The Spooky Side of Halloween

This is how we usually decorate our house for Halloween each year.


But for this year... nothing.

We decided to use the time required for set-up towards installing a fence instead - something we've wanted for 12 years. So to make it up to our kids we've done a few other things to keep the Halloween spirit alive this year; one of these things was promising the 4 oldest kids a trip to the Haunted Forest. Allen and the 3 oldest kids had gone last year and came back with stories using the phrases 'totally freaked me out' and 'scared me half to death' which pretty much cemented in my brain that I would never have any desire to see it for myself. I mean, seriously, who PAYS for fear? Not me.

Until this year.

After numerous pleadings that I HAD to come and how it would be SO much more fun to go with someone who had never been, I caved. I live to please.

I had been to Knott's Scary Farm in California enough times as a teenager to know that the spooks and creepers can see fear in your face and that's when they target you. So my plan was to never look them in the eye.

Plan: FAILED.

Every creeper in that blasted Haunted Forest swarmed around me like I was the last piece of chocolate in a bowl of Halloween candy. And I didn't have to look at them... they would just breathe on the back of my head and I'd get the shivers and then they'd smell the fear oozing out of every inch of my body and follow me around relentlessly.

Can you say FREAKED. ME. OUT?!

Did it matter that I knew it was just a bunch of teenage boys for hire under those masks and cloaks? No. There is something about the whole atmosphere of a place that can dispel any words I had used to convince myself I could handle this.

Big 9 foot tall masked oxen? Gave me goosebumps. (made me scream) Freaky cloaked ax-bearer? Stalked me. Twice. (made me scream) Creepy clowns? Made me jump. (made me scream) White-masked chainsaw-wielders? MADE. ME. SCREAM. And that's the embarrassing part. I could not stop screaming! I would tell myself how ridiculous it was for a 37-year-old woman to be screaming at every turn in this blasted forest and to STOP IT RIGHT NOW but I couldn't listen to myself! Those stupid creepers made every last bit of common sense just disappear from my brain and I could not help being petrified.

When we finally escaped the maze I was exhausted. Every inch of my frame had been tensed up for the better part of an hour and I just needed to sleep. The next day I was aching as if I had done some strenuous sort of exercise the night before. But I will admit - in a strange way, it was a great time. Because who pays for fear? Me. And everything that was endured at night always looks better when you analyze it in the light of day.

For those of you who enjoy our home each Halloween, don't despair... next year we're going all out with some new features you haven't seen before - as well as a full-blown spook alley. And the best thing? At our house, no one pays for fear.

We give it to you for FREE.

Confetti

My posts for the next few days will likely be sporadic as I do not have regular access to an internet connection. However, a nurse was kind enough to let me in on a little-known place on the third floor where I could publish this today.

This post was composed in the earliest hours of this morning.

Sleep eludes me as I sit in this distant hospital room. All around me is silent except for the rythmic breathing from the bed beside me. I am lost in thought.

I am reminded of so many wonderful wonderful childhood memories over these last few days - memories of times past which bring me much happiness. Yet one memory seems to stand out among them all today; it is the memory of confetti.

Julz and I first met in the Bay Village apartments on the corner of Anza and Spencer. We were both quiet, shy young girls who enjoyed devouring good books. I do not recall the exact circumstances which led to our meeting but I will never forget the subsequent years which made us inseparable.

There was the summer that we took turns reading from Stephen King's IT until we were both so completely petrified that we could hardly walk near a sewer grate without the hairs on the back of our necks standing on end. Or the times we would drive endlessly back and forth on the local beach's esplenade in my parent's brown van, hoping to catch a glimpse of certain persons of the male persuasion. We would occasionally hang out with the nighttime crew from Albertson's grocery store or spend late nights just playing Pictionary and laughing at Julie's kitchen table. And these memories are just the beginning.

There were also the nights for confetti.

One integral aspect of our friendship was that it was so much more than just that. Friendship does not quite describe the association between Julie and I over the years. Somewhere amidst those late nights and laughter we became family.

It was not uncommon for Julie and I to have late-night cravings. We habitually wanted fresh donut holes or tall, cold milkshakes but we were not yet old enough to drive. This is where Julie's mom came in. She was always more than happy to get us to our destination - sometimes even when the rest of the world seemed to be asleep. We would wake her, make our request, then off we'd go to Dunkin' Donuts or Norm's at 3:00 a.m. We would return home and need another player for a round of Win, Lose or Draw and Julie's mom would happily step in and join us. These days are where the division between my life and Julie's began to meld and before I knew it I had a new sister and another mother.

