Has the season of scary taken over the holiday of snow, sleighs, and Santa? Of recent it seems, I’ve seen an excess of Halloween. Lively, gigantic animated yard decorations and lights are appearing on more homes, lawns, and storefronts than ever before.  “Out of Business” stores are now pop up, temporary, Halloween specialty markets. Countless haunted houses, barns, and trails can be found within a few miles of home. Spooky has become big business!

Add to that, costuming. No sign of cheap plastic masks and chintzy dress up suits. Rather, it’s the elaborate and expensive. Movie, political, animal and whatever figures are realistic and downright frightening. Colorful creations aren’t just for kids as adults are often encouraged to dress up for work or be a part of a weekend bar bash. And yes, family pets are donning crazy, yet adorable outfits while enjoying parties at dog parks! 

Whatever happened to the fun of hand made costumes, a grocery bag, and running through the neighborhood? Well my loyal readers, I devote today’s write to such memories. Halloween 1967, to be exact. Enjoy a trip down trick or treat lane… 

Our favorite holiday had finally arrived. This would not be the usual celebration however. Daddy had recently passed and would not be the transporter of his tribe into town for treats. Never to disappoint, Momma had a new and exciting adventure planned for her eight goblins. 

Together with neighbors John, Lizzie and their three kiddos, it was agreed that a hayride into town for both families would be the perfect celebration of scary. Weeks prior, we eagerly planned costumes, decorated grocery bags for treats, and dreamed of endless candy.

John had taken one of our hay wagons and wired it for lights. Making the connection complete, he hooked up with the trusted Massey Ferguson. Loaded with bales of straw and burlap bags for warmth, we were ready for a night of treating. 

No commercial costumes or masks had been purchased. We sibs simply traded our daily chore wear with each other and etched our faces in all the wrong places with Momma’s tried and true lipstick; Avon’s Cherry Red.  A most spooky bunch, having the likes of today’s “Walking Dead” characters, we rocked in our own minds. 

By late afternoon the sun was quickly setting as coolness in the light breeze began teasing.  Anxiously we loaded on the wagon for the five mile trip into town. Sitting tightly while bumping along, giggles and chatter kept us warm. 

Momma and Lizzie had each whipped up a large thermos of hot cocoa. In addition, two bottles of adult beverage to the likes of Mogan David and Christian Brothers added to the libations. Three adults and eleven assorted whatnots would have this night to weave tales. 

Our small town blinked of porch lights and sparse Halloween decor. Colorful, fallen leaves scurried across yards and streets. A few ghosts and witches scampered as they yelled the familiar, “Trick or Treat”.  John pulled up to a string of homes. Out we jumped and off we ran! 

House to house until we reached the end of block. Crossing the street, we tricked and treated our way back to the wagon.  Momma had the cocoa at the ready as John and Lizzie loaded us on the traveling taxi. A few special stops and home would be calling.

O’Malley’s Funeral Home was a stop we couldn’t refuse. A unique two story estate, with its custom wrap around porch greeted us. Stumbling up the door, Frankie rang the bell as we joined in chorus, “Trick or Treat, Give us something good to eat!” 

Inside, Mr. O’Malley opened the door with a big smile, “Well, what do we have here? I think we might know you hooligans. Come on in. You’ll each need to show us a trick if you want a treat.”

Our first challenge of the night to earn goodies. Frankie got right into action with his ever-famous monkey imitation. Easily the O’Malleys clapped and roared with laughter. The remaining ten of us performed assorted summer saults, face gestures and finger shadows. Rewarded with grins and full sized Slo-Pokes, we exited with thank yous and hungry eyes. 

Last stop of the night took us to Gramma Giel’s home. Everyone called her Gramma, however, no one was related to this generous lady. Halloween by far, was her favored holiday. 

Her home was a well-faded, paint-worn, two story clapboard house. Surrounded by stately trees and overgrown shrubs, the place was not welcoming.  Windows were aged with layers of dust as dim light tried to escape from the inside. Located off a darkened street, ominous was evident.

Why would we seek this forboding site you might ask? Gramma G. was not only known for her kind and gentle ways, but her sweet creations were undeniably the best. 

Slowly we climbed the front porch. Unlit and creaky, we crept with caution. Frankie knocked as we chanted the usual banter of the night. A weakened, frail voice returned our pleas, “Come in boys and girls and get your treats.”

Tugging on the screen door, it creaked and squeaked. One dim light shown over the large dining table. What a sight to be seen! Our bulging eyes immediately lost their fear and trepidation. 

Waiting before us were shiny, freshly made caramel apples, plates of monster sugar and molasses cookies, and pulled taffy that had been carefully wrapped. The room was sweating with aromas of butter, caramel, and popcorn. Gramma G. was readying popcorn balls for wax paper wraps. “Now you children take whatever you please. It’s getting late and I think you are my last visitors.”

We were in Halloween Heaven! Taking one of each treat, we thanked and thanked. Gram was by far, the best stop of the night. 

All in all, this was the best Halloween ever.  Lots of treats. A few tricks. A little sip of vin for the cold ride home. Everyone had warm tummies and hearts. Momma, Lizzie, and John had exceptionally warm smiles. 

