Halloween Story

Halloween Night  I was jolted awake by shrieking outside my second-floor bedroom window. My heart  pounded wildly as I peered at the alarm clock--3:25. Again there was the unearthly shrieking, sounding like nothing I’d ever heard before. I bounded out of bed and ran to the open window, shivering as I peered into the darkness.

The moonless night was illuminated by only the feeble glow from a streetlight down the block. When my eyes adjusted, I could see a shadowy creature moving by the woods bordering my yard. The hulking figure stopped near a tree twenty feet away. It seemed to be staring up at me with glowing eyes. Terrified, I backed away from the window and moved to the side. I peered cautiously from behind the curtain for movement. The creature was now near a tree where the light was better. I gasped when I saw its size--it looked like a Bigfoot!

OK, this can’t be real. I live on a suburban cul-de-sac near parkland, not the deep forest.  There is no way there would be a Bigfoot outside my window. And yet, there was something huge walking on two

legs through the trees. To my relief it seemed to be leaving.

Oh no! It’s leaving! I suddenly realized I needed to get a picture. I snatched my cellphone from the dresser and dashed back to the window to catch a shot before it was out of sight. I knew the flash might attract its attention but a photo would be priceless.

Back at the window, cellphone in hand, I desperately scanned the treeline for movement. There was total stillness. Still shaking from excitement, I sighed in disappointment.

I gazed out into the trees once more before giving up. Just then, an enormous, hairy hand slammed against the window screen in front of me. I screamed and fell back on the floor. The shrieking beast was standing directly under my window and had destroyed it. All thoughts of getting a photo were now gone as I struggled to my feet and groped for the bedroom door. Running into the hall, I could hear the window crashing as it was ripped from the house. I ran down the stairs, dialing 911.

“There’s something trying to get into my house!” I screamed at the operator. “Hurry, it’s trying to kill me!” The 911 operator kept asking me inane questions as I frantically ran from one window to another to see where it was now.

Suddenly, three black SUVs pulled up in front. Two men-in-black exited from each, two came to the door while the others scattered to the area around the house. “Who are you? Where are the cops?” I asked in confusion.

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” they said as they pushed past me into the house.

I told them what I’d seen but they impatiently brushed off my questions. Moments later, a saucer-shaped airship hovered over my backyard. I heard a burst of noise and activity, then a brilliant light beamed down for a few seconds, winked out and the ship disappeared.  

The men turned on their heels, saying “Well, ma’am, that should take care of it. Sorry for the inconvenience. And, just so you know, none of this ever happened—remember that—none of this ever happened!”  

              

Standing on my front steps watching as they all sped away, I lamely called, “Who the hell is gonna fix my window?”                                    

(I'm an assistant coordinator of the East St Paul Speculative Fiction Writer’s Group. I wrote this for the Halloween Flash Fiction challenge. I'm also a member of a Women's Writers Group. I have published a family cookbook and now rest on my laurels and only write for fun.)

  

Happy Halloween

I recently went to a Halloween party for the first time in thirty years. A guy from my SF Writer's group had the bunch of us over and I had a great time. I didn't have a costume so I just wore my Garfield shirt.

I am really impressed with all the clever cookies that I've been seeing online Here are a few of my favorites.

                       The Walking Ginger-Dead?

                      Fang-tastically & Dentally Delicious!

                             Evil lurks everywhere!

The glass is greener

Once I was talking with a nurse who was the wife of a Baptist minister. She had recently returned from a women's group trip to Russia. She told me that she had been raised in a church that forbid drinking alcohol but all her life she had the notion that if she ever tasted alcohol, she would love it.

She said that every place the group went on the tour, they were served alcoholic beverages. Out of curiosity, she finally decided to try it. So she sampled everything they were served and, she announced happily, "I hated all of it!"

Borrowed image

Personally, I don't like booze either. Back in my dating days, I tried beer and couldn't believe anyone actually liked it. I moved on to sweet "lady" drinks like a sloe gin fizz, Tom Collins or Bacardi cocktail. Nothing really struck my fancy. I much preferred soft drinks and they were cheaper. I also hated the feeling of being tipsy--the lack of control made me feel uneasy and vulnerable.

