Monday, November 28, 2011

The Famous Christmas Tree Fantasy--Revised





I finally put our Christmas tree up this morning. I did it while Tommy slept.  There was Christmas music playing instead of a football game.  No one got mad, because the tree was crooked or in the wrong place. No sharp words were exchanged because one of us missed a touchdown while the tree was being assembled.  Everything went smoothly and fast, it was nice, but not what I call fun at all!!!  However, over the years I have gotten used to this. Sometimes a person just has to make their own fun....alone.

I have always had a Christmas fantasy concerning putting up the Christmas tree.  I wanted it to be a memorable, fun time for family and friends.

I wanted a party!!  All the family would attend. We would wear our best clothes and bring our favorite dishes for the buffet. 

The house would be lit with dozens of candles. The smell of apple cinnamon and pine tree needles would fill the air. There would be a live tree standing tall, full and regal.

The tree would be up and waiting for the guests.

Each person would put their own ornament on the tree. An ornament from some special time in their life.  Stories would be told as memories were added to the tree. Pictures would be taken of friends and family as they shared bits and pieces of their lives with each other.  Christmas magic would permeate the air.


Christmas music would be playing in the background. All our favorite songs would float among our guests. 

As soon as the tree was finally decorated and pictures had been made, we would share a toast to each other.

There would be laughter, hugs and kisses under the mistletoe. We would eat from the buffet and maybe dance. Everyone would have a good time.

It would be a perfect night, a perfect way to start the holiday season.  However, this is a scene from the soap opera "Days of Our Lives" and not my life at all. My fantasy for sure, but not my life.


We have never put up a Christmas tree in this fashion. We have done every thing else imaginable but not this.  I remember Tommy and me hiking through our neighbor's woods to find the perfect tree and getting lost!! We spent two hours walking aimlessly until we finally spotted our home. 

Another time we were once again in the woods, getting our tree, when the neighbors pit bull honed in on us with a vengeance. We escaped with the tree and our butts in tact.  However, the tree suffered quite a bit of damage in our run for our lives. We had to shape it up and in the process cut too much off.  The poor tree could barely stand alone in the bucket.

The girls didn't want anyone to see that tree!!!  Neither did I.  Tommy offered to buy us a real tree, but we worked hard on that tree and we kept it. It was a memory maker for sure. Ugly, but a memory maker none the less.
 
That was our last real tree.  No more would we have to worry about freezing to death in the woods, or arguing over who drug the tree and who packed the ax.  Both weighed a ton by the time we reached the house. 

Tommy always worked the 11-7 shift at the Fulton Reception and Diagnostic Prison.  He would get up early to spend time with us and then  catch a nap before work.  Half way through decorating the tree, Tommy would go to bed.  He'd give me a kiss and say he "would see the tree when he got up". The girls and I would then finish the tree. We usually made fudge and cookies earlier in the day.

We would light the tree and eat all sorts of good treats while the Christmas music played. It was fun while it lasted. But kids grow up, and get lives of their own.  Just the way it is supposed to be.


When the girls started dating, some young man would call and they would be gone in 30 minutes, or one of them would have to work and Melodi and I would finish the tree.  Tommy would be asleep, it would be ready when he woke up.


The girls left, one at a time, and for the past 17 years, I have put the tree up by myself. Finally, it became the norm.  When it is all done, I turn off the lights and plug in the tree.  I sit there in the dark, drinking coffee, listening to Christmas music and remembering other Christmas seasons. While I miss the girls, I enjoy remembering stories of Christmas' when they were young.  It is a very special time for me.


This is a ritual I do every day until Christmas is over. I enjoy the tree, it is my favorite part of Christmas. Over the years, I have become jealous of my morning time.

As for the fantasy, well I still have it, but in reality it is not going to happen.  It is a fantasy and fantasy's seldom come true.  That is not a bad thing either.

We need dreams, as long as we remember to be very thankful for all the truths and love we actually have in our lives. As long as we remember what is real and appreciate its existence.



