Trick or Treat Kisses

Dad’s body died on Halloween more than 25 years ago.  His spirit had been gone for a while.  On that day, I found it bittersweet and oddly comforting that he left us on All Hallow’s Eve, the time of year liturgically when we remember our dead. 

My brother and I were with him when he breathed his last.  As we sat vigil that morning after a very long week of waiting, Ron and I talked quietly about Halloween’s past.  He didn’t think that much was special about the day during his childhood, at least not until the pranks of his pre- and early teen years.  Our dad was a prankster and some of that rubbed off more on Ron than on me.  In dad’s time the tricks were overturned outhouses.  My brother’s, as I recall, most often had to do with buckets of water and a surprise drenching of his buddies. 

So much has changed since I was a young trick-or-treater.  It was probably 4^th grade before I had some say in what I was going to be for Halloween.  There were no specialty stores for  costumes and decorations.   There was no concern about the treat your neighbor put in your bag and no orange lights, big purple spiders, or garbage bag ghosts and pumpkins up and down the street.  And one big difference is that in Buffalo we celebrated Devil’s Night (October 30^th) so we had two nights of trick or treating.  The first night you learned where to return for the homemade caramel apples, popcorn balls, or the invitation inside the house for hot apple cider.

My first spin-the-bottle kiss was at a Halloween party in 7^th grade.  I was wearing my dad’s blue jeans and old flannel shirt, attempting to be a hobo.  Nearly 30 Halloweens later I lightly kissed my dad goodbye.  

Kids don’t trick or treat where I live or work, so I don’t have to stock up on treats.  But, if I did, it would be candy kisses.  If you haven’t purchased what you’ll be distributing to the princesses, robots, and pirates that ring your doorbell, perhaps that’s what you could buy on my behalf, and I hope you’ll smile each time you give away a Halloween trick or treat kiss.

Marilyn

Lessons I Learned From...

…My cat

Try again.  Millie can have trouble jumping.  She miscalculates the distance between the floor and the seat on the gold swivel chair, particularly now that she’s a senior feline.  When she misses, she sits where her failure landed her and does what cats often do.  She licks her paw and swipes it across her face, covering up her embarrassment with a nonchalance air of, “that’s what I meant to do.”  Then, she tries again, because, after all, the sun streaking in on the soft cushion is awfully inviting. Try again.

…The sofa

Comfort isn’t always good.  For ten years I’ve comfortably – both in terms of routine and enjoyment – curled up on the sofa in the early morning and in the evening to read and write.  There are non-matching tables with lamps at either end so I have switched sides and have faithfully rotated the three sofa cushions, but the cushions now sag and the springs are less than springy.  This has forced me to try the other places in the living room to sit and I’ve gained a whole new perspective.  And my back feels better.  Comfort isn’t always good.

…My piano teacher

Make music with what you’ve got.  Miss Schaff, the piano teacher I had from 6^th grade on and who helped me prepare for my college audition, had spina bifida and spent much of her day in a wheelchair.  Even when your feet can’t reach the pedals you can still make beautiful music and help others to find the music within themselves.  Make music with what you’ve got.

…My car

Whimsy is important.  For nine years I drove a lime green 2002 VW Beetle nicknamed Sherbie.  Hardly a week went by in all those years when someone didn’t say to me, “I like your car.”  Kids always waved.  Like all Bugs, it came equipped with a plastic vase in which I put a something bright and seasonal and which added a sense of quaintness to my driving time.  That car made me smile.  Whimsy is important.   

…Back to the cat

It’s ok to ask for attention.  While a cat may be famous for its independence, Millie actually shows me that independence and belonging can coexist companionably.  She asks for attention when she wants and needs it.  Whether it’s a howl from another room, a jump onto my lap, or a very strong head butt that announces “I’m here,” Millie is quite intentional about letting me know it’s time to stop doing what I’m doing and be a playmate or hostess.  It’s ok to ask for attention when you need it.

What life lessons have pets, people, or objects in your life taught you?

Marilyn

Shades of Yellow

Growing up in western New York, an area dense with maple trees, autumn meant vibrant red and orange leaves for viewing, raking, and burning.  While I’m still partial to those colors for autumn, I’ve gained a great appreciation for the yellows and golds prevalent here in the Midwest and have adopted yellow as my fall color.

