The Wave

The inside of my car was so hot I felt perspiration being sucked from every pore of my body as I drove back to work after a brief afternoon lunch stop at home. The only relief came from the rush of hot wind from the open windows that was created while the car was moving. There were no other vehicles around as I approached a traffic light that suddenly turned red. Reluctantly, I stopped and the sweltering became unbearable. I wondered how the light had been triggered, there were no other cars, or pedestrians that would have pushed the cross walk button.

Suddenly, from the bushes on the corner popped out two little girls like Jill-in-the-Boxes. They began to wave with a fervor reserved for stranded travelers seeking roadside assistance. I glanced back at the light, waiting for it to turn green. I realized it was the girls who must have pressed the cross walk button and stopped my “easy bake oven” on wheels. While concentrating on the light the sweat began dripping down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I could still see the girl’s frantic waves to my left. Feeling they wouldn’t stop unless I acknowledged their inconvenient prank I raised my hand off the steering wheel and wiggled it in a slight salutation. The girls broke out in huge smiles as the light turned green and I proceeded through the intersection. Looking in my rear view mirror I saw these little pixies press the crosswalk button again then jump back into the bushes, waiting for their next victim.

This was not my first experience with “wavers” but perhaps these were the most sincere. Until then those who waved as I passed by were generally standing in front of a business, holding signs with various slogans that said unkind things about their boss or about the business. I’m not sure why they waved at the passing cars. Perhaps they kept a tally of those who waved back, thinking this would validate their cause. I waved back because I’m friendly. To this day I don’t know how many strikes or protests I personally lengthened because I waved back.

Lately though this waving business has become, well, business. It seems that nearly every corner has a “waver”, someone holding a sign for a business, trying to encourage drivers to swing in and buy or partake of the service rendered. Spending a good part of my life in the advertising and marketing business I have a difficult time understanding why a business would resort to using a “waver.” Most cities have sign ordinances regarding putting stationary, permanent signs on a public right of way, such as a sidewalk. Using a “waver” is one way to skirt around those regulations.

I guess the “waver” works cheap. I’m sure they are paid minimum wage. I can understand using this form of advertising if your business was using a different location for a sale somewhere else. Or, many times “wavers” are used for liquidation sales. However, I’ve always felt that advertising is a window to their business and some of these “wavers”, well, unless a business likes people to think their business is full of crusty looking people, those used to hold these signs are usually not great representatives. Why not at least have them dress nice, such as formal gowns and tuxedos. That would add class and create favorable impressions.

There are all kinds of wavers. Some are human posts, holding the sign with sour, bored faces. Some wave the signs back and forth, giving some animation to the advertising. But, because the sign is wobbling back and forth it can’t be read unless you are a bobble head and can synchronize your head with the back and forth motion of the sign. Some try to hold the sign steady and wave at the cars passing by. I never see anyone waving back.

My personal favorite was a guy who stood outside Midas Muffler for several weeks. As cars waited for the light to change he would start dancing by swaying back and forth like a pendulum. He at least had people honking and pointing when they drove by. However, I never saw anyone drive into the place because of his show.

Some businesses apparently want the focus to be on the sign, not the waver. The sign holder is supposed to blend into the environment. Using plain, ordinary people dressed in camouflage works the best. There is a danger in using people who are too attractive. Driving down Main Street the other day I noticed a very cute young lady holding a sign with an arrow pointing across the street. However, I bet most drivers couldn’t tell you anything about the business because they weren’t looking at the sign.

Now, in an effort to gain more attention, businesses are making their wavers dress up in ridiculous costumes. I’ve seen Spider-man with a sign for cheap haircuts and pizza people advertising a cheap dinner. I even saw a guy wearing a card board mattress. Then there are the annual patriotic wavers for a tax service dressed as Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty. I personally would be a little fearful of my taxes being done by someone dressed in red, white and blue pants and a stove pipe hat.

For the most part, I think drivers are uncomfortable having someone they don’t know wave at them. Most people don’t even seem to notice wavers, driving by with invisible blinders like race horses so they won’t get distracted. When there are wavers on every corner they become an annoyance and lose any effectiveness. However, I always feel a little guilty and unfriendly as I drive by a waver. Perhaps it’s from my earlier experience with those little girls.

A few weeks ago I was coming in earlier for work. It was seven A.M and 26 degrees. As I approached the location of this tax service I could see the spikes of the Stature of Liberty poking out of the freezing mist. She stood motionless, holding her sign with one hand and her other hand tucked into her costume for warmth. I saw her try to muster a smile as I drove closer. Looking in my mirror to verify there were no other vehicles behind me, I applied the brakes, and while passing her at the speed of a slow parade, brought my right hand to my forehead and smartly saluted Lady Liberty with the frozen blue lips. Suddenly, her hand popped out from the ruffles of her dress and she waved feverishly. I could still see her waving at me in the rear view mirror as I continued on my way to work. After all, “wavers” are people, too.