I came to realize that I didn't much like hanging out with drunk people either. At the risk of offending those who enjoy the light-hearted camaraderie of drinking with friends, it made me feel out-of-sorts. I hated having a conversation with a boozy-breathed, cloying, erstwhile "buddy" knowing that they probably didn't mean what they were saying and wouldn't even remember it the next day. Basically, I felt like I was being used and at the same time, I felt like an outsider.

After I was put on medications that restricted drinking alcohol, I had a valid excuse for declining whatever was being served. I figure that since I quit smoking in 1972 because of sore throats, I've probably saved a small fortune on booze and smokes. It may seem like those who like to drink and party have more fun, but I find going out to eat and a movie is more my speed.

A peep from Ms Sparrow

I guess I've been sorta burnt-out on blogging lately. I'm approaching the 4th anniversary of "Ms Sparrow" and I'm still ambivalent about what she stands for. (Like, is she the sort who ends a sentence with a preposition?) Anyway, I blame my inner critic who won't let me get away with anything! I will be back.

Toddler Property Laws

Toddler Property Laws

You may have seen these before, but they are so laughably accurate it makes me smile.

1) If I like it, it's mine.
2) If it's in my hand, it's mine.
3) If I can take it from you, it's mine.
4) If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
5) If it's mine, it must never appear in any way to be yours.
6) If I'm doing or building something, all the pieces are mine.
7) If it looks like mine, it's mine.
8) If I saw it first, it's mine.
9) If you play with it and put it down, it's mine.
1) If it's broken, it's yours.

As a mother of four, a grandma and a great-grandma, I can attest that these are still true!

An offbeat salute to Mother's Day

I clipped this cartoon from the newspaper many years ago because it made me laugh. Dick Guindon's cartoons appeared regularly in the Minneapolis Star Tribune until he retired in 2005. I still miss them.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Welcome Spring!

My vendetta against the wild cucumber

( I wrote this several years ago. The wooded lot has changed since then. Several large trees have fallen opening it up to more sunlight so the wild cucumber isn't as bad as it had been.)

One balmy summer morning, I noticed that there were large-leafed weeds snaking up the trees and shrubs outside my bedroom window.  On days to follow, I could see the vegetation was rapidly spreading higher and wider.

I was becoming more and more alarmed as it threatened to spoil the view and invade my private little woods.  When I began to recognize trees and shrubs along the highways completely enshrouded by this same vine, I feared it was taking over the city!

I live in a modest townhouse that is blessed with a lovely wooded lot next door.  Because my bedroom window overlooks the glorious green property, I have always taken a proprietary interest in it.  As a result, I was overcome with indignation at this weedy interloper.  I resolved to do battle with it.

The wooded lot is lower than my lot and is separated by a four-foot high retaining wall.  As I walked around and entered from the street, I found it was cool and shady under the trees.  It was also swarming with hungry mosquitoes that were delighted to see me. Amidst the shafts of light streaming down through the leafy canopy of black walnut, box elder and cottonwood trees, I could see hundreds of small yellow-green plants with palmate shaped leaves growing profusely in all directions.  The larger plants had totally engulfed other weeds and shrubs, apparently hogging the available sunlight.  The mosquitoes lost their menace as I realized the extent of the invasion.

I advanced on the “enemy” and began pulling up as many small plants as I could.  I grabbed great handfuls of the fuzzy, sticky vines and flung them at the mosquitoes.  However, I soon realized the futility of this approach.  I switched my vengeance to the larger, more insolent weeds that were climbing the trees and advancing over the retaining wall.  I was surprised at how effortlessly the pernicious vines were uprooted.  I was able to draw up long strands of it into balls that were easily tossed aside.  I was making great swaths through the most heavily infested areas, but gradually I became exhausted and gave up for the day.  My socks were full of cockleburs; I was hot, sweaty and covered with mosquito bites, but I had definitely launched a worthy attack.

