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The Bliss Mistress Guide: Trick or Treat

by Edie Weinstein


A year ago, the Philadelphia region where I live was walloped with a white out, weird and wily snow storm. What was particularly bizarre was that it occurred on Halloween weekend. Power was out; trees were bent and coated with ice. We were immobile for a few days, winds howled as if werewolves were let loose. This week, we are anticipating what is being heralded as a “Frankenstorm” (a.k.a. Hurricane Sandy). I have a dear friend named Sandy and I reminded her that she is indeed a force of nature and asked if she could request of her namesake that it dwindle down to a spritz. Like most people, I am taking the basic precautions to have non- perishable food, batteries, flashlights and candles, as well as bottled water. A plethora of books to read, naps to take and plenty of cleaning to do if we need to hunker down.

Two years ago, another storm was brewing, although I didn’t know it at the time. My beloved mom was on hospice and about to make her exit and that was the last time I saw her in physical form. I had trekked from Philly to Florida on Halloween weekend and had jokingly asked her if she wanted to go trick or treating and she declined. I then inquired if she would like to dress up; that one I meant; to greet the children who would be coming to see her. “Nah, I’ll scare the kids.” I responded “That’s the whole idea, Mom.” Instead, we opted for putting together bags of candy for the neighbor kids who had visited her throughout her illness. Plastic pumpkin designed bags were laid out on her lap and little by little, she filled them with sweet treats and then tied the top off. That simple activity tired her out, so she took a nap and in a few hours, the doorbell rang. In walked the sons of her neighbor Myrna, wearing Super Mario costumes and coming over to hug her. They looked adorable and what was so endearing was that they were more concerned about spending time with her than enjoying the candy she held out for them. Clearly she had created a bond with these surrogate grandkids. Her upstairs neighbor Dianne came down with her teen aged grandson Cody and my mom had a bag for him too. Amazing how she bonded with him as well. She always had that way about her that attracted children like the Pied Piper.

A month later, I had asked her if she would like me to head on down for Thanksgiving. She told me it wasn’t necessary and she “would be fine”. I reminded her that it was likely that I “won’t see you until the end,” not realizing how soon that would be. She reiterated that she was ok with that. Less than a week later, she joined my dad who had passed in 2008. When most people (including my sister who works in retail) refer to the day after Thanksgiving as ‘Black Friday’, it will always hold the connotation for me as the day my mom ‘left the building’. Even as I am typing these words, it feels surrealistic and I experience no emotion. Attempting to conjure it up does no good either. I have learned to flow with whatever arises. Such a surprise that I would be handling this as calmly as I have been, since years earlier, I had dreaded her death more than anyone’s owing to the fact that we have always been so close. I smile with remembrance of Halloweens in my childhood. Many years she sewed or cobbled together costumes, other times they came from the store. Mary Poppins, granny gown and cap, a gypsy fortune teller, a hippie, a clown, a pumpkin…all flash before me as choices of get up over the years. After dinner, we would get all dolled up and when we were younger; my parents (sometimes one, sometimes both) would traverse the neighborhood with us, flashlights in hand. After an hour or so, we would head back home and dump the treasures on the living room floor. The rule was that my parents would need to go through everything for safety sake; to be sure that all was well with the goodies and that no one had slipped a razor or something else unsavory into the treats. We were then permitted a few pieces, saving the rest to be relished over the course of the next few weeks. In the Weinstein household, with genetic chocoholism, that was more intention than actuality.

This year, I am willing to experience treats without tricks as I remember the woman who was still a kid at heart herself, which was one of the things I so loved about her. I ask that she stop by from beyond the veil to knock on the door of my heart and even if she is in costume, I will always recognize her.

Edie Weinstein (Bliss Mistress) is an opti-mystic who sees life through the eyes of possibility. She is a colorfully creative journalist, an inspiring motivational speaker, social worker, interfaith minister, BLISS Coach and the author of The Bliss Mistress Guide To Transforming the Ordinary Into the Extraordinary. www.liveinjoy.org


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