Just about everyone decorates the exterior of their house for the holiday. And most of the families, save the conservative Christians and the Mormons, are home to hand out candy or whatever on Trick-or-Treat Night.
It’s the one time of year when adult neighbors, often with a bottle of beer or a glass of wine in hand, sometimes in costume, accompany their kids to our doorstep, then actually acknowledge and speak with us.
Trying to set a good example for the kids, I suppose. Be cordial. Even if we, your parents, can’t be arsed to say “hello” under any other circumstances.
Be that as it may, I still find it to be a fun holiday.
If only because little kids dressed up are a hoot to watch stumbling around the streets. And because bigger kids are a hoot to talk with as they try to barter for more candy. Both make me laugh.
In the past, on evenings with perfect weather, we’ve had 220 beggars. Because this neighborhood is growing, with many new homes built this past summer, I’m planning for 250 kids who will get a piece of candy OR a bloody eyeball OR a nickel.
And if we’ve handed out all of that before the 2 hours of begging is over, I think we’ll take our chances, turn off the lights and hope that these kids don’t know about soaping windows!
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So what’s up with your Halloween plans, my gentle readers? Share your spooky or kooky in the comments below.
It’s that time of year. Spring. And my half of our clothes closet is a mess. As usual. Just ask Zen-Den.
So I’ve decided to be strong, be decisive, be ruthless… and sort through my clothes. And accessories. Because it’s not doing me any good having all this stuff piled up hither and yon.
I crave a calm, organized closet. Angst-free.
Encourage or discourage?
But here’s the issue, when I start to organize anything in our home I hear my late mother’s voice telling me three of her stock phrases. The woman was nothing if not consistent. And cautious.
Waste not, want not.
Think it through.
So then after acknowledging that these phrases are bouncing around inside my mind, I become so filled with doubt that I do not do that which I set out to do. And the closet… or the basement… or the junk drawer remain messy.
Stumbling over the past.
It’s the oddest thing. I can let go of outdated ideas with ease. I can move on from rotten relationships as needed. But when it comes to objects that I’ve bought or inherited, I have difficulty deciding what to do with them.
Begging the question: how do you un-program that which a well-intentioned mother who grew up during the Depression programmed into you?
There must be an override switch somewhere, right?
I mean, I’ve always been told that it’s more important to know WHO you are than to know WHERE you’re going. Yet there I was on a bleak February day not knowing myself OR my path.
So I decided to dig in and determine what superpowers I had. Then I created this list. Perhaps it’s a bit lighter in tone than what Darcy has in mind, but it is who I am. Which I do believe is the whole point of this exercise.
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able to confirm that the color you painted your walls is not the right color.
able to laugh, more often than not, at the absurdities of life.
able to say thank you so many times in a day that it may sound insincere, but it’s not.
able to bring ideas and experiences together in novel ways.
able to determine within minutes of meeting someone if said person is a problem solver or a problem keeper.
able to sit on the curb and clap enthusiastically as the parade goes by.
able to find a way to avoid ironing anything, preferring to delegate that task to anyone with the patience necessary to get rid of wrinkles.
able to remember minutiae/information that doesn’t matter any more.
able to remember to write down minutiae/information that matters now, often remembering where said minutiae/information is after being written down.
able to pick myself up, brush myself off, curse about life’s inequities– and then start all over again.
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Now, I’ve shared my list. What about you, gentle readers? What are your superpowers? I’d love to know.