Tag Archives: Debbi Decker

The Wearing of the Green

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The Wearing of the Green (or Irish/Celtic Symbolism Found Among the Green Cemetery Lawns) -By Debbi Decker

Lately, I have been continuing my research on one of my favorite subjects, iconography in cemeteries. And with St. Patrick’s Day fast approaching, I thought to look into Irish/Celtic symbolism and icons that you might run across in many of the older cemeteries. Two of the most popular that I run across in my wanderings are the lyre or harp, and Celtic crosses. Others not so often found are ones such as stags, shamrocks, trefoils, the Claddagh and Celtic knots.

The Lyre or Harp. A strong symbol of Ireland, often called the national symbol, finding one carved upon a tombstone or on a crypt could mean that the person buried there was of Irish heritage. It is a magical symbol, and the traditional meanings associated with it are hopes of attaining heaven, as well as divine music.

Shamrocks. These are common three-leafed plants of the clover family and they are not to be confused with their four-leafed counterparts. Shamrocks represent the idea of three, a sacred number in Celtic lore, or the holy trinity in the Christian faith, i.e., the father, son, and Holy Ghost. It is also a popular motif on tombstones found in Australia. The Druids revered the plant and it was incorporated by the Christians as a symbol used in St. Patrick’s Day celebrations since, as the legend goes, St. Patrick used the shamrock to explain the ideas behind the holy trinity.

Stags. A stag is an adult male deer and is usually depicted with an impressive rack of antlers. The Celts believed that stags could lead souls out of darkness, and also thought that the antlers represented the tree of life and of regeneration. When depicted with a cross between its antlers, it becomes a more Christian motif that means purity and renunciation of Satan.

The Claddagh. Usually depicted as two hands holding a heart, it is a symbol of undying love and friendship. Often used for engagement and wedding rings, it can also be seen carved onto a loved one’s memorial stone or combined with the Celtic cross in the cemeteries.

Trefoils. I do not often run across trefoils, but when I do they are in a triangular form, with three spirals carved inside the triangle shape. Again, they mimic the shamrock symbols and have somewhat of the same meanings, such as representing the holy trinity with the addition of the meaning of wisdom.

Celtic Cross. This is an extremely popular monument found in cemeteries across the world. The cross, originally of pagan origin, has been married to a circle. Legend tells us that St. Patrick took the Christian cross and placed the circle upon it to represent the sun in order to convert the sun-worshipping pagans. The idea was presented as the Christian god being stronger than their sun god. These crosses can range from a simple cross and circle to elaborately carved memorials, incorporating other images, most notably Celtic knots or images of Christian saints. The most beautiful Celtic cross I have come across to-date is located in the Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia. This particular cross is covered in biblical images.

Cemetery symbolism and iconography is a wonderful and enlightening subject. Try looking for unusual motifs the next time you wander through one, and then learn about what they mean. These symbols speak to the history of the person buried as well as to possible religious beliefs and family heritage. Although we can never be absolutely sure what a particular icon or symbol truly means (since we have no idea what was in the minds of the survivors who erected these stones and monuments), we can still appreciate the general meanings behind them and the beauty represented in their artistic representation.

Photographs “Lyre” and “Cross of Many Colors” copyrighted and provided by Crazed Poppet Creations.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of Crazed Poppet Creations Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

THREE CROWS CALLING

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THREE CROWS CALLING
-By Debbi Decker

The crows were calling. One, two, three in a row in the tree. “Go away, we are not ready”. Selfish, really, when it is not us who has to be ready but rather the one they come for. We are never ready to let our loved ones leave.

The old ones tell you that three crows is a harbinger of death. The Morrigan has come. The Goddess of death and rebirth.

He stopped breathing several times and so the priest was called. Last rites spoken, holy water sprinkled. The rosary was placed around his neck. Some in the room believed, others did not. Still, we all hoped it would bring him peace.

They came the next night. Three shades passing through the room, invisible to our eyes but solid enough to block the glow of the small lights that were lit for his comfort. Three beings now standing guard and waiting. Sometimes they touched you. A sense of ice on your elbow. A gentle nudge against your leg. No way to tell who or what they were. Only that they were present and that he knew they were there. You could watch him whisper to them in his delirium and watch him listen to them as they spoke back.

