When the Veil Thins and the Bread Rises
Sometimes, it’s the deeper meaning of the season.
Halloween used to be the night of the year for me. Where else could you shapeshift into anything — a crazy-earring glam witch, a cat with questionable eyeliner, a vampire who clearly spent too much time with Hot Topic’s clearance rack — and get rewarded with candy for it? It was pure, sanctioned magic.
As a kid, it was about imagination. But, as a parent, it became a new kind of celebration — tiny hands clutching pumpkin buckets, sticky candy negotiations, chocolatey hugs, and me quietly stealing the Reese’s while no one was looking. (Don’t judge; parent tax is real!)
But now the kids have mostly outgrown it, and I’ve… evolved too. These days, I’m less about the costumes and chaos. I still decorate, sometimes without limit. Just ask my coworkers.
But, I’ve become more about the meaning simmering underneath it all — the bones beneath the plastic skeletons, if you will.
Because before Halloween was about fake cobwebs and animatronic bats, it was the old sabbat of Samhain — an ancient Celtic festival marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of the new year. It’s the season when the veil between worlds thins, when we honor what’s passed and prepare for what’s next. A time to gather, reflect, and yes — bake an unreasonable amount of bread.
Which I did. A ridiculous amount. Like, “the neighbors are concerned and the ancestors are impressed” levels of banana bread. (I secretly blame my husband for this, who accidentally ordered 8 bunches of bananas thinking it was 8 bananas. Thanks, Amazon Fresh, for the confusion, lol.)
But honestly, there’s something deeply comforting about it. Kneading or stirring dough as the wind flutters outside feels like an ancient kind of magic — a grounding ritual that connects the mundane with the mystical. The ingredients are simple, but the act? Sacred. It’s abundance you can taste.
I’ve realized that’s the part of Halloween I’ve always loved most: the transformation. Only now, it’s quieter. Less about pretending to be something fantastical and more about honoring what’s real — what’s shifting, what’s ending, what’s beginning again.
As the wheel of the year turns, I’ve started treating this season like a digital declutter for the soul — closing old tabs, clearing out mental downloads, and finally admitting that some of those open browser windows (and projects) were never meant to load. Samhain, after all, is about release and renewal. A chance to reboot with intention — cookies cleared, energy refreshed.
So here’s to the new Celtic year — to transformation, to the magic in the mundane, and to keeping only the tabs that matter most.
Thanks for stopping by my little corner of the internet. Grab a coffee, stay curious, and may your bread always rise and your tabs load quickly.