A primary color, yellow signifies joy, wisdom and intellectual energy, which is maybe why yellow pads of paper are associated with certain professions and canary Post-Its are the most common. Yellow slickers keep us dry in all seasons when we are outdoors and a yellow ducky helps kids enjoy the water inside.  

Perhaps because yellow is the first color the eye recognizes, it is the color of caution or warning, but in some cities a yellow traffic light means that drivers still pull into the intersection to turn left or a pedestrian considers it safe to cross the street.  Look for yellow school buses and taxicabs in Western cultures.  Recall the famous Yellow Submarine.  Enjoy rich butter on warm croissants, but remember it was the color of the required Star of David patches sewn onto clothing worn by Jews during World War II. Buddhist monks wear yellow robes.  While yellow universally makes us think of gold and wealth, it is also the color of cowardice and sensational journalism. 

Yellow is an optimistic color.  Cheery chrysanthemums brighten our days as we gear up for winter, both the season and phase of our lives.  Songwriter Ervin Drake wrote, “But now the days grow short, I’m in the autumn of the year, and I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs...”  I had a hard time knowing I was entering my autumn years, although now that I’m in them, I’m thriving. 

It takes courage and hope to let go of the things of summer, to know that the fruits of that season are done.  But fall brings us squash growing on vines on the solid earth and apples ripening on sturdy trees.  In our autumn years we find new things that ground us and a variety of golden and delicious ways to continue to grow.  Whether you’re still in spring enjoying forsythia and daffodils, in sunny summer, golden autumn like me, or have become like saffron, enriched and very valuable, may there be cadmium yellow both inside and outside for you today.

Marilyn

Courage is the most important of all the virtues, because without courage you can't practice any other virtue consistently. You can practice any virtue erratically, but nothing consistently without courage. Maya Angelou, poet

 

 

 

Early Morning Sounds

On school days my mother used to play the piano to wake me up and let me know it was time to come downstairs.  That got me through my elementary years until I was given an alarm clock and then a clock radio.  These days I wake up on my own, well before dawn, and hear the chirp of the cardinal mixed with the rumble of the train.  Saturday it was the sound of the cat throwing up (which is preferable to not hearing it and finding the result of that in the dark with my bare feet) that awakened me at 3 a.m.

In each new home it has taken time to learn the normal creaks of the building and morning routines of the neighborhood.  I’ve been in big cities, rural farmhouses, and campgrounds, on a plane, cruise ship, and bus at the break of day.  Seen the sun rise over the ocean, prairie, and mountain top.  Heard the thunder and the wind and enjoyed the beat of the rain on the roof and against the window while huddled under the covers.  Felt engulfed by the silence of fog or blizzard of white while straining to hear signs of life in the outside world.  Talked first thing with a newborn and the dying.  As a guest I’ve heard the sound of someone showering in another part of the house, the coffee dripping into the pot or tea kettle whistling in the kitchen.   

All of these are treasures, but the sweetest memory of early morning sounds are those long ago piano tunes. 

What brought that time to mind was when I had one of those experiences that maybe you’ve had or need to know is in your future. The other day as I was typing I looked down at the keyboard and wondered when my mother’s hands got attached to the ends of my arms.  Along with her wedding ring I saw wrinkles and a brown spot that surely was not there last week.

Comedian Milton Berle said, “If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?”  I never saw my mother’s hands at the chalkboard in the one-room school house where she taught or at a comptometer which she studied nearly one hundred years ago.  But I think of those hands – Lois’ hands – and of what I did see them do.  A lot was in the kitchen.  Kneading bread, rolling out piecrusts, stuffing the turkey, cleaning the oven, putting the dishes away.  Then there was tending the garden, running the Electrolux vacuum cleaner, crocheting afghans, counting the dollars from the church’s collection plate and marking the ledger, cleaning the algae in the aquarium we bought for dad’s 75^th birthday.  There were tens of thousands of hours of faithful doing in the history of those hands.  It was at the piano that she relaxed.  But now that I think about it, even there she served her family. 

Perhaps today or this week you, too, will recall an early morning sound that takes you on a roundabout nostalgic trip to a smile.  It’s worth lying in bed at dawn and musing about.

Marilyn