Home Alone

Have you ever had a thought and then what you thought actually happened? I don’t mean that when you’re sitting on the couch watching the season premier of “American Idol” and the thought comes to you, “Hey, I think I’ll get some ice cream,” and then you get some ice cream. That’s not the sort of thought I’m thinking about. The thoughts I’m referring to are the ones that come in a snap of time, usually accompanied by a sudden sense of foreboding. It’s just a tidbit of warning that’s easily ignored and explained away. If we have a lot of these feelings, warnings, or worries we’re called paranoid schizophrenics. I worry about a lot of things, but the other day one of these warning shots fired through my brain like light fire. At the moment I am living single. Jan is back in Utah taking care of Brittany, Clay and Maeli. I think she really just needed time away from me and used the grandbaby thing as an excuse. I knew I would miss her but I can fend pretty well on my own. I can shop, cook, clean, exist, as well as any man. I was actually looking forward to her being gone for a few days so I could eat the food I wanted; like spiced ham, aka spam, donuts, french fries and a cake, that’s right, a whole cake. The day after she left I came down with a horrendous cold that has sent waves of fluid through my respiratory system and caused my voice to resonate like Darth Vader. My head has felt like it’s been filled with floam and, although I’ve eaten the food I wanted, my taste buds, well, they don’t taste. On Tuesday I had this slingshot of an idea pulse through my brain that I referred to several paragraphs before. “Hey Greg, you’re all alone. What if you lock your keys in the car or lock yourself out of the house?” I just chuckled as I locked the front door and sped away in my little white Corolla. I mean, it’s been awhile since I’ve locked myself out of anywhere. Besides, only Megan Byers does that. I love Fridays. However, this Friday I debated calling in sick or just letting someone find me dead. But, being the loyal idiot that I am, I readied myself for work. Locking the front door I turned the engine of the Corolla on to warm it up while I scrapped the layers of ice that had formed like limestone during the night. Having cleared a few spots I pulled on the drivers side door handle and…it didn’t budge. I had somehow locked the door, keys in the ignition, car running, house also locked up with house key on the car keychain. My first thought was, “Wow, the inside of the car will be really warm by the time I get this figured out.” At least I had my cell phone. It didn’t work when I tried to use it to pry open the door so I decided to use it to phone a friend. I called Jan. Luckily, she answered even though she saw it was me that was calling. I explained my situation, she googled (has this word been officially adopted into the English dictionary yet?) towing companies and after trying to write phone numbers down on the side of the house (paint will cover it) I called for help. I waved to neighbors as I did jumping jacks on my porch trying to keep warm in the freezing fog. When Jimmy the tow truck guy came I threw my arms around his neck, grabbed his gloved hand in mine and rapidly pumped his arm in a gratuitous life saving handshake. I think I frightened him a bit. I watched intently as he pried the upper right corner of the door slightly open with a wedge then placed a rubber pad in the space. He then pumped this up a few times to make a little more space. Jimmy pulled out a long metal rod that he inserted through the crack in the door and pushed it against the door lock button on the door. Easy as that and the door was unlocked. When I opened the door a whoosh of warm air escaped from the car and mingled with the cold winter mist. I think the added warmth moved Spring up several weeks. I regretted I hadn’t given heed to the earlier warning. Besides the stress this situation created I think I set my cold recovery back a few days, I was 45 minutes late to work, and had to put up with the sly chuckles from fellow employees who knew but didn’t tell about my situation. It also cost me tens of dollars. On the bright side my neighbors know I am certified crazy so I can act however I want, and I have taken precautions to not have this ever happen to me again. I have found a set of spare keys and hidden them in case I ever need to use them. Now, if only I could remember where that was…

A year to remember…

Every one else seems to have a year in review so I thought, why not, I had a year too. Unfortunately I don’t remember much from the beginning of the year so I’ve had to do some research. I’ve been quite thorough… looked through the check book register, old emails, calendar dates, and even sifted through the receipt package we keep in the cupboard to verify dates and events. Frankly, most of the research has involved yelling down the hall to Jan for event verification since I’ve been wrong on every date so far. So here are some of the more interesting highlights to 2008:

January

Apparently I didn’t have any money because I don’t show I wrote out many checks in January except to a plumber for clearing our main sewer line. I must have flushed all the bills. I knew January was a bad month.

January 27^th was an exciting day. That was the day that the valley had a severe snow storm while Jan and the Stake Relief Society were visiting in Etna and the Stake Presidency was in Yreka. Coming home was not a treat. Heather remembers this day because her car has been missing a hub cap ever since.

It is also the day that President Hinckley passed away.

February

Purchased four boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I often wished that the Boy Scouts would do something similar. The Boy Scouts just ask me for money, I get no cookies.

Jan and I visited Dad. He had just had open heart surgery compounded by intestinal surgery. He was still on pain relief medication and hallucinated quite a bit. He had a woman who he identified as an aunt Betsy who had a plate of cookies for him. He held his hand out to take the cookies, then looked at me and said, “I hallucinate sometimes. I don’t even have an aunt Betsy.”

Dad’s much better now. I don’t think aunt Betsy’s been visiting, either. I wonder if those were Girl Scout cookies?