Saturday, November 26, 2011

2 a.m. Drama

Somewhere in my slumber I hear a name, feel an urge, know a memory. 
Something wants out, to be put on display, written and acknowledged.

Waking slowly, I slip out of bed unsure of what my mind is thinking.

My mind's eye is in charge--our muse is dancing, she is laughing, gleefully dictating words that I do not speak, talking faster than I can write. The party has already started. I am the last to arrive.

The mind races trying to keep up with the band. I hear a perfect sentence and in a second it is gone. I need that sentence, but it is gone...I can't conjure it up. It is out of reach but still close. It refuses to budge. It dances with my muse in the fringes of my imagination, just out of reach, only vaguely familiar.
Elusive, fleeting, fading.....then gone.
With it goes my story.

Creatures who will never breathe, never live and never die, unless I say so, are gone.

Sobering thought. Followed by a sigh, a yawn and  the promise of sleep.
The story escaped tonight.

Crawling back into bed, trying to remember and failing miserably, it is released. I yearn for sleep, knowing it will not come easy or fast.

Muse have fun!

 Another time, please make it soon.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Our First Thanksgiving--1970

Our first Thanksgiving as a married couple was in 1970.  Tommy was in the Marines and we were stationed in Yuma, Arizona. We were 2,000 miles away from home.  I was 8 months pregnant with our first daughter, Lisa....and we were broke.

When you only get $97.00 every two weeks and a $100.00 allotment and the rent is $140.00 a month, there is no extra money. Of course things were cheaper then.  Utilities were included in the rent. Gas was 25 cents a gallon and our car was paid for.  I had received it for graduation.  Mama and Daddy officially gave it to us when we got married.


The only debt we had was my wedding rings. I think they were $15.00 a month for two years.  We were kids. We were in love and money or the lack of money did not bother us at all.  UNTIL November rolled around and we couldn't afford a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.

If we had a turkey, I wouldn't have known how to cook it. But that was beside the point, we wanted a turkey and dressing  with all the trimmings.
 

We didn't want anyone to know that we had run out of money and were flat broke.  That was embarrassing to us, so we agreed not to tell anyone back home.  

I remember my mother was scared I was going to kill us with food poisoning. She would call and ask me how I was fixing the turkey. She was so relieved when I told her we were having dinner with friends, and that Shirley was cooking the turkey.  I didn't tell Mama that Shirley couldn't cook, either.


Enter Brooks and Shirley, friends in the Marine Corps with us. They were broke too!! However, they had a turkey breast in the freezer and said if we could bring the rest of dinner, they would fix the turkey.  We decided to have the dinner at our apartment, because we had more room than they did.


This was a deal neither of us could pass up. Shirley and I planned the menu. On paper it sounded delicious.  In person it was far from delicious, but it was fun!! 

I was supposed to make the dressing. Only problem was, I had never made dressing before. Tommy and I cooked it together. He grew up cooking so he helped me all the time.  All things considered, it tasted pretty good.  I forgot to put celery in it and I added too much sage but we ate it and no one died.  That was a relief.  We also had canned green beans, candid yams, corn and dinner rolls. I made a chocolate pie that we had to eat with spoons. It never did get thick.  


Shirley didn't know exactly how long to cook the breast and it was a little on the dry side.  It was a lot on the dry side. We just added gravy and wolfed it down. We had a good time and laughed all through the meal.  Compliments were flowing, like we were dining at a four star restaurant.


We ate by candlelight. The candles were red and from our Christmas wedding the year before.  Our table was barely big enough for four people to be seated in comfort.  One of the legs was propped up on a Sears catalog. Music was playing in the background. It was delightful.


Later, we all drove out to the desert to watch the sun set.  The heat was bearable then...even pleasant. Sometimes there would be a chill in the air late at night, but not that night.  The colors of the sunset complimented the earth.


A desert sunset is remarkable. It looks as though you can see forever. The cactus and sagebrush take on a completely different look, almost eerie, as the sun goes down. 


We sat on the hood of our car and wished on stars as they appeared in the night sky. No one told their wishes, if we did they wouldn't come true. 