I held his hand through most of his fight, not wanting him to ever feel alone. His was not an easy passing. He had much on his mind, worries for the rest of us, and things he wanted to say. Time laid heavy on us all as we watched him fight. No longer with us but not really gone from us either.

And at the end, I watched as he took his last breath and held him close as I said goodbye. The three crows calling in the early morning sun, while the three watchers stood around him to guide him on his way. I swear that on that morning I could feel him fly.

His journey here has ended but mine is just beginning. Because I now have to make sense of it all. Three crow calling, three shades passing. Who came to guide him on and who will come for me when my time comes? I trust that the essence of his soul has gone on to live in another life. My hope is that our souls will cross paths once again.

The meaning of three is that “all is given”, the past, present, and future. Birth, life, and death. The cycle has finished. And must begin again.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of Crazed Poppet Creations Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

The Magic of Christmas

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The Magic of Christmas
-By Debbi Decker

The Christmas season is officially here. Though you would have thought it had actually arrived back in September. It seems that the stores are filling their shelves with holiday cheer earlier and earlier each year. Halloween and Thanksgiving seem to have taken a back seat to this day of all days. In my town, Halloween and Thanksgiving are given a shelf or two, while Christmas takes over the entirety of the rest of the space.

Christmas is a hard season at times for those who walk the Pagan road. Though I was raised in a religious home, Christmas does not resonate with me. The modern version of it anyway. Oh, don’t get me wrong. As a child, I did indeed embrace the belief in the Child born on this day. But I also embraced the magic of the season. Waiting for those hoof beats on the roof, hoping to get a glimpse of Santa. We had no chimney so I knew he had to use the door. And every year, we would gather round and listen to the reading of “The Night Before Christmas”. My head was full of babes in mangers, angels, elves, flying deer, sparkling snow, and Ho Ho Ho’s. Then, I grew up. And learned that there is no “real” Santa. That the Child was probably not really born on this day but rather in a warmer month earlier in the year. Christmas lost its magic for me and that is the most important word here. Magic. I lost the magic. And it made me sad. Without the magic it was just another day, though for some it is the highest of all holy days. To be honest, there were times I did envy others for the beliefs that I just could not wrap my soul around.

Years went by and as I became more grounded in my beliefs, I realized that I could indeed still find the magic of the season. So many traditions that we all follow are of ancient origin, created to honor the divinity in all of us. I began to light the candles for my ancestors. Burn a Yule log for protection and warmth. When I decorate a tree, adorn the house in greenery, and hang the new mistletoe (and burn the bunch from the prior year), it is to honor Mother Earth for gifts she gives us through all of the seasons. The ornaments are full of symbolism, creating a magical space. Stars, moons, suns, fruits and musical instruments. Just to name a few. A tiny elf or Santa will peek out among the branches to remind me of the magic of my childhood but also to symbolize the idea that we can all give something (no matter how big or small) to others. I can sign a carol and feel the joy of releasing those notes to the universe and let my voice be carried upon the wind.

I cook food for my loved ones, making sure that I stir clockwise rather than widdershins, while chanting the word “love” in whispery breaths. Make gifts to give to others, each one of a theme chosen to honor that person. I take the early darkness of the days into myself and use this energy to plant the seeds of what I want for the year to come. When my family gathers, we share our food, our memories, and our hopes and dreams. Sometimes we still read “The Night Before Christmas” to our little ones. We will nurture the idea of Santa and the magic of it all for as long as possible. And when the little ones grow up, we give them the ability to grasp the magic of another “age” and our hopes that our traditions will be carried forward.

My ways are not your ways perhaps. They may not resonate with you. We do, however, all of us have a common theme that we can all recognize and hope for…. Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All Mankind.

Bright blessings on you and yours on this day and all of the days of the year.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of Crazed Poppet Creations Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

Archived Featured Artist: twistedpixelstudio

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Crazed Poppet Creations

Featured Artist:

twistedpixelstudio: Elegant yet creepy Gothic cemetery photography and vintage inspired Halloween assemblage and ornaments form the twisted world of Deborah Decker and her Crazed Poppet Creations.

The Sin-Eater

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The Sin-Eater?
-By Debbi Decker

A chapel room with walls of stone. It is an open room, with no doors and no glass in the windows. The night breeze flows, causing candles to gutter in the wall niches. Their flames cast odd moving shadows across the room.

