In our house, we basically celebrate Halloween all the time. My husband makes sure of this by delivering the same annoying joke for 12 straight years now, and it happens whenever I pick up a broom (which is at least once a week depending on my energy level and how many Starbucks lattes I’ve had). Anyhow, here’s how it goes down. I’m usually going about my business at home, chasing my son around, tidying up, etc. and the moment I reach for the broom is always the exact same moment my darling husband will happen to stroll by and casually say “Oh, going for a ride?” (long pause for laughter.)
Yes, my husband thinks calling me a WITCH is just side-splitting comedy, and frankly, I can’t help but grudgingly breaking out in laughter from time to time when he happens to catch me off-guard, and I actually give his silly question a moment’s thought.
Now while we’re on the amusing topic of being a “bruja,” (Spanish for witch, or a kind word for bitch) I am proud to say my grandmother was something of a bruja herself back in the day (she was also quite fond of dark rum and cigars, but that’s a different story altogether.) Anyhoo, unbeknownst to many, my grandmother –who’s name I happen to bear- was a devout Catholic with a deep, dark, and scandalous secret. On certain days, when the moon was full -and she felt like scaring the bejesus out of her many grandchildren- my gramdma would search deep in her overstuffed closet (past the contraband liquor and smokes) and emerge holding an ancient heirloom passed down from bruja to bruja in my family; a tattered, yet 100% authentic wooden Ouija board.
I gotta tell you, I’m a grown-ass woman, and those damn things still freak me out. Yeah, I knew it was just supposed to be a game, but I swear I saw that darn triangle thingy (aka the “planchette”) move on its own, and that’s all I’m gonna say about that. The weird thing is, when my grandmother passed away several years ago I tried to recover her mysterious board, and it was never found. I spent hours in her closet and emerged heavily intoxicated, but empty-handed. No box, no board, and no trace of that possessed planchette.
What do you think happened to my grandmother’s board? I’d love to hear your thoughts. In the meantime, I’ve got my broom and I’m going for a ride.