I remember my wish....I wanted to be a good cook and to be one soon.  It came true, but it didn't come easy or fast. It was a learning process and one filled with so many goofs, unexpected tastes and smells, stories and laughs. I learned that I cannot bake fish and a cake at the same time.  It is impossible to tell which one you are eating. The cake tastes like fish and the fish smells like cake.

In hindsight, I wouldn't have had it any other way.  The stories, the memories  were the best part of a life long learning experience. One that keeps on going until today.









































































   


Thursday, November 17, 2011

November 22,1963 My Story as I Remember It

In every person's life, there are days that will always be remembered. All any stranger or friend needs to say is, "Where were you when President Kennedy was assassinated?" Instantly a vivid story comes to mind.

It was Friday, November 22,1963.  I was a freshman in high school.  We had just finished lunch and were sitting  in Mrs. Walker's English class.

I remember the day was cool and the sun was shining.  My seat in class was the last row, second seat from the front, by the wall of windows. I was sitting in front of Tommy.  Mrs. Walker was at the chalk board writing, when our class door opened.  Mr. Phillips, our principal said, "The President has been shot in Dallas."  There was a low murmur in the room from the students. Disbelief was a tangible blanket in the air. Shock, an emotion most of us knew little or nothing about had spread across the room in an instant.

Mrs. Walker sat down at her desk and put her head in her hands. I think she was praying, I know she cried.  I turned around and asked Tommy if  Mr. Phillips, said the President was "shot or dead". He wasn't sure either.

I have no memories of school for the rest of the day.   I think we were dismissed early but I am not sure...the more I think about it we probably stayed in school. Our day was almost over.  I do remember racing to my grandmother's home as soon as I could.  Mamamae was watching the news, as I walked in the house.  Neither of us could believe what our eyes were seeing. By the time I reached home, it was confirmed---- the President was dead.

The televisions at that time were in black and white with small 19 inch screens. The news coverage was nonstop.  The police, FBI and CIA were looking for the assassin or assassins. The news commentators were filled with emotion as they reported the rapidly changing news.


America was glued to the tube. In our small town, it was announced that the churches would be open to the public 24 hours a day, for those needing to go there and pray.  Mamamae and I went several times.


At home, we sat in awe and with tears flowing as replays of the day were shown.  We saw Jackie Kennedy and our hearts went out to her.  There were no political lines drawn in the sand. We grieved with her, and for our First Lady and her children.


We watched as Lyndon Johnson was sworn into office aboard Air Force One as President Kennedy's body was being transported to Washington, D.C.


We were stunned when Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested for the assassination. We, as a people, could not get enough information fast enough. There were special edition papers printed to keep up with the influx of news stories.  History was playing out in front of our eyes. None of us were prepared for what was happening in our country.


I went to Sunday School the following Sunday.  I came home to see what had happened while I was in church. Oswald had been arrested earlier and was being transfered around noon. I wanted to see this. I turned on the t.v. in time to see Oswald being escorted down a long hallway. A man steps out, Jack Ruby, and shoots Oswald dead.  I thought I would throw up.  Mamamae came into the room and said we needed to get back to church.  That was the first time I ever told an adult, "No".  Then I explained what I had just seen. Mamamae's face turned ashen.  She reached out and hugged me.  We then silently turned and sat down on the couch.  Our minds trying to absorb what our eyes were seeing.


It was a time of passion and love for the Kennedy family. A time of disbelief for our nation. People cried openly and unabashedly. We were a nation grieving. It took a long time for our country to heal.

The unimaginable had happened for the second time in our history. Only this time we witnessed it all. It happened not in history, a hundred years ago like it did with President Lincoln, but right in front of our eyes.  It was too much to absorb, however we did absorb it. We watched, we prayed, we cried. We had our own conspiracy theories taking shape in our minds. As a nation we pulled together, as Americans always do, when disaster strikes.  However, none of us remain unchanged.  We all have a personal story to tell about that strange time in our lives.  This one is mine.

Monday, November 14, 2011

The "Perfect" Deer Stand?????