In the center of the chapel room lies a body of a man on a raised stone bier. His clothing reflects his position in life, the gleam of gems in the scabbard that holds his sword speaks to his wealth.

There is nothing odd about this setting. Death has come to the village and the village mourns its own. Its inhabitants are no strangers to death. We all die. We all make our last confessions, are shriven, and laid out to rest in various poses according to our position in life. The poorest straight to the grave, the wealthiest given a last moment of glory in a chapel room.

But look closely at this man. There is a meal of roasted fowl and bread, and the last fruits of the season, resting on platters upon his chest. His hands hold a pewter goblet containing the best ale that his household can provide.

A movement at the door draws our eyes to a black cloaked figure, the face hidden deep within a hood. The figure sidles up behind the dead man. Raises his cloaked arms to the heavens. By the cadence and intonation of the mumbled words, we know he is praying. His arms slowly lower. He settles in. To eat. The meal laid upon the dead man’s chest. The fowl and bread disappear into the darkness of his hood. He drinks the ale. And once done, slowly creeps out the door. His face still hidden. You have no idea who he is.

The above scenario is a loosely written memory of a television show I saw as a young woman, and which was my fist introduction to what is known as a “Sin-Eater”. The idea caught my interest enough to research the facts behind story. Would this really have happened? Are there such things as Sin-Eaters? Turns out the answer is yes. There have been and, if the rumors are correct, still are in remote areas of the eastern U.S.

The origin of the practice of the ritual of eating sins remains unclear. It is possibly Germanic in origin, first coming to light in the Middle Ages. The Catholic Church denies such practices existed. And while the story above was a television episode and suspect in the details, there are, however, stories about the practice in England during the 17th and 18th centuries. An individual, for whatever reason, would take on the duties of a Sin-Eater. This person would partake of bread, salt, and wine (or some other beverage) which was left either on the deceased’s grave, or placed near the deceased, or even placed on the deceased’s chest. It was believed that the food would absorb the misdeeds of the dead and by eating that food, the Sin-Eater would absolve the soul of deceased and allow the individual to enter heaven. The Sin-Eater was always reviled and outcast in society. He (or she) would be considered unclean and shunned. In some cases, perhaps the identity of the Sin-Eater was not known. The cloak and hood would hide the identity, similar to the cloaking and masking of the plague doctors so that the public would not know who they were. They could practice their craft safely in anonymity.

It is interesting to note that there are later references in British history to the practice of passing bread and ale over the body of a loved one and given to a funeral attendant to eat. In Bavaria, the custom still exists of placing a corpse cake upon the chest of the deceased which is then eaten by the deceased’s closest relative. The Dutch practice of making dead cakes with the initials of the deceased was carried over to the United States during Colonial times. Each of these practices could be considered to have evolved from the practice of sin-eating.

During the 1800s, funeral biscuits were presented to mourners and bakeries competed against one another for orders of same. Lady Fingers (a type of sponge cake) were wrapped in papers that were printed with texts, poetry, and musings upon life and death. Special bowls, called “Mazer Bowls” were commissioned by the wealthy to hold the wine or ale that was given to mourners during the wake. The growth of the funeral industry stemmed these practices, and over time they have all but disappeared. Perhaps replaced in our present era by the family gatherings after the funeral. Almost all of these gatherings offer a meal or some kind of finger food to be served to the families and their guests.

Though few and far between, I have partaken at these latter day funeral “feasts”. It is not a custom that sits well with me. Sometimes knowledge can be an unsettling thing. Especially in my case. Because each time I allow myself a bite of the food presented I am, in the back of my mind, wondering just what sins or misdeeds I am taking on. And that is never a comforting thought.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

What Time Is It?

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What Time Is It?
-By Debbi Decker

My mother passed recently and I had been spending time at her house, cleaning and gathering things to send to Goodwill and other charitable organizations. Towards the end of a 6-day stay, I was still trying to understand why the house felt so “clear”. It was not an after effect felt by me due to my mother’s death. I had noticed from the moment I walked in that the house felt empty. As if no one had ever lived there. I was confused, curious, and a bit unnerved. Houses imprint. Unless the place is brand spanking new, there are going to be elements that will resonate with everyone. I even commented to several family members and friends about the emptiness that I felt. My brother commented that he could feel it too but he felt that it would change.