Before the days that either of us could drive Julz and I would spend weeks at a time on the floor of her bedroom, cross-legged, cutting large pieces of colored paper into small pieces of colored paper, filling garbage sacks with millions of little treasures as we spoke in eager anticipation of the Big Confetti Day.

I will always remember how comfortable I felt in Julie's little apartment. I could talk to her and her mom about anything and everything. Julie's mom was always happy to teach me any of life's lessons that I didn't quite understand or needed some help with. They noticed when I was in need or struggling and offered helping hands, loving embraces, and of course there was always the food. Grilled cheese sandwiches, home-fried chicken, make-your-own-microwave-burritos, there was never any shortage of vittles. When I was at Julie's I was fed... and I was fed. Nourishment for the body and soul. And that's how it has always been.

When the Big Day came, Julie and I would sit, crouched, behind the bus stop in front of Bay Village. The veil of darkness would help disguise us from the view of occasional cars which would speed down the street. When the coast was clear, we would dash onto the road and scatter a few bags of our homemade confetti all over the intersection, laughing out loud, then run back to the shelter of the bus stop and wait expectantly for the show to begin. As the next car would come speeding past, the air currents would grab the tiny shreds of paper and throw them into the air, a rainbow of color cascading in all directions, whisked every which way; a paper rain-shower in shades of pastel and white littering the street with a surprising beauty - a sight to behold and worth every hour spent creating our spontaneous street party.

Last weekend I received unexpected and difficult news. My husband, understanding this extension of my family, encouraged me to fly 'home' for a visit. For hours here we have talked, laughed, reminisced and been fed. And now, here I sit in mom's hospital room, the dark earliest-morning before the Big Day, in anxious anticipation. I do not know what tomorrow will bring for my 'adopted mother', but I have had opportunity to gather up many colorful memories and recollections. And this morning I am scattering them about, hoping that this evening brings news that is cause for celebration. But regardless of what the day has in store, for me there will always be the splendor of the swirling, colorful confetti.

Dysplastic Nevi

My entire life goes into pause mode without my consent. My mind leaves my body behind and ventures off to some place I am not allowed to remember. And then, abruptly, my life is back in play mode, except that the pictures are jumbled and swirly and I can't remember where I am or why I'm there. Panic sets in. There is not one ounce of thinking involved - it is utter confusion and complete chaos causing my brain's normal functions to short-circuit. It is like being drowned in the deepest abyss and struggling to break the surface... only to realize it is just beyond my reach.

But in an instant things begin to change. I hear a voice calling to me but the words are uncertain. As the jumbled veil of confusion is lifted from my mind, my bewildered eyes slowly begin to focus on an unfamiliar face. I realize I'm on a table, in a doctor's office, with my arms raised at my sides, my hands firmly clenched into fists. My brain is parched.

She's coming back... I hear someone say. And then, It's okay, you're okay. Slowly, I begin to remember...

(Flash back to 10 minutes earlier...)

I came to the dermatologist for the first time in my life. I had a suspicious, teeny little mole plant itself ON my upper lip (not above my lip, I'm talking ON my kisser) and came in to have it checked. The doctor surprised me by preparing me for removal of this lip-invader right then and there, along with another spot that he noticed on the right side of my chest.

The needles came out (oh, how I hate needles!!), I was sufficiently numbed, and the removal was successful. Throughout the process I could not help over-thinking things. He is putting that needle in my lip... and now in my chest. The doctor is whittling off a piece of my lip with a knife! And now he is carving a crater out of my chest! The doctor announced his successful completion of the procedure. I was thinking too much. I was feeling woozy.

"You look pale," the Man Who Just Cut Out Two Hunks Of Flesh Out Of My Body said. "Do you feel all right?"

"Just a little nauseous," I assured him. "I'll be fine." He gave me some instructions and left the room.

I continued to lay there. The nurse asked me, "Are you sure you're okay? You look really pale."

"I think I'm going to...." And then I did.

And once I came back to reality, the nurse complimented me on the powerful punch I had packed in my right arm. Apparently, when I was swimming out of the abyss, I landed a solid blow to her shoulder.

If it had been the doctor, I wouldn't have felt so bad. Because I kind of think he had it coming.

Creepy-Crawly

What is it with spiders?

We, as human beings, are at least a gazillion times larger than those hairy 8-legged arachnids. So what is it about them that completely terrifies most of us?

For me, it's the unknown.

Is it a poisonous spider? Do I want to get close enough to find out? (NO.)

Can it jump? Will it jump on me if I try to capture it and set it nicely outside the back door? (Almost always, YES.)

And why (oh, HEAVENS, WHY?!) do they have to enter my personal space? Can't they be happy with the beautiful weather outdoors and just enjoy it, for heaven's sake? Even better... for my poor sake?