Yesterday was the first day of "deer season". For the next 9 days, the woods will be alive with hunters, trying their best to shoot a deer.  My husband loves this time of year.  His only regret is that, I do not like to hunt.  He would give anything if I did, but I don't.  For years he made me go with him at least once a season.  Once was usually enough, for both of us!!!

I am not a hunter. If we were starving I could kill a deer, field dress it and have no qualms.  But we are not starving and I don't want to hunt.  That is not my idea of fun.

The first time we went hunting was about 25 years ago.  We had scouted the place out.  My tree had been picked where I was supposed to shoot a 10 pointer.  Right!!!  My gun was spot on, no chance of me missing. Right!!!!  All I needed was a good deer stand.


I told Tommy what I wanted and he said "No problem".  He would make sure it was safe, not too high up in the tree and had a railing around it so I wouldn't fall out. That isn't a lot to ask and I felt sure everything would be fine.  I should have checked out the deer stand before opening day.  My idea of "safe" and his are two completely different versions of reality!!

My idea of a deer stand is what Tommy calls a "penthouse". It has a floor, railings and a seat---that's it. So why was I so surprised on opening day when I go to my stand and see where I am supposed to spend the next week?  Tommy told me that I would "love" my stand, not to worry that he had it fixed perfect.  I should have had him define "perfect" a little better.


We get there before daylight.  All the while he is telling me again what to do if I get a shot at a deer.  I am dressed in his camo and wearing a pair of his boots that are a couple sizes too big. I am anything but quiet as we walk through the woods.


When I first see the stand, I can't see it at all----it is that high up in the tree. Tommy has hammered spikes in the tree for me to climb on to reach my stand. They are about 2 feet apart until the last one and it is at least 3 feet to the stand. I don't want to climb this tree.  However, somewhere between the truck and the tree, I lost my right to protest. According to Tommy,  I was climbing the tree and I would like my deer stand and I would get a deer.  Well alrighty then......we shall see!!!


As I am climbing the tree, Tommy is waiting down below to make sure I make it and to hand me my gun. I get to the last spike and can't reach the deer stand!!!  I am afraid to move. I have all the clothes on in the world, and I can't get my leg up 3 feet to the last branch where the stand rests.  I need another spike. That is when Tommy informs me "there are no more spikes. He has used them all and ran out before he got through".  I knew then we were not going to have any sort "of bonding experience".

Tommy keeps telling me to "Move" and I stay silently still right where I stopped.  Finally he comes up the tree and starts pushing on my butt to make me go up the tree. So I moved!!  It was either that or get pushed out of the tree!!! 

Finally, I get up to the stand only to balk again.  Somewhere there had been a huge communication gap in what a "penthouse" deer stand resembled and what Tommy actually built. And I use the word "built" very loosely.  Tommy's idea was, one board placed across two tree limbs with a white bucket to sit on and a 2 x4 nailed in front for me to place my rifle on.  That was my "penthouse"!!!


I wanted to go home but knew better than mention that little point.  Tommy hands me my rifle and tells me to have a" good time."  His parting words were, "Don't move around too much, that bucket isn't attached to anything and it might slip on you." 

Move???  are you serious, I am riveted to that plastic bucket!!  My parting words to him that day were "F... You!!!!"  And I meant them from the bottom of my deer stand!!


For 4 hours I sat on my bucket and thought of all sorts of ways to get even with  Tommy.  Before noon, I hear a gunshot coming from Tommy's area.  About an hour later he comes over--beaming. He shot an 8 pointer and we are going to drag the deer out to the truck. 


I was excited for him. All I had to do was get down out of the tree!!!  It wasn't pretty---it wasn't graceful but I did it. I was once again on terra firma and for that I was thankful.


We drug the deer to the truck and soon we were home, drinking coffee and telling lies.  He was
proud of me for going. I was proud of him for getting his deer and was thanking God I was in a warm home again.


About this time he utters words that still send chills down my spine. "After lunch, we will go back and get you a deer.  Just think we can hunt until almost dark!!!"    Sh*!*!*!!!