The last full day I was there, I spent the day alone cleaning and sorting until late afternoon. I stepped out to get a bite to eat and to wind down from my busy day. After finishing my meal and checking the day’s e-mails, I decided to kick back in a very comfortable recliner in the living room and read until it was time to head to bed. Within a few minutes of reading, I began feeling a sense of heaviness in the atmosphere. As the evening wore on, and the sense of heaviness increased, I several times stop reading, looked around and tried to figure out exactly what I was feeling. The house was now occupied by someone or something other than me. I was not able to figure out who or what it was, but as the feeling got stronger I began to sense that it did not quite like me being in the house. It was not a hateful or hurtful feeling, but more of a “why are you here and you need to leave” kind of feeling.

At that point, I figured I would head to my room, read some more and then try to get some sleep. I noticed the digital clock at my bedside nightstand was not working. Thinking it was a battery issue, I went into my mother’s bedroom and rustled up some batteries and inserted them into the clock. The clock would light up, and then within 2 seconds the numbers would appear to melt from the top to the bottom and the clock would stop working. I fiddled with the clock trying to fix it for several minutes and it continued to react in the same manner. Assuming that the clock was broken, I went back into my mother’s bedroom to get a clock that was on her dresser. This clock, although battery operated, was not digital, had hour, minute, and second hands, and was running but the time was wrong. I reset the time and the clock stopped working. Again, I inserted fresh batteries, but nothing changed. That clock would not run either.

Now, I was two clocks down, with a house that was feeling creepier and heavier by the minute. I was frustrated and starting to get a bit edgy. Both clocks were put on my mother’s dresser in her room. I had to have a clock that worked though. It was important to me that night that I be able to see the time at any moment. Eventually, I found a small clock that was working, placed it on the nightstand beside my bed, and proceeded to read until my eyes were blurry. I was unable to get any sleep that night. It was a doze off, wake up, and repeat kind of night. I never did turn off the lights. And I was NOT leaving that room. For whatever reason, my room felt the least strange of all of the rooms in the house that night.

Morning came, and I managed a sleep-deprived stagger into the kitchen to make some coffee and get ready for the day. My sister was due early to assist with the sorting of mom’s clothes and further cleaning out of closets. Although the house felt a bit better than it had the night before, there was still a sense of occupancy and some heaviness.

My sister arrived and we began our day. Going back into mom’s bedroom to retrieve some items we needed, I happened to glance at my mother’s dresser. Both clocks were up and running perfectly, with the right time displayed on both! The heaviness I’d sensed the night before seemed now to be centralized in my mother’s bedroom. I quietly walked out and shut the door behind me.

I’m sure you can imagine all the swear words I was speaking under my breath. I let whatever or whoever it was that messed with those clocks the night before know that I was not amused. And I left a day earlier than originally planned and drove home.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

A Phantom Smell.

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A Phantom Smell.
-By Debbi Decker

I am an empath. I won’t bore you with all of details and descriptions of what that entails. You can find all kinds of information on the internet. Being an empath, I am very familiar with the idea of Clairempathy (the ability to feel emotions, illnesses, etc. that are not visual). I am also very familiar with Clairvoyance (the ability to perceive in my mind’s eye the past, present, and future). My mind has a tendency to connect with people and basically be on the same page with them without ever having a conversation with them. I can walk into a room and immediately feel what has just occurred without even looking at anyone in the room. If I am around negative people or sick people for long periods of time, I begin to feel ill. I have moments of vivid thoughts that turn out to be predictions of coming events. While unnerving to many, it’s a normal way of life for me. I’ve written before about what I call the “Clairs”. Clairempathy and Clairvoyance are the two that frequently happen to me. The others not so much.

My first visit to New Orleans post-Katrina was for Halloween, in October of 2006. While a full year had passed since that catastrophic event, there was still a great deal of anguish present in the atmosphere, some of it human, and some of it… “other”. You could feel the stress of the residents and workers in the Quarter. Hotels were understaffed as were most restaurants, and the seafood industry was still in a flux. I spent a great deal of time taking pictures in the Quarter, and in the cemeteries just outside of the Quarter. Bus and cable car service to the Garden District or to the Canal Street cemeteries on the far outskirts of the City were still not in operation. The Quarter was safe. The rest of New Orleans was not. Case in point. My hotel was housing some of the private security teams that went out each day to the various Wards to stand guard and to prevent looting and other nefarious activities. Picture a hotel full of men garbed in black, carrying an array of weapons. Think Swat teams.

