“You’re only here for this evening. Try to keep up. Let us deal with the government. You have enough to worry about” a co-worker
tipped his cowboy hat amiably.
Bolting awake at a few seconds later (Whew! It was just a dream!),
I shook off the effects of working all night in a state of hard core REM sleep (to
the point of exhaustion!) and one drooling puddle of Craft Services imaginary
free food slash real live toothpaste spittle.
Granted, my own stupidity was at
fault for choosing to drift off to the dulcet lullabies of a marathon of Criminal Minds on TV. And yes, I was also to blame for the ensuing
endless strain of commercials which morphed in and out of my endogenous
circadian rhythms as my pea-brain
incorporated 30 second televised ads from the law offices of “Binder and
Binder”; but the fact that I was truly haunted could not be denied...
As my High Holy Holiday of Halloween
grows nigh (my favorite day of the year, when the world finally makes sense!),
this little ghoul, despite all of the “zeitgebers” (I just learned that word from Wikipedia, which is basically an
environmental cue that screws up your light/dark cycles), this little ghoul
battled against the closed blinds in the luxury of my darkened boudoir
sanctuary to run a couple of mundane errands in the harsh and most unforgiving
glare of the sun.
Sure, I was delighted to trail
behind a white Lexus on Santa Monica Blvd. with a fake bloody hand and foot
protruding from its trunk. (Those are my kind of people!) And yes, I still have oodles of yellow “crime
scene” tape should I wish to barricade my car or front door with eerie rubber
claws dripping red slime down the windows.
But to tell the truth, my heart just
wasn’t in it.
Heck, even my
zombie-like-absolutely-un-killable Philodendron “Boo!” was looking pathetically
forlorn with only three leaves sprouting in the darkness where he generally
thrives all sprawled out aggressively. (Yes, I tend to get rather “Edward
Scissorhands” on his foliage, but that’s for his own safety prior to eerily
climbing the wall.)
But by all available accounts, my yearly
High Holy Holiday of Halloween was teetering on the brink of being totally
sucky. Could nothing scare me
anymore? Had the Universe sucked all the
joy out of my beloved celebratory day, leaving me holding an empty orange plastic
pumpkin with no candy inside? Would I
never again let loose with a blood-curdling “EEK!”?
Bah-humbug.
Until...
Slashing open an envelope from
Sacramento, I was invited once again to the Senior Prom, the official Dance of
The Dead, i.e. the dreaded hours attempting to connect with the few remaining
decaying corpses at the Unemployment Department - during which I would need to
justify my reported income to whomever is decidedly NOT answering the phone
from 8am ‘til noon – i.e. the meager window of time when they are supposedly out
of their caskets and open for business.
“YOUR ORIGINAL
CLAIM FORM FOR THE WEEK(S) ENDING 09-14-13 WAS INCOMPLETE OR INCORRECT. THE DUPLICATE FORM WAS ALSO INCOMPLETE OR
INCORRECT. PLEASE CAL 1-800-***-****
IMMEDIATELY BUT NO LATER THAN 10-23-13 BEFORE PAYMENTS CAN CONTINUE.”
Say it with me: EEK!!!
Apparently, my whopping $6.34 for
the weeks during their head-hunting Inquisition hadn’t satisfied their Fiscal
Unemployment ledgers, and once again, I was somehow to blame as an out-of-work
Actor with absolutely no control over the payroll companies who write residual checks
to the SAG/AFTRA Union.
(Yeesh... Even Charlie
Brown at least gets a rock at Halloween...)
But I digress!
I refused to let my spirit be
broken! After all, this Penny is
mightier than the Sword of Injustice!
And despite my 7:30am alarm clock two days in a row; despite my
inability to get past the automated zombie telephone recordings of the EDD; and
despite feeling like a total zero outcast from the working force, I was going
to defend my $6.34 TV residual from a rerun of “Saved by the Bell”, even if the zombie apocalypse
sent me to my grave!
And with a seriously unheard of ridiculous
amount of self-restraint provided by the Unknown Forces of The Universe who
tempered my typing and metaphorically whispered in my ear (“this is the Government, Pen.