Friday, November 11, 2011

The War Dance

When I think about war, and I do that a lot, I think of it on a personal level.  Life and it's choices, are never black and white in my mind.  I live in the gray area. I live with the what if's and a ton of shoulda, woulda, coulda's. 

I think to myself, if I lived in a country controlled by a dictator who ruled with an iron hand, where there was no freedom of speech or human rights,  I would pray for help to whatever god I knew. I would pray that someone ---  somewhere, would save me and my family. In my mind the list broadens out to friends and co workers, people in my town.  There is no place to stop in this scenario.  I would pray for deliverance for my country.

It is with mixed feelings that I write this.  It is hard to live in the "gray area".  I know me and I know that if I lived in a border town in Mexico---I would do everything in my power to get my family to America. I would like to think I would do it legally, however I would do it any way I could.

If I lived in a ghetto in the United States and feared each day for my child's life, I would do my best to get us out of the ghetto. Whatever it took, I would do.

If I lived in Somalia, I would be praying for food, water, deliverance from someone--somewhere.

These same thoughts and feelings go for every part of the world where people suffer at the injustice of a harsh government.  Governments that bind its people instead of letting them be free. If I lived in any of these places I would want someone, somewhere to help me.  If I could not help myself, I would pray for intervention on my country's part. Would my prayers be answered?  I do not know, but I would try.


However, to help these people, our young men an women, all over the world, have to sacrifice at times their lives. Is it worth their sacrifice?  For the person in the country praying for help, the answer would be "yes". Until the bombs started falling, their land is blown to pieces, and friends and family are killed or maimed for life. Freedom comes with a great price for all involved, it is never free.

For the families of the young soldiers, I am not so sure the answer would be "yes". There is pride in our soldiers duties and there is also the love of a child or mate. Love wins. It is a mind boggling thing to send a love one to war. How can the possible consequences be justified?  They can't. It is just something unknowingly done by soldiers every day--somewhere in this world, while the families wait and pray.

Throughout history there have been wars and rumor of wars. Every freedom the world knows has been fought for and won at the expense of many a young persons life. This will never change. It is called life and it is called war.  We live and we die by what we believe in, one way or the other.  Are we always right?  Perhaps not always, but I still think, if I were facing a wall with no hope and no answers in sight for a better life----I would pray for someone, some where to help me and mine. 

I still do not know how I feel about war. I have muddled this over and over in my mind for most of my life. I believe there are things and beliefs worth fighting for, no matter what the cost.  I believe that once our country makes a commitment to a war, we support our troops. I also believe that where "much is given, much is required".  We are a blessed nation.  With that comes responsibility. 

To me, war is like a slow, treacherous dance. Someone leads and someone follows.  The moves are seldom the same. The dancers listen to the music and do what they feel or have been taught. They twirl, they sidestep, they stumble and they step on each others toes. The lead changes many times during the dance.  Is it supposed to, no but it does just the same. When the dance is through the couple either walk away together, or they leave each other on the dance floor, both going back to what was before.  Soon the music starts again and the dance is repeated, with different partners.

When all the wars now being fought are finished, and the dance is done;  we can hope that song will never be played again.  In my heart I know this is not true. Someone, somewhere is writing the next song, and waiting for their turn to dance.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Veteran's Day Remembered




Upon entering Arlington National Cemetery, the first thing seen is this metal sign, reminding us that we are walking on hollowed ground. It is good that it is there, however it really isn't necessary.  It is impossible to enter those gates and not feel the impact of lives lived and lost for our country.  As far as the eye can see in any direction, are row upon row of headstones, marking the graves of men and women who fought and died for their country, for our country.



The above picture is of Section 35, the flag flying is on one of two flag poles on the grounds. The cemetery consists of 624 acres. Grounds that once belonged to Robert E. Lee's wife. Their  home was there and still stands to this day.  An odd reminder of how war does not discriminate against anyone.  The Lee's lost their home due to the fact that in 1861, Gen. Lee joined the Confederacy. When their taxes came due, $97.00, Gen. Lee could not return to pay them and as a result the American government confiscated his home. It was used as a headquarters for the Union and as a hospital for her soldiers. This is just one of many stories the cemetery has to tell.
    