Around that time, I happened to read a magazine article about a noxious weed imported from Japan called kudzu.  It was originally thought to be an excellent ground cover, but it spread so wildly that it had become a serious problem in the South.  I was certain that I was the first Minnesotan clever enough to discover kudzu in our northern climate.  I phoned the University of Minnesota Extension Office about it and learned they would have a team of horticulture experts available to the public on Saturday morning at a location in my area.  I could hardly wait!

Saturday morning, I eagerly rushed outside to pull up some representative samples of the nasty vines and tucked them into a Cub Foods plastic bag.  I drove over to the Extension Office with my prize.  There were three experts seated at long tables to field questions from gardeners, weekend lawn warriors and frustrated weed haters like myself.  I stood in line clutching my bag until it was my turn.  I stepped forward, dramatically presenting my array of droopy sprigs and told the horticulturist my suspicions about a kudzu invasion.  To her credit, she took this news with a straight face.

After looking over the samples and consulting several books, she informed me that I had Wild Cucumber (Sicyos Angulatus).  The name originates from its resemblance to domesticated cucumber plants to which it is distantly related.  Although it’s not widespread, it is a native plant found in southeastern and southwestern Minnesota and along the Wisconsin border.

I was quite disappointed to learn it was a mundane weed.  It was not as prolific as I feared either.  It is found only in woods, along streams and roads and in damp, shady places where it can grow up to 25 feet.  The UM expert told me that the most effective way of eradicating it was simply pulling it up, mowing or hoeing.

Armed with this knowledge, I went back home to fight the good fight.  I made frequent forays into the woodsy lot over the summer pulling more of the weeds and concentrating on those producing seed pods.  If the plants are uprooted before the seeds are produced, the annuals can’t seed back the following year.  By the end of the summer, I was smug in the belief that I had won the war against the enemy. 

The following summer I was visiting my daughter, a suburban soccer mom, whose hobby is landscape-gardening a large back yard.  She took me out to see her newest plantings.  As she led me toward a “cute little plant” she found near some woods, I was first shocked and then amused to find my daughter was raising a young Wild Cucumber.

Friday funnies

Once in a while, you see a cartoon that makes you laugh out loud. Van Amerongen's Ballard Street always has a quirky assortment of older folks who never fail to amuse. Here is another funny one.

                                                                                                                    

I'm feeling kinda silly

Know your Turkey Parts--A primer on snoods.

I recently posted about four unknown tom turkeys showing up in the wooded lot. I was basing my identification on the fact that the toms all had long red snoods hanging beside their beaks as they paraded around in full display.

It turns out they were just the young "jakes" of the resident tribe. I didn't recognize them because the young males normally have just a short protrusion on top of their beak.

I have learned that when the male turkeys (also called gobblers) start displaying their tail feathers and dancing around, the protrusion becomes engorged and grows longer. According to a university study, females prefer males with a longer snood so it's an advantage for mating and indicates good health.

However, there are other kinds of snoods. I can remember my mom wearing one back in the 40's. They looked like this:

Now there are other varieties of headgear with the same name.

 

Modern snood

                                                
                  That concludes our snood lesson for today.     

You Know You're from Minnesota if:

It's been snowing most of the the day and more is supposed to come tonight. It seems like a good time to post these oldies.

You're a true Minnesotan if:

You're proud we make the national news 75 times a year because International Falls is the coldest spot in the country.

Your Dairy Queen is closed November through March.

 You know several people who have hit a deer with their car.

When someone says, "Uff da!" you look to see what happened, and you always smile when someone mentions Ole and Lena.

You consider 0 degrees Fahrenheit just another cold day.

You know all four seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter and Road Construction season.

Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow.

You can drive 65 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching.

You carry battery jumper cables in your trunk and the whole family knows how to use them.

It's a small bloggie world!

I got a nice "blog-buddy" surprise today.