They won’t appreciate either your biting wit or political sarcasm regarding
fiscal budgeting with a smiley-face emoticon...”), I do believe I
successfully submitted a properly completely emotionless email defending the
claim in question. En guard! (She types here privately,
cowering in her Fortress of Solitude.)
But as to my High Holy Holiday
spirits? I do believe The Universe and I
are finally back in sync.
Perhaps it was the Halloween card
from my friends RJ and Richard that not only made me laugh, but also included a
crisp ten dollar bill for treats at my local 7/11. (I’m
not gonna lie – I squealed like a five-year-old!) And perhaps it was the comfort of my parents
sending a very thoughtful gift card to Target to allow me the freedom of
purchasing Kleenex WITH LOTION (again,
not gonna lie – I have allergies, and generic tissues are just plain cruel
unless you’re only cleaning your glasses.)
But I tend to
think that there were even more
Universal Forces in the works...
Without any forewarning whatsoever,
the envelope from my Mom and Dad happened to include not only the Target gift
card; but four completely haunting
photographs, as my parents are currently sorting through our family antiquities
while they continue to compile massive albums of photos, documents and gazillions
of related historical items for proper preservation of our heritage.
May I please introduce you to my
Grandma’s high school graduation picture? 
And here is my absolutely DASHING
Grandpa at roughly the same age:
But what probably freaked me out the
most was not only this photo of my Great Grandma Ella – whom I never met, and whose
turn of the century diamond from her wedding ring (married in 1907!) – I now possess book-ended on
a necklace with two of my Grandma’s small diamonds:
But also Ella’s unbelievably soulful
looking husband, Hiram:
And whilst I found myself almost
unable to stop staring at the photos, the most wonderfully inexplicable happening occurred...
I actually fell effortlessly into a
deep sleep - sans the noise of the television for comfort for the first
time in many unemployed weeks - in lieu of the hovering ghosts from the past;
collectively, protectively surrounding me.
With you all (in spirit!), and
wishing you a properly eerie Halloween,
~P (Woooo!)Author’s Addendum: Having made peace with my familial haunters, I was startled to arrive home yesterday after some errands to find myself face to face with a brunette lady calling my name from the street. “Do you remember me, Penny? I’m Daniela!” she air-kissed both sides of my face. “I used to live in this building years ago!” she beamed. “I just flew in from Italy this week, and I saw your car. It’s so good to see you again, bella!” she raised her palms upward jubilantly.
Talk about ghosts...
Backstory: I couldn’t quite remember if she and the handsome man Mattia lived together or not, but for all of about a few months in 2006 (?), my apartment building had housed four delightfully artistic Italians including Mattia and Daniela; all of whom I officially met late one night on the back patio as Mattia was finishing up his final pieces for a local gallery exhibition.
With my Bachelor’s degree in Art History, two and a half years of working in Art Galleries on Rodeo Drive (thankfully a lifetime ago), and having spent a summer abroad studying Art and Literature in Italy (again, a lifetime ago), suffice it to say I was immediately welcomed into the fold, offered a hearty glass of vino and introduced to Mattia’s vision of the “The House in Tar” as he literally dipped various pieces into a boiling cauldron of black bubbly goo. (I’ll say it again, my kind of people!)
Present Day: Whilst I had the most awkwardly unpleasant conversation about why Daniela would be unable to say hello to our (deceased) landlord, we air-kissed again as we parted ways while I strode silently into my bat-cave for a wee bit of spelunking.
Granted, I’ll probably always live with the ghost of Mr. Yang (my previous landlord) hovering about the property (making sure that I don’t become a hoarder!); but I can live with that.
And yes, there will always be remnants of my own existence that may not come to anyone else’s mind (my parents found boxes and boxes of photographs with no way to identify the people), but I can live with that too.
However...!
As I delved into the far reaches of the back of a file cabinet, I happily “EEK-squealed” once more as I unearthed the following. Please meet a yet another “ghost” (still alive, I hope!) from my past; the now internationally known Artist Mattia Biagi and some of his work:
...along with my one and only affordable
piece purchased from his collection which still dangles proudly on my wall:
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