Everywhere I looked, I felt humbled and proud at the same time. President John F. Kennedy and his family are buried there. The eternal flame burning in the sunshine and the rain. 

The tomb of the Unknown Soldier resides in Arlington National Cemetery. It is guarded by soldiers day and night. Each soldier doing 8 hour shifts, no matter what the weather may be. When the East coast was hit by the last hurricane of the summer, the winds were so strong it made walking nearly impossible. The guards were allowed to leave their posts. None of them did. They all declined and continued their duty to the Unknown Soldiers. This fact alone describes the Cemetery.  It is in honor of those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. 

Veteran's Day is approaching fast.  Flags are flying everywhere.  Memorials are being planned, and this is a good thing. In May, on Memorial Day we honor the soldiers who died for our country. In November we honor the soldiers who fought for our country and lived to tell the story.  To me on each holiday, I remember and honor both the living and the dead. After all where would we be without them?

Each day in Arlington, around 35 funerals are held. That alone should make us stop and think about what it is like to go to war.  To face challenges they never thought possible, when they were children growing up.

They were men and women just like you and me.  People who were either drafted or felt the call to join the military. It is a heavy decision to sign papers and literally give your life up for a certain amount of time  in defense of your country. It is one few take lightly.


Once the papers are signed, no one knows the outcome.  Most men and women return home. None ever return home unchanged. 


The Vietnam Memorial put my feelings into actual words.  It is a small plaque 3 feet by 2 feet, made of black granite.  inscribed are these words.....
"In memory of the men and women who served in the Vietnam War and later died as a result of their service.  We honor and remember their sacrifice."


I believe this to be a truth for all soldiers everywhere.
For whatever it is worth----thank you.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Halloween----A Three Part Story---for Olya

When I think of Halloween, I have very mixed emotions. As a child, I never liked Halloween.  I was about 9 years old, before I went trick or treating. I was always scared of the Halloween costumes and the people in them. I liked the candy but could do without the rest of the customs.

My mother also hated Halloween. Missing Halloween was never a problem for Mama.  It was not in her nature to like the scary or ugly things in life.  She was always glad when the night was over.  I guess I picked up on her vibes, because I have never been a big fan of the day.

It is odd that 2 of the most important days in my life happened on Halloween.  The first was when Tommy asked me to marry him--the other was a year later when my grandfather died and was buried on Halloween.


Tommy asking me to marry him was a big surprise...or treat indeed.  We had talked about getting married and had even made vague plans however, when he slipped the engagement ring on my finger, I knew it was really going to happen.  We would be married soon and be together for the rest of our lives.

It was right in the middle of the Vietnam War and our lives,and our country were completely unsettled.  He didn't want to go to war and leave me, not knowing how he would return.

I didn't want to be left.  He was a soldier and I wanted to be his wife, no matter what.  

His commanding officer settled the whole thing for us.  He told Tommy that he was not going to Vietnam and to get married and be happy.  That was all it took.  Two months later, we were married.  Six months later we were expecting a baby and moving to Yuma, Arizona.  Life can change on a dime.


I was about 7 months pregnant with Lisa, when Tommy received a phone call from my father, telling him that my grandfather, Harry Poe, had died suddenly that morning.  It was Oct.29,1970.

When Tommy started to tell me about Granddaddy, I got excited. I thought they had flown to Yuma to see us. In my excitement, I wouldn't let him finish telling me the news.  He got tears in his eyes and then he told me.


I cried so hard.  Lisa was kicking and then suddenly she got still and it felt like time stopped for both of us. Tommy called our doctor and he said under no circumstances was I to fly home. The chances of me loosing the baby were too great.  I was too upset and emotional to make such a long trip.  So we stayed in Yuma.

Earlier that day, I had received $20 from Mamamae and Granddaddy in the mail.  It was to go on the baby furniture we had on layaway.  Tommy said, that we should go on and get the baby furniture and assemble it the next day.  We did. 


It was with mixed feelings that we put the crib together. I was excited to have it home and actually see where our baby would lay.  But at the same time I was so sad because while we were planning for a new life, my family was planning my grandfather's funeral.

