||| MIDNIGHT MUTTERINGS by JACKIE BATES |||
A few days before Halloween, I ran across the word ‘entropy.’ I can’t remember if someone said it or I read it somewhere. I realized that I didn’t exactly know the meaning, though I had a vague idea of disintegration. Which I know too well. So I looked it up online.
The first definition was about how entropy is used to explain events in physics. While it’s true that in my callow youth I did time in a couple of undergraduate physics classes, I don’t really understand the definition. Something about the second law of thermodynamics.. (And the first law??)
Anyway, the second definition of entropy was ‘lack of order or predictability: gradual decline into disorder.’ Easier to relate to for sure.
Then Halloween showed up just around the corner and I had to turn my overloaded brain sharply to the necessity of a costume idea. My daughter’s friends in Bellingham have regular parties during the year and somehow I get invited. Such good parties, usually outside with themes. I’m not so excited about dress up, but it’s worth it to me when Nolan and Lisa have a party. I can’t remember my last year’s costume, but I do remember my son’s. We had just acquired Rose and Molly, kittens just a few month’s old and drawing a fair amount of human blood in the process of growing up. My son’s costume involved a good number of fake injuries complete with bandages and fake blood, and a white t-shirt on which he had written: ‘I Was Normal Two Cats Ago.’
In any case, I decided to go to this year’s party as Entropy. It wasn’t my first choice. That was to dress as Geriatric Barbie, which was going to be a bit more work what with wig, shoes impossible to walk in, possibly some droopy falsies. And then the eyelashes. I was exhausted already. Then I heard that the Screen Actors Guild, still miffed after their long strike, suggested that no one dress as Barbie or any other movie character that might seem to be in support of producers who reap their billions from the work of writers, actors, etc. without fair compensation. I’m usually in favor of labor over management even if I only half understand the issues. Like entropy.
So it was Entropy for me after all. All it involved was a sign on my back spelling out ENTROPY, sliding down and getting smaller at the end, I added my usual black bowler hat that I wear to Nolan and Lisa’s and nowhere else, for a reason lost to the entropy of my brain.
The party was great with good food, people I like but only see at Nolan and Lisa’s place, and of course, wonderful costumes. An amazing octopus (a homemade costume sewn by the wearer) Lisa’s father in a hazmat suit, the host as a human sized squirrel and Lisa with a stunning mushroom growing out of the top of her head. There were the small, pink princesses and prisoners in chains and a clutch of tiny witches. Which reminded me of my favorite witch story, which I relate with the permission of the adult involved:
Decades ago when I was a primary schoolmarm, my fellow teacher and friend (I’ll call her Em here) taught kindergarten next door. We regularly combined our classes and the kids were back and forth a lot. This had nothing to do with Halloween, but Em had a large elaborate witch hat with scarves and veil.
When it was clean up time in Em’s classroom, the witch took over. Em would go the the cupboard, stick her head inside (all right in front of the children) and emerge wearing the witch hat. Her voice would change and she would tell the children it was time to clean up and she was the inspector who was going to check up the job they did. The children excitedly ran around and put everything into place and cleaned in recored time while the witch walked around commenting on the job they were doing, occasionally making suggestions. When the work was done, Em went back to the cupboard, stuck her head in and emerged as herself, witch hat removed. Then she would walk around while the kids showed her what they had done to clean up and related what the witch had said and done. Sometimes there was a bit of discussion about who the witch was, but no one suggested it might be Em, who seemed surprised and delighted at the great cleaning job the kids had done with the witch. This was in spite of the fact that every child had seem Em’s head go into the cupboard and emerge wearing the witch hat. And removing it.
Then one day, the some of the kindergarten kids were in my classroom and they were giggling about something. I asked them what was so funny and one child answered, ‘We know who the witch really is!’ I replied, ‘Oh? You do? They all shouted out, ‘The witch is Em’s sister!’
Of course they witnessed Em go through the witch’s routine every day, but never commented or questioned the true identity of the witch. At least not aloud.
I suppose that’s why eye witnesses fare so poorly in court. Possibly we all see what we want and/or need to see under certain circumstances. Was it Chico Marx who asked, ‘Who are you going to believe, me or your own lying eyes?’ I do wish that I had a chance to ask some of those now long grown children what they saw and knew when they cleaned the classroom under the strict gaze of the witch in that kindergarten class. Or if they remember it at all.
And a last question about witches. One of our more prominent politicians, claims that every charge aimed his way is a ‘witch-hunt’ in spite of clear proof or, at least, good evidence of whatever the charge is. Is he suggesting that his ideas and facts should be water tested like the witches of Salem? That is if they float, they are false facts and if they sink they are real and true, but, unfortunately, dead. Oops, politics. What was I thinking?