It all started last summer when I was following the blog of ex-New Yorker Mitch Block at Mitchell is Moving. He posted pictures of the frequent religious parades passing his apartment in Sevilla, Spain. At that same time, I was following the blog of Sharon Wallace at The Odd Essay. Sharon and her husband were in Costa Rica and she posted pictures of the religious parade in the little village near where she was staying. I was struck by both the similarities and stark contrasts of the events.

I commented on Sharon's blog that she should take a look at Mitch's blog. After Sharon became acquainted with Mitch's Seville, she decided that she really wanted to visit there. The upshot is that Sharon and her husband have just arrived in Seville and met up with Mitch. She posted pictures on her blog today.

Last January, Mitch had posted pictures of laborers harvesting all of the Seville oranges from the trees that line the city streets. This triggered my memory of reading about Seville oranges on the blog of a sweet English lady at Barbara Blundell's Blog  the previous January. She was waiting for the Seville oranges to arrive at the green grocer so she could make her annual supply of orange marmalade. She said the season was very short so she had to rush to get them before they were gone from her little village store.

 

                   (All photos from Google images)
It's such great fun getting to learn about unique people all over the world and making these connections!

A little bit of humor

Josh, the neighbor kid

We had a little neighbor kid named Josh back in the seventies. He was an average boy with Dennis the Menace blond hair. His mom left for work in the afternoon before his dad got home, so we would take care of him for a few hours every day.

Bren's boyfriend Steve was over at our house one afternoon soon after we got our first TV with a remote control. Steve was sitting on the couch with the remote hidden next to him where Josh couldn't see it. He soon had little Josh tricked into believing that he was magically changing the channels on the TV by walking past it or making "zapping" gestures. Josh soaked up our admiration at his abilities. He was having great fun; magic powers are pretty heady stuff for a 5-year-old.

A while later, Steve was teasing Josh. The little boy turned to him and said, "You better stop that or I'll zap you and you'll be dead!" We were blown away at how we had created this little monster. We quickly showed him the remote and how it worked and explained it was just a joke.

As they say, "Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Since Josh was "babysat" by whoever was around when he came over, we pooled the money earned and bought a new stereo system to replace the old HiFi. Those were the days of LP records so it only had a turntable. My dad built me a big record cabinet because we had a very large collection by the late 70's.

I finally sold all those LP's to Cheapo Records for $20 in 2005 since nobody in the family wanted them. Most systems no longer had turntables and it was difficult to find needles for them.

In my lifetime, the recorded music format has gone from 78's to LP's (with an overlap of 45's) then on to 8-tracks (big mistake) to cassettes to CD's and now...MP3's and ?

Happy Thanksgiving Day

Quotes from A Robert Brault Reader

The Hope In A Two-Party System...

"The hope in a two-party system is that the party of 2 + 2 = 3 and the party of 2 + 2 = 5 can carve out a compromise."


First Rule of Political Debate:  "If there's no proof, deny it.  And if proof turns up, deny you denied it."


Heard in a Washington DC confessional:  "Bless me Father,  for sins have been committed."

And one of my favorites:

"Today I bent the truth to be kind, and I have no regret, for I am far surer of what is kind than I am of what is true."

Really outrageous recipe

October 8th was Fluffernutter Day. It is a New England sandwich that combines creamy peanut butter and marshmallow fluff on white bread. I have never eaten one but since I don't like that all-American kid's favorite peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, I'm not really tempted.

The Parade Magazine article gave the following recipe for a "gourmet" Fluffernutter sandwich.

On sliced brioche, challah or white bread, layer peanut butter, marshmallow fluff and thin banana slices. Close the sandwich and dust with white flour. Soak in 2 beaten eggs and coat with 1/2 cup panko. Then fry in vegetable oil until both sides are golden brown. Sprinkle salt on top and eat.

Although this sandwich would be way over the top, I must admit I'm a big fan of the ingredients. I have a toasted English muffin with peanut butter every day with my oatmeal for breakfast. I love peanut butter in all kinds of foods.

What's your favorite breakfast?