It was easy enough during the days to keep myself from being overwhelmed (Clairempathy) with the anguish and stress that the others around me were feeling. I have to do that on a daily basis anyway. Still, there was that subtle undertow of “other” that concerned me. Katrina had stirred something. And it was not a happy something. It had a darkness and sadness to it that I had never before experienced in New Orleans, though it is well known that the area is steeped in dark history, bloodshed, crimes, and natural disasters. Sunset during that visit brought an extreme sense of urgency. I had to get indoors. Whatever I was feeling was not good. The Quarter has always been a fairly safe place to roam and I have done so at all hours of the night (something I would never attempt in my own city!). And remember, this was Halloween – a time when the veils and doorways are open. Lots of things travel back and forth in the ether during Halloween. So, while I was able to block the sensations during the day, the nights left me feeling raw and over exposed.

Halloween morning brought me down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. As I was reading the menu, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of fire. It had a reminiscent tang of a campfire or the scent of wood burning in an open space and very strong. Glancing around I found no visible smoke, no smoking restaurant patrons, and no fireplace in the room or anything else that could be giving off that odor. My waiter must have noticed my consternation and confusion because he came over to ask me if I was all right. I asked him if he could smell smoke. He did not and after confirming that there were no fireplaces in the vicinity, nor was there ever a smokehouse or a fire in the building, I let it go. Because at that point, my waiter was looking concerned. I went on to order and eat my breakfast, enveloped in the phantom smell of fire the entire time. I took note of the fact that upon leaving there was no smell of smoke outside of the restaurant, nor did I smell smoke when I ventured outdoors. This was my first experience of Clairscent or the ability to perceive phantom scents or odors.

My plans for that day were to visit St. Roch Cemetery and I was particularly excited to be seeing the chapel dedicated to St. Roch. Since the cemetery is located a few blocks outside of the French Quarter, and in an area affected by Katrina, I felt it was best to take a cab to my destination. The neighborhood itself was not safe, but there would be other tourists around, so I was not concerned about being in the cemetery alone (are you ever REALLY alone in a cemetery?)

My cabbie dropped me at the entrance and gave me his phone number to call when I was ready to leave. He expressed some concern about me being by myself, assured me that there would be a caretaker on the grounds, and wanted to be sure I was able to get back to the Quarter safely. I spent several hours taking pictures and sat in the chapel for a while mourning the fact that the altar and statue of St. Roch had been damaged by the floods from the broken levies. To call this chapel interesting is somewhat of an understatement. The walls are covered in offerings and Milagros left by patrons who have experienced miraculous healings in the chapel (some very recent healings too). The floor is made of bricks, all of which say “thanks” in English and French. St. Roch’s head rested in the chapel side room among the relics and Milagros, and his headless torso stood guard outside the chapel door.

Right across the street from the cemetery entrance stood a shotgun cottage tattooed with that unforgettable graffiti of numbers and dashes representing the number of dead found on the scene after Katrina and the date of search. Water lines clearly indicated the depth of the flood waters it had endured. It was difficult to get a photograph of the cottage due to the traffic passing constantly in front of it, blocking the view and I gave up trying. In retrospect I wish I HAD taken a picture, good or bad. The cottage also made me uncomfortable, though I cannot explain why. I suppose you could put it down to the graffiti on the wall but that explanation has never resonated with me. After all, I had spent the last year grieving deeply for my City and had seen too many pictures and news stories for it to have just been my reaction to the general leftover aura of Katrina.

Dinner that evening was a hurried affair. I had hoped to watch the Halloween parade in the Quarter but it would not start until after sunset and my intuition was to get indoors. Something just did not feel right and I was not interested in figuring out why. I would leave that to the local Voodiennes to suss out. Entering my room after dinner, I turned on the television which just happened to be tuned to a local news station giving a live update. There, on the screen, was the shotgun cottage that I had just viewed only hours ago, engulfed in flames, and surrounded by firefighters pouring water on the structure. I was stunned. It clicked. The smell of smoke….

