I love Halloween. That statement probably goes farther than any other to explain about me. I start thinking about costumes in mid-September. I have a list. I always wanted to be a hyper-realistic apple tree. But that’s another story…
This weekend, my very patient BF and I started our costume research. I’ve been circling around the concepts of Amelia Earhart, or a twofer as Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins. We were searching for old fancy hats, some goggles, a nice aviator scarf, anything to inspire the creative juices. (They taste like pomegranate, by the way. Those juices do.) After driving by two or three closed antiques stores (an ironic relic of the past, it would seem), we passed… The Garret.
The Garret is a self-described Victorian Eclectic house in downtown Bloomington, complete with authentic limestone, slate shingles, and, well, some garrets I suppose. Passing it on foot, you wonder whether it’s really a store, or maybe a warehouse where old dusty junk goes to die. In the mood for a little adventure, I said, “Let’s check it out!” Dubious BF looked at me with concern, but I assured him that since it was a lovely autumn Sunday, and it was daylight after all, surely it wouldn’t be too bad. I mean, who sets a scary story at any other time than on a dark and stormy night? We walked up the front porch, read the sign that said “The Batman House*”, opened the door with trepidation, and to the ominous jingling of sleigh bells we peeked inside…
At this point, my good sensible friend Justin’s voice rang clear as those bells in my head, “Turn around, bitch!” But as surely as I knew this was Possibly the Last Place I’d Ever See on This Sweet Earth, I knew I must continue inside. The bells really gave us away, as was no doubt their evil intention. Every inch of floor was stacked with dusty glass, lamp shades, nick knacks, chotchkies, whosits and whatsits. From behind some nook and/or cranny, an ancient lady who seemed to think bras were not period enough came out and asked what we were looking for. Did I reply, “The fastest way out of here”? “A good excuse to leave immediately”? “The entry into the netherworld you have hidden so cleverly with that roll-top desk”? No, “hats,” is what came out, and as she inevitably told us that the only hats and clothes she had were upstairs, again Justin’s voice cried to my conscience, “Run, bitch! Don’t you go up those stairs you crazy bitch!” (He gets very abusive when horror situations present themselves in my head.)
After a quick, courteous peek upstairs we snuck back out, thankful to have found our way through the maze of the decades-worth of crap. Honestly I was surprised not to have found a a couple hundred cats, or juicy skeleton, or a… basement full of albino children.
Anyway, its amazing to find new places in a town I thought I’d scoured every corner of.
Oh, and happy fall 🙂
*Note: Once in high school for a folklore project I did grave rubbings in Rose Hill Cemetery (where many an illustrous relative are interred), I in fact came across Batman’s grave. It’s good to have some further confirmation that he existed. And apparently… moved to Bloomington. To fight… underage drinking and rowdy fratties.
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