Momma combined all of our treats into several large jars and hid them away for safekeeping. That’s what we thought at the time, anyway. Everyday for a very long time, one treat showed up in our lunch and one was allowed after night chores. Quality memories for our farm-filled,  family of fun. 

Lessons Learned:

Halloween does not have to be expensive or elaborate.  Trading out old clothes provided authentic scarecrows, hobos, old ladies and clowns.  Shabby-Simple was the style of the day.

Neighbors were family.  Social times together were common among those nearby. Sharing meals, kids, pots of coffee, and baseball were neighborly things to do. “Love thy Neighbor” rang true.

Thanks for reading!

Living in various areas of the Mitten has provided me an assortment of living styles and cultural enhancements. Farm life with seven siblings was an early life blessing. Crazy busy, crazy fun. A teaching career of nearly 40 years introduced and raised my family in a large union town of blue collar. Eye opening, yet most rewarding, with additional manic challenges. Retirement gave me yet another taste of culture, its people, and environs. The Upper Peninsula, aka, Yooper Land became my life and living for six short (or long, depending upon one’s assessment) years. Yet more inane adventures and good humor. Seldom dull, a life plate of change, challenge, and choice has been served. 

Yes, six short years as a foster-Yooper was nothing short of gaga undertakings. Agreeing to this retirement option of residence came rather easily. Both daughters had graduated from college, married, and moved to opposite ends of the states. Land was reasonable, peaceful living was at hand, thus, one with nature called our names. 

I dove into yard love, designing and maintaining three perennial gardens. Long walks, journaling, canning and bread-making became second nature. Quilting, knitting, and crocheting turned into love creations. The “Ahhhh” moments certainly outweighed the “Oh boy, what was I thinking.”  

Taking odd jobs became countless experiences of wonder and joy.  Cleaning summer cottages, working part time at a gift shop, and that of a bartender provided ample adventures and a little pocket change. Although short in time, my bartending was by far, the most unbalanced and unexpected love. 

Located just off highway, U.S. 2, the “First Chance/Last Chance” Bar became my summer of 2012 employment.  Depending on which direction one was traveling, this beverage spot gave thirsty travelers the urge to pause for their cause. Heading east the sign read, “ Last Chance for the next 11 miles. Best food and dancing.”  In contrast, traveling westward advertised, “First Chance for the next 31 miles. Live music and dancing.” 

The tavern itself functioned on a shoestring. FC/LC had been freshly painted with a free five-gallon bucket of something sky blue. Trimming out the door and windows with assorted whites and off reds completed the tavern’s new, somewhat, patriotic look. Used, inverted truck tire planters adorned the front of the building. Colorful petunias completed the fresh look.  In addition, new carpeting had been donated and laid by a few of the local flies. Disregard the fluorescent, geometric design of this unmatched shag; the decorum improved with a scent of new and look of happy.  

Seating for about 30 patrons, FC/LC was open six days a week and needed one, yes, one Bartender/waitress/bouncer/cook/bottle-washer. What did I have to lose by offering to employ for a few days a week? Hours from 5:00 p.m. until close around ten, a  little pocket change in exchange for services rendered had me in the door. I would keep busy, entertained, and educated further in Yooper living and loving.

No menu existed, as an over-used, yellowed, message board approved the dishes for the day. As profits often appeared minimal, one never knew what meal options were available.  State health codes were vague, thus, the responsibility of preparing burgers, coneys, and fries were assumed, not taught. Easy enough. 

Liquid varieties of cheap beer and boxed wine were local favorites. Pabst, Milwaukee’s Best, Busch, and Budweiser were top sellers. Drafts at a dollar, cans and bottles at $1.50, and wine at two bucks made tabs easy to maintain. Hard liquor was available, however, it was best kept dusty and unopened on the back wall. 

Adding local flavor, a dozen or so usual flies composed the daily happy hour.  Milwaukee’s Best was often the liquid of choice. The blue can was cheap, reliable, and available. Of the couples that often appeared, at least one in the partnerships was an alcoholic. A gentle, well-oiled, seasoned alcoholic that often traveled side roads using cruise control.  

Tenacious, hard-living ways showed the true spirit of Yooper survival. Day in and day out, what appeared to be their ordinary, was in actuality, their extraordinary. They never ceased to awaken my imagination and awe. 

Small conversations regarding turtle trapping, bear baiting, and dysfunctional offspring were common topics. Recipes of pickled eggs, sucker patties, and venison jerky were sampled and shared. What I thought mundane and ordinary, they embellished into the magnificent and extraordinary. This was no time for correction or clarification. Enjoy the half truths while serving up the barley pops, weak vin, and chuckles. 

Throughout the summer, times and conversations of the like continued at the First Chance/Last Chance. Simple living, extraordinary from the ordinary, sudsed by cheap beer and boxed wine. A little pocket change in exchange for conversation and writing fodder. I wouldn’t change this chapter of experiences for anything. There’s nothing like a true Yooper!