To this day, I believe that the phantom smoke I was smelling was a precursor to that event. I did check back frequently to see if there was an update at to the cause of the fire, but I never learned anything. After all, the City had a lot on its hands and a follow up on an abandoned cottage burning to the ground was probably low on its list of priorities. If there was a message, I do not understand what it was. If there was a lesson, I have yet to figure it out. It could have all been coincidence but again, there is no resonance. I cannot explain what happened but that phantom smell of smoke and the subsequent burning of that cottage haunts me to this day. Perhaps that was where the feeling of darkness emanated. The house was grieving deeply, ready to say goodbye, and it chose me to deliver its eulogy.

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

A Gothic Easter Celebration Part II

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A Gothic Easter Celebration Part II -By Debbi Decker

In my last post, I shared some ideas about Gothic Easter decorations. By now, you should be well on your way to gathering your items for decorating, and even have come up with some ideas of your own! In this post, I want to share some great food ideas for your Easter menu.

Cracked Easter eggs are so easy to make. All you need to do is boil your eggs as normal and let cool. Take the cooled eggs and crack by rolling gentle on a paper towel. Do not peel. You can use any kind of regular egg dying kits you buy in the grocery or craft stores but when mixing the colors, omit the vinegar. Immerse your eggs in your colors of choice and leave overnight. When you are ready to serve, completely peel the eggs to uncover the interesting crackle effects left on the egg white by the dyes. Some will look like spider webs too! The eggs can be used for deviled eggs or sliced in wedges or large rounds for salads.

Gothic Sugar Cookies. I love the idea of this because you can be as wild as you want. Using your usual sugar cookie mix, you can create sugar cookie skulls,rabbits, bats, coffins, chicks, etc. Decorate the cookies using colorful spring colored frostings and candies, or pipe tattoo style designs on the cookies. You could use crosses, pagan symbols that represent spring, steampunk themes, the sky is the limit.

I am not a big fan of sit down dinners when I have get-togethers. I prefer to have what I call easy eating food that does not interrupt the conversation flow and fun. So, finger sandwiches with a variety of fillings in shapes such as rabbits and chicks, with bits of veggies for the eyes and faces. Radishes and other vegetables cut into floral shapes, molded cheese in creepy shapes. Dips for the veggies can be created in many colors and flavors. Thin slices of ham and cheese wrapped around slightly steamed asparagus stalks. Fruits dipped in chocolate. Use serving dishes and utensils that have a Victorian or Gothic feel. Cracked and crazed pottery, old slightly tarnished silver, frayed table cloths, lace, and mats. Did you get that Zombie Peeps tableau set up yet? Beverages using cherry, pomegranate, or grape juices are great and follow right along with whatever theme you end up with. They can be fancy or plain. Sangria is a wonderful punch for any time of year.

Remember the masks that were discussed last month? Well, here is a great Easter egg hunt idea for either before or after the party using those masks. Find a location that is easy to get to, such as a wooded area on your property or a friend’s. A cemetery that has lots of trees and natural settings would be great too. Create fancy invitations for each of your guests, giving the location, time, date, a reminder to bring the masks they made, and to dress in their interpretation of Alice in Wonderland, Steampunk, or Victorian. Ask everyone to bring a basket for their eggs and a camera. Digital or those throw away cameras are fine, and settings are preferably black and white. Right before the party, eggs should be hidden throughout the location.

Once everyone has arrived, off you go to hunt for eggs and taking pictures of everyone while they are hunting. Don’t try to stage your shots. Rather just take shots randomly and from different angles, far away and close up. After the hunt, everyone’s pictures are shared. The best pictures can be used to create a book to commemorate your event and the good time had by all! Some of the creepiest and best pictures I have ever seen are people in costumes and masks taken in black and white.

Have great Easter celebration everyone!

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

Crossing Over

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Crossing Over -By Debbi Decker

Usually when you hear that term, it is in connection with death, ghosts, and other paranormal events. But I can’t help using that term for my recent vintage discoveries.

I collect images and post cards from the Victorian era to around the early 1960s to incorporate into my art. With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I was interested in finding some old Valentine images to add to what I already have. It’s not a favorite holiday of mine, and I rarely do create anything in that genre, but I enjoy looking at the old Valentines, and sometimes find quite interesting and unusual images to add to my collection.

It is not unusual to find spooky images in connection with Christmas. After all, there is Krampus and so many creepy Santa Claus images. But, imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon Valentine images chock full of Halloween and spooky images and references! And a Valentine that references fairies and elves too. Wow, talk about crossing over!

