she might just have planned it that way. She is forever engraved upon my favorite time of year.

I miss you, Mom, you crazy old witch. I expect you to keep on haunting my Octobers for many more years.