We got it all assembled and rearranged our room. I remember, Aunt Donna had crossed stitched us a baby quilt. Uncle Gene, put the last stitch in the quilt, making the quilt extra special. I still have it. When I placed it on the bed, it was perfect.

Granddaddy never got to see Lisa, but Mama was there for her birth, and Mamamae visited us the following week after Lisa was born.  It was an exciting time for us all. They stayed several weeks with us.  It was a healing time.  We needed Lisa.  We, as a family, needed the joy she brought back into our lives.


Granddaddy, Mamamae and Mama are all gone now, but their memory will live on as long as the people who loved them share their stories.  

I intend to tell bits and pieces of their lives. Things that were important to me. Things that I don't want forgotten.


Now I have a new reason to celebrate. My grandchildren, Jacy and Logan. They make Halloween fun again. Time has passed, healing has come and we can once again enjoy the oddest of all holidays--Halloween.



Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Life Lesson #485...Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say....Sort Of

Last night was Halloween.  Tommy and I went to Tami's house to Trick or Treat.  We ended up buying 7 bags of candy and passing out the treats, while the grand kids trick or treated with friends and family. It was a fun night for everyone.

We lit the 2 craved pumpkins, bought out lawn chairs, made a pot of coffee and placed 2 huge bowls of candy on the steps. We were set.  I had my camera ready to capture the "ghosts and goblins" for my scrapbook.

We didn't have long to wait.  Soon we were surrounded by all sorts of aliens, princesses, ghosts, and super heroes of all kinds.  

I enjoyed watching how the kids would act when we said, "Help yourselves to the candy, there is more where that came from."

One little girl sat down on the steps and looked through all the candy to find the 2 perfect pieces that she wanted.  I told her she could have more and she told me that in fact, she had exactly what she wanted.  Well alrighty then! 

After she left, Tommy and I started laughing and talking about how cute she was.  I couldn't believe the control she had.  Or how precise she was in getting exactly what she wanted and nothing else. We played a game, "what will they be when they grow up?"  My guess---a ballerina,  Tommy a musician.  We both agreed that whoever marries her, will have to be on his" A game" all the time, because that little girl has a mind of her own.

Next came a group of 3. A little boy about 8, dressed as a soldier, a rock star and a goblin.  When we told them to get what they wanted, the soldier went nuts.  He grabbed up a bowl and almost emptied it in his bag.  Looked at me and said, "You said I could!!!"  Hmmm, that I did.  I may need to rethink this strategy just a little.  Then to my delight, the "soldier" starts to smooze me.  He talks about his costume, showed us his boots and was completely delightful.  After he left, I looked at Tommy and said, "He will definitely work on Wall Street!!!"  Tommy agreed.

Finally a little girl arrives dressed up as Rapunzel.  When we told her to help herself to the candy, her actions put the "soldier" to shame!!!  She was all over that candy. One scoop, two scoops, three scoops and I grabbed at the bowl.  She grabbed it first.  "You said I could have all I wanted!!!"  and I did, but at that minute I changed my mind---she had MY bowl and would not give it back!!!

This was the beginning of our "dance".  I am trying to get the bowl and Rapunzel is having none of it. She wants what she wants and I had better get out of her way. I want my bowl, why I do not know---but I wanted it just the same.  We tugged up Tami's first step and down the second, until Tommy finally takes the bowl from both of us.  He fills it up again and looks at me in utter disbelief and sets the filled candy bowl back down on the steps. 

Rapunzel and I square off and then I decide that she wins.  Taking candy from a baby is downright hard!!!!

As she leaves I look at Tommy and say, "So, what do you think she is gonna be when she grows up?" He shook his head and said, "I am still trying to figure out what you are gonna be when you grow up!!!"  Hmmmm  and again hmmm!!!


We both agreed that the little girl would be a politician and I am not so sure she won't end up ruling the world!!


As for me, I am still working on Life Lesson #485. I have a lot to learn before I am ready for lesson #486. This one is gonna take awhile.