Today as I attempted to load our smallest munchkins into The Green Machine (a.k.a. Our Suburban), Hubba screamed.

Honestly. SCREAMED.

"A spider is in they-er!" he loudly proclaimed, pointing at the enormously hairy creepy-crawler who lay in wait beneath the seat.

I made all sorts of empty promises.

It won't hurt you, I promised. It won't bite you, I promised. It just wants to see what it's like to ride in a car, I promised.

Hubba and Curly looked me square in the eye and informed me with a look that: No, Mom, we are NOT getting in there with that creepy thing.

I acted completely put out that they would be frightened of something (just waiting to bite my toe off!!) so completely harmless and minuscule. I rolled my eyes, walked over to where the spider was last seen and pretended to pick it just as it retreated farther back into the shadows beneath the bench seat.

"See? I got it!" I announced triumphantly, holding out my (empty) cupped hands, walking toward the neighbor's flowery bush.

I pretended to set the spider free near the bush. "All gone!" I proudly proclaimed. "Now you can get into the car," I encouraged them.

As they climbed into their car seats Hubba scolded me. "The nay-bers are gonna be may-ad at you when they see the spider you put in they-er yard."

"Awesome," I muttered back as I buckled them in.

As we drove toward our destination, I began to think of the furry little traveling companion who was accompanying us on our drive. I hoped he planned to stay where he was. I started to feel bad that the kids would know what a liar their mom was if it showed up anywhere near...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" I screamed. I could feel it on my ankle! It was attacking me!! I shook my ankle furiously and looked down to see if the ferocious beast's fangs had embedded themselves in my skin yet...

A loose thread from my jeans was the culprit.

"What's a-matter, Mom?!" Hubba asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Ha, ha... just kidding. Just wanted to see if you guys were asleep!" I answered confidently.

After arriving home I searched every square inch of the vehicle to rid it of the spider once and for all. I considered it penance for the slight untruths I had told.

Nothing.

And so, the laugh's on me, furry friend. But know this. DO NOT FORGET THIS! The next time I see you or any of your relatives, you WILL die. In fact...

I plan to offer up a full dollar to the kid who is brave enough to smash you. Because despite the fact that you infuriate me, I am not going to touch you with a ten-foot pole.

Especially considering the fact that you probably jump.

Dad

-->

8 years ago today you silently slipped away

in the quiet morning hours

an escape from your pain, a beginning for mine

leaving behind only memories

in mental and tangible photographs.

It unsettled me

that the world could go on turning

without you here.

Time does not make the loss easier
does not fill the empty part of me
which still longs for one final dance;
the way we used to sway when I was young
and again when your time here was ending.

Yet, hope warms my soul

and your strength embraces me

when I need to face life's storms.

In moments of silence I often reflect
on the life you lived
and the love you left with us

a priceless treasure I hold closely guarded

until the promise of forever is kept.

Wooba Wooba

I have had so many thoughts racing through my brain today. Most were not blog-worthy. So, despite the fact that I wanted to write a blog post about my goals for the coming year or maybe even a recap of 2008, you get to hear the story of the demon of my childhood - the Wooba Wooba Monster.

The kids and I were talking about things that scare us. For All-a-Boy, it was the Zorgons in the movie Zathura. For Hubba it's flickering lights - he is positive "they are gonna blow!" For Coolister, ElemenoB and Thumbelina it was playing Uncle Chip's version of hide-and-seek called hide-and-scare. And that reminded me of the Wooba Wooba monster.

My oldest brother, Toby, was watching Sesame Street with Chip and I one day. For some reason we noticed a particularly freaky monster at the 'Monster Disco' that day - one with angry black eyebrows and fangs. Toby, being the oldest brother, saw the fear in our eyes and decided to mess with us a bit. Another monster said the words "Wooba, wooba..." at some point, which prompted the name of this furry green demon who would lurk beneath our beds and in our closets for what seemed an eternity.

I must admit, I had it easy. Before we climbed the stairs to bed Toby would simply say, "Gerb- look out for the Wooba Wooba monster. He's under your bed." Or, "Cover your ears tonight - the Wooba Wooba monster might call for you." Poor Chip shared a room with Toby and had to listen to the monster until he was finally able to fall asleep.

The monster knew only one word. Wooba.

Toby would lay in his bed and quietly start with a long, drawn out "Wooooooooba..." and then he would ask Chip, "Did you hear that? He's here!"

Toby is a good guy. (Now.) But I will be honest and say that I am a 36 year old woman who is still afraid of the dark because of that blasted monster. And here's why...