The images included in this post are from the late 1950s and possibly as late as the 1960s. Now that I have found these, who knows, maybe I can rouse myself to create a spooky hauntingly beautiful Valentine item for next year! I know that I will now be searching for more!

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.

My Mother’s Ghost.

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My Mother’s Ghost. -By Debbi Decker

What is it about the end of the year that brings out the paranormal? Are we sending out a different kind of energy that allows for these entities to pass through more easily? Or are we more open at this time to see things we would not normally see or hear and feel things that we would not normally hear or feel simply because we are poised to enter into a new year and we are opening ourselves up to hopes for what it will bring?

My mother is not normally open to paranormal events. She believes that spirits are good, the souls of those who are in heaven and the souls of loved ones, invisible to mankind but felt by us. Ghosts are visible and bad, evil people who will never reach heaven and wander the earth in various shapes and forms. Over the years I have tried to convince her that while I understand her choice of words, ghosts and spirits are really one and the same. She would never allow herself to be convinced. That is, until last Thursday night. She now believes they ARE both one and the same, and that it is how the spirit or ghost presents itself that matters.

She had just turned out the light in her bedroom and was sitting on the side of her bed. Her bedroom is never really dark due to all of the many electronic components. Glowing clocks, computer lights, telephones, and other assorted sundry items that give off light. As she was sitting there she looked up at the window beside her and saw a full bodied man come through the curtains, walk around the foot of her bed, walk out of her room into the hallway and into the bathroom where he immediately disappeared. It was a young man, wearing a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up the way the boys would wear them in the 1950s. He wore faded blue jeans and his hair was neat and cut short. She could not see his face as his head was bent down but she had a sense of seeing something in 2D. Mom said she felt that she could see through parts of him but it was not readily apparent that he was translucent. Just a sense that she was. She also could not see his feet. The apparition actually walked around the end of her bed, turning to go through the door! Just as if you or I would have done had we been looking out that window and decided to leave the room and go to the bathroom!

The most astonishing thing to me about this event is not that she saw a full body apparition, but that she was not in the least scared or in any way upset. She said that when he disappeared she said out loud, “well hello and goodbye to you too!” Where most people would have been terrified, she said she felt calm and happy during the whole event.

My mother is no stranger to the paranormal even though in the past she has not been open to the possibilities it brings. She feels the presence of her mother nearby and she sometimes feels her mother sit down on the side of her bed that her mother would normally sit when visiting. Mom has also remarked about seeing shadow people walking the halls of her house, taking the same path every time. The shadow people are just that, dark shadows with no details that travel the hallway and always go into the rear bedroom. She has heard doors opening and closing when she is alone, and she also has heard heavy boots walking on wood, even though the house is fully carpeted and there are no wood floors. She also has visitations that she believes are a long deceased cat who would spent a great deal of time with her in her bedroom and would jump onto her bed and land on the same spot pretty much every time.

While discussing the event, my mother kept commenting about how calm she felt throughout it all and how amazed that she was afterward that she was not afraid. We talked about the fact that she may have some pre-conditioning regarding these types of events because of all of the strange things that happen in her home. I know that for me, it has become “just another day in the neighborhood” or the “new normal” because of all of the things I have seen and experienced throughout my whole life. You can get used to these strange things. So, perhaps she was in a more accepting frame of mind when the young man came through.

These kinds of manifestations are considered the “holy grail” of ghost hunting and I will admit to a wee bit of jealousy that she got to experience it. But how wonderful for her that she did! Mom now understands what it is that those of us who experience these kinds of things are trying to explain. She gets it now. Whether this understanding will leave the door open for other manifestations, only time will tell.

My mother is elderly and lives alone and does not get out much anymore. On several occasions she has stated that she needs a hobby, something to keep her busy and to engage her mind.

Hey mom! Guess what? You have a new job now. Ghost Hunter. Investigate the presences in your home and learn about how they manifest and perhaps even get some sense of who the young man could have been and the connection he has to the house or to you.

I am excitedly waiting for the answers you find. Oh, and yes, there WILL be a test!

Debbi Decker is proprietor of twistedpixelstudio Art & Assemblage Emporium. Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for the telling of hauntings and ghostly tales by Debbi Decker.