Lessons Learned

Ordinary can be anyone’s extraordinary. Yooper life proved this over and over for me. Simple for one can be complex for another. Drama and priorities comes in all shapes and sizes.

Bears love bacon grease and sweets. A license to hunt bears is not easy to obtain, however if one is awarded, baiting becomes a priority.  One can purchase 50 gallon drums containing the likes of outdated granola and circus peanuts Yes, those soft, yummy orange candies are a bear’s sweet dream. Laced with bacon grease and they’ve got YUM! 

Suckers can be speared or netted with a laundry basket. Whether legal or not, survival of the fittest and most efficient is the signature of a true yooper fisherman! 

Thanks for reading! 

As stated earlier, ever busy, ever available, my life of fullness and energy seldom wane.  It often seems so easy to take on “just one more” thing, whether it be a job, volunteer effort, or simply helping neighbors run errands. I have succeeded in this juggling act for years. People, places, promises, and passion have won out over deep breathing and declining graciously. As a result, the spread on my table has become so full and overflowing that I often forget to enjoy the finer foods of loafing and bon bons. 

Reflecting this last week has driven me to pause and question, “Why do I do this to myself? I know better. What am I trying to accomplish?”  Overstuffing myself with busy will only bring misery and nourish minimal comfort. I know that! Yet, I continue to do. And do. And do. With deep and deliberate thought, I have made a few conclusions to soothe my validation for this normal crazy. 

First and foremost,  I have spent the last three years redesigning and reinventing a better me. A forty-plus year marriage had dissolved and I was alone, empty, and unfocused. Ridding self-doubts and worth would not be easy. Much to think, plan, fill time, and face independence. Stuck and miserable or proceed forward became my dilemma.

My years of positive influence on students echoed in my brain. Time to heed my own mantra of advice to others. Forward was the only alternative. Throw caution to the wind and forget there’s a speed limit!

Moving to a new city with few material possessions gave me initial strength. Unfamiliar space, people, and logistics could hold me back, or be my reinvention. Choosing the latter, I would have no regrets. 

I joined a church and felt immediate comfort. Volunteering there, along with three other venues, filled my time and focus. I met new people, learned to maneuver the city, and began the process of healing my heart and giving myself purpose. My life’s table was slowly, yet abundantly, getting served. Nourishing my soul fed the snowball of frenzy and overdoing. Guilty as charged.

Secondly, I am not alone in this business of having to be busy.  More people than not are givers, not takers. Giving of themselves and to others are common traits to those who want a life that is full and rich. To serve and give results in getting back so much more. We spin, spin, spin that wheel of life for a fortune of self-worth, appreciation, and gratitude. I love this spirit of giving and doing. Once again, guilty as charged.

As a result, time has come to refocus. Friends and family cannot do this for me. I must find and make use of that caution light. Follow my own advice and stay within a safe speed limit. It’s long overdue to give myself permission to SLOW DOWN. I do not have to be everything to everyone. Momma always said, “It’s difficult to say ‘No’ for the first time. After that, it gets easier and easier.”  She knew all along. 

It is my firm belief we all fall prey to these busy behaviors from time to time. Easy to carry forth, but much more difficult to slow down, take caution, and choose another direction. Yes, choose another direction and set new priorities. To kindly say, “No”. To find a calm. 

Yes, my readership, the week to gather my thoughts in a collective sense has given me respite to reset my table. Once again, the pleasure of dining on chill out with a good helping of ho-hum, is becoming ever so joyful.  A sense of normalcy has again greeted my daily tasks. 

Thank you, to my family and several dear, dear, friends who have encouraged me to “Relax and just breathe.”  I welcome this new diet of sanity and semblance. I am making cozy in my life. My servings of frenzy and crazy normal will be dished up at a future potluck. Oh, and by the way, I will decline the invitation! 

Lessons Learned

A caution light and speed limit are valuable assets.  These personal attributes are easily denied by the busy. Making them a part of life can only add inner peace and calm.

We must give ourselves permission to decline. Setting new priorities to focus on quiet and self by saying “no” is not a weakness. It becomes our strength. 

And as always, thanks for reading! 

All in life appears in place as normalcy greets our daily tasks. Ho-hum becomes our mantra. As mundane we may find this living, it does provide for sanity and calm. 

Every once in a while, however, a few blips interrupt the flow. That moment has arrived for me.

Call it a fumble, or possibly a curve ball.  I have been “Verlandered” so to speak. Whatever the fault, put me in the penalty box. I need a Time Out called!

Yes, as is normalcy for me, I have put too many items on my plate of life. Juggling activities, promises, and people. A buffet of mixed actions with little order. UGHHH!

My Lucy mind has arrived once again.

Admitting this weakness I own is not easy. Ever busy, ever available, I love my life of fullness and energy. Calm, however, has come knocking on my door. Time to take a break. Time to reflect and reassess my energy.

As a result of my crazy zest for spirit and aliveness, I ask that you, my reading audience, understand and accept my need to breathe this week. Rest, refocus, and reflect. 

I’ll be back next week and the table will once again be set for your reading pleasure. Thank you all for the experiences I have shared on a weekly basis.