I had finally had enough. I knew the monster wasn't real and I wasn't going to let Toby scare me anymore! I was tired of checking under my bed and in my closet. He was never there! As I confidently walked to my bed, sitting on the edge to remove my socks and crawl in, two hands came from beneath my bed and GRABBED! my ankles, shaking them, crying "WOOBA WOOBA WOOBA!!" I screamed! I probably fainted! Toby crawled out from beneath my bed, laughing.

The Wooba Wooba Monster stopped coming after it scared Chip so badly that he grabbed some scissors and stabbed it through the hand. Funny what a trip to the E.R. can do to a person's desire to scare little kids.

Wait...

Why the heck am I writing this story for my blog?!

I have no idea. But there it is.

So, um... Happy New Year! And may your 2009 be Wooba Wooba free.

15th Anniversary, Day Two: The River

On the agenda for the second day of our anniversary celebration was a trip down the Snake River. Let me mention here that I have a greater fear of water than I do of heights. My fear stems from a combination of experiences with the Mississippi River (it was a bike ride away from my childhood home in Clinton, Iowa) and swimming pools.

I have never really considered water to be my friend.

However, this was a challenge! I was going to face my fear and CONQUER THE SNAKE! (if it didn't conquer me first)

Notice how confident I am in the above picture...arm in the air, screaming to the wind, "Bring on BIG KAHUNA!!" (Allen is 'riding the bull', on the front of the raft, and I am directly behind him.)

As we began to float down the river, all was well. The water was relatively calm, and no one was drowning. Our guide, Cristal, decided to shake things up a bit.

"I need a volunteer. Hey, you, in the front, what's your name?"

I remained quiet and looked to Melissa, sitting next to me. She was as scared as I was, but I was hoping she'd take one for the team. Peer pressure got to her and she volunteered.

Cristal thanked her and instructed, "You're going to 'ride the bull' through the first rapid. Just crawl up there onto the front of the boat, hold onto the rope, and throw one hand in the air."

Melissa declined. I think she said something like, "NO WAY." Someone else volunteered, and all was well. We made it through rapid #1, and everyone was still alive. I felt a bit safer.

"Who's riding the next one up front?" Cristal asked every time we approached a new rapid. I was egged on to volunteer every time. I told you I like a challenge, so in an act of stupidity and an attempt to be funny, I said, "I'm waiting for the Big Kahuna."

My loving husband saved me there. "I'll ride Kahuna. You ride another one."

As we made it through each rapid, I became more confident. No one fell out. No one drowned. I can do this, I told myself.

"Here comes Champagne. Gerberta, you climb up front."

So I did. And I rode like a mad woman, hand in the air, mocking the 12-foot waves as they crashed down upon me. (12 feet may be a slight exaggeration) I yelled, "BRING IT ON!!" as we fell down the 8-foot waterfall. (There may not have been any waterfall, either.)

When we came out of the rapid, I realized with amazement that I had survived!

As I moved back into position, Allen said to me, "I never thought I would see the day that you would ride on the front of a raft."

Just what I wanted to hear. I love to surprise people, especially myself.

The 2 largest rapids on this stretch of the Snake are Lunch Counter and Big Kahuna. At Big Kahuna there are photographers perched upon a rock that take your picture and sell it to you for a mark-up of around 500%. (I'm a sucker for pictures of myself doing things I thought to be impossible, though. I guess they count on that.)

As we approached the larger rapids, I became nervous again. They looked pretty big from far away. I imagined they were only larger as we went through them. I imagined correctly.

Apparently, I had chosen the wrong place to sit (up front, in the middle) because I was completely drenched each time a new wave hit the boat. We made it through Lunch Counter. Now it was time for the photo opportunity at the Big Kahuna.

And I made it. I didn't fall out of the boat, I didn't drown or die, and the boat didn't flip. I didn't get caught in a whirlpool, sucked into an undertow, or eaten by a piranha. These fears were all unfounded!

I dare say, I had the time of my life! What an adventure. And I couldn't wait to see the pictures, to prove to any unbelievers that I did this.

The pictures were ordered online. They looked grand.

When they came in the mail and I could see them more clearly, I realized that my attempt to appear bold and fearless came across more as....well, see for yourself. Here is a close-up from the picture above:Maybe terrified is a better word? But I still made it.

Later that evening we went to the Bar J Wranglers Chuckwagon Cookout and Show, where some very talented guys play a variety of instruments and sing cowboy songs for everyone. Here is a picture of the planners of this fun trip, Ken and Vickie (at left). Thanks, Ken and Vickie, for including us in an unforgettable adventure!


Stay tuned for Day 3: Star Valley & The Trip Home!