When I was a child, I remember tripping around in my mother’s eggshell colored high heels. The toes were so pointed, I imagined my tiny foot squeezed into the shape of an arrow. You would think that would’ve deterred me from ever wearing pointed-toe shoes, but instead I love their sharp, almost evil appearance. I would drape one of my mother’s black lace scarves about my shoulders or over my face and attempt to glide across the laminate floor of our kitchen.
I believe this was the beginning of my love for Halloween. It is my favorite holiday. While I don’t dress up nearly as much as I used to, I still catch myself sorting through our Halloween wardrobe each year. The wardrobe is jammed with dozens of costumes and accessories, from matching Ernie and Bert costumes, to a handmade mermaid’s tail, Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction, Olive Oil, Morticia, and varying degrees of witches.
I enjoy the mystery of a costume. Hidden by wig and makeup, the change in personality is instantaneous. One becomes comical, fantastical, evil or elusive; the imagination becoming one with the physical.
This year, we plan to attend the Dia de los Muertos exhibit at the Go Away Garage in full La Calavera de la Catrina costume. But, our Halloween personas may take us elsewhere that evening. One can only imagine.