Just a token post

I've been in a slump lately and while I think of things to post about, I just can't gather my thoughts sufficiently to actually do it. I guess you could say I'm just plain lazy--and you would be right!

In today's paper, the daily Isaac Asimov's Super Quiz subject was British to American--provide the American term for the British term (e.g. Afters. Answer: Dessert)

Freshman level
1) Chemist
2) Rubber
3) Jumper

Graduate level
4) Hole-in-the-wall (cashpoint)
5) Crisps
6) Kitchen roll

Ph.D. level
7) Bog
8) Lay-by
9) Off-license

I knew numbers 1 through 6 but didn't know what the rest of them were. Bog only brings to mind a swamp,
lay-by brings to mind the store "lay-away plan" where you have them hold the purchases until Christmas when you have saved up the money to pay for them. Off-license kinda seemed like it might be liquor related.

So, here are the answers:
1) Pharmacist, 2) Eraser, 3) Sweater, 4) ATM, 5) Potato Chips, 6) Paper towels, 7) Bathroom or toilet, 8) Rest area, 9) Liquor store.

My version of a funny joke

This is a joke I heard years ago that really made me laugh hard. I have taken the liberty of embellishing it with childhood memories of the "olden days".

The ten-party-line telephone on the kitchen wall of the farm house rang. Ma was at the wood burning cookstove stirring a pot of stew for dinner. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the oven where six loaves of bread were baking. She wiped her hands on her homemade flour-sack apron as she rushed to answer. Her heart was pounding from the jarring sound as the phone rang again--one long and two short.

She grabbed the hanging ear piece, held it against her ear as she leaned into the mouthpiece and shouted "Hello?" She had to listen carefully to the faint voice on the other end of the line.  There were clicks as other people on the party line picked up the phone to "rubber neck". 

She ignored the eavesdroppers since she often listened in on neighbor's phone calls when she heard their distinctive ring tones. This was partly out of concern that there was an emergency so it wasn't considered more than a little nosy. Ma shouted "Hello" into the phone again to get the caller to speak louder.

It was her brother-in-law, Al calling from town. "Helen, is Arnie around?"

"No, he's out in the field on the tractor." Al's voice was more serious than usual, so she asked, " Is something wrong?"

"Well, we got a call from the Old-Folks Home and Grandpa died this morning. We wanted to let you guys know. So, we all gotta get together and plan the funeral, don'cha know. So, you have Arnie give me a call when he gets in from the field, OK?" 

"Yah, OK Al."

Little four-year-old Jimmy, wakened from his nap by the phone, came walking into the kitchen. He stood there in his stocking feet and bib overalls and announced, "I'm hungry."

Ma picked up the little boy and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She sat him down on top of two Sears Roebuck catalogs stacked on a chair and slid him up to the big round table with a kerosene lantern suspended over it. She stepped into the side pantry and grabbed a jar of homemade applesauce off the shelf. She unscrewed the heavy zinc-coated lid and put a dollop into Jimmy's favorite Mickey Mouse bowl . He dived right in.

Later, Arnie came in for his noon meal. When Helen told him about Al's call, he took the news of his father's death stoically. The old man had been failing for a long time so it was expected. They talked about how to tell the three kids when they got home from school. Little Jimmy sat wide-eyed, soaking in all the conversation about Grandpa.

When the family sometimes went to visit the old man at the Home, he liked to put Jimmy on his knee. Grandpa delighted in holding his pocket watch against the little boy's ear and watching as he listened intently to the ticking. The visits were usually short because Jimmy's three older siblings would get restless.

The confused little Jimmy finally asked about what happened to Grandpa. Helen and Arnie lovingly explained how God wanted Grandpa to come and live up in heaven with him so God took Grandpa away and that's why he died.

The afternoon was hectic with phone calls and making the arrangements. When 3:30 rolled around, nobody noticed the school bus stop at the end of lane except Jimmy. He saw his three siblings came trudging up to the house. He burst out through the kitchen door with excitement and ran toward them yelling, "Guess what, you guys? God killed Grandpa!"