March

According to my historical research March was the month that I discovered the ease of using my debit card in place of writing checks or constantly pulling out cash to cover purchases. It is also the month where the notation NSF is written in tiny letters in the check register. Looks like I got too happy with the debit card.

March was the beginning of some big changes in the Smith family. Heather had decided to make the move to Utah, and would leave on April 1^st. Jan and I are thinking that Brittany and Clay were thinking of moving to Utah around then. And, Kevin, Nicole and Noah were thinking that they would soon be thinking of moving from Medford. I’m thinking that I’m happy all this has happened and everyone is where they were thinking they would like to be.

April

It took Jan and I 31 years to get there but we finally celebrated our anniversary one weekend on the coast. It was great. Jan says the highlights of the weekend were the drive over, the phone call from Brittany telling us that she was expecting, the hotel room right on the beach, and the fudge at the little shop across the street. The highlight for me was being able to spend a weekend with my gorgeous wife who I absolutely adore. Take that, Jan!

May

This was the month that I realized the Mail Tribune was in trouble. Not just the Mail Tribune but newspapers and media generally. Nearly 5% of our full time staff were laid off due to budget cuts. We often think man made institutions such as businesses and governments will be around forever. They won’t.

June

The previous year a wind storm had knocked over our gate and fence. Fearing that large animals and criminals were invading our backyard at night Jan encouraged me to put the fence back up. Actually, she gave me two choices. After deliberating, I choose to work on the fence. However, I enjoyed the openness the lack of the fence gave, a spacious entryway into the back yard, no propping open the gate as I wheeled out garbage or having the gate smack my back side as I pushed the lawnmower through.

The fence is back up, sturdy as a crippled man’s right leg that has no bones, and the gate is back to protecting the yard from the insane animals that prowl the neighborhood.

July

Highlight was going back to Pennsylvania to see Jordan, Christina and the girls. Those kids are fun to watch.

August

Kevin, Nicole and Noah moved officially to Nebraska. Jan and I are truly empty nesters. We quickly learned that with no kids around there’s no one to play with.

So, we went back to Utah to see if the daughters would like to play. Brittany only liked to play in the hospital, Heather only liked to play engaged and I played a great new game called “Quiver.”

We met Jason, took in a BYU football game and otherwise had a great time.

August is also pear picking time at the church’s welfare farm. We managed to pluck a few of those, too, during the month.

September

Wedding plans, baby plans, MRI’s all filled the month. Jan operated a great taxi service driving me around.

October

More doctor visits and renewed my driver’s license. The form I filled out asked if there was anything health wise that would prevent me from driving. I answered no even though I couldn’t drive at the time. The way I reasoned was that it was a doctor that told me I couldn’t drive, not the DMV.

Had another birthday.

November

Busy month. Heather and Jason got all sealed up. With all the kids, but Brittany and Clay, it was amazing. I don’t mean that it was amazing because Britt and Clay were not there. That’s not my thought at all. Great Thanksgiving.

The Friday evening before the wedding I rushed home from decorating to be here when Megan and her friend drove in. I remembered I needed to pick up my suit at the dry cleaners. Got in the Sable and the battery was dead. Walked quickly to the dry cleaners, picked up a couple of Subway sandwiches, got back home just in time to see Megan wandering the neighborhood looking for our home. I’m sure our gate kept her out of our back yard, though.

December

Many people felt sorry for Jan and I when we told them none of our kids would be home for Christmas. Those were only the people who had kids coming in for the holidays. After Christmas many worn out dads were envious of our quiet, low key Christmas morning. I reminded them to enjoy the noise and holiday tumult while they had it.

Looking back 2008 had some very low moments but also some great memories. I hope 2009 evens out for each of us.

A White Christmas

Christmas is like my neighbor’s ivy. I cut it off on my side of the fence and before I know it, it’s back again. I don’t mean that negatively about the holiday, just about the ivy. And that’s not to say that I think that Christmas is creepy like the neighbor’s ivy either, it just creeps up on me…Christmas, not the ivy. Vines that creep up on me would give me nightmares…just forget that analogy.

Nearly every day in the paper this past week there’s been mention that we might have a white Christmas here in Medford. I’m not sure exactly what qualifies as a “white Christmas”. Does there just have to be snow on the ground at midnight December 25^th? Does it matter how long that snow has been on the ground prior to that time? Is it important how much of the ground is covered by the snow? Is there a certain depth of snow in order to qualify a Christmas as being “white”? Or, does the snow have to fall on Christmas Day? Or does it have to be snowing in the morning? What if it snows at 11:55 pm December 25^th? Isn’t that still a “white Christmas?”

The amazing thing is that I don’t think anyone knows. It’s just one of those holiday concepts put out there by Bing Crosby that everyone thinks is a neat idea. We really latch onto the cold, icy, snowy Christmas. But, if you think of it, most of the world on Christmas is sunny, bright and fairly mild. As I write this, Bethlehem, Israel, on December 25^th, the high temperature is going to be 55 degrees. That’s balmy.

If Santa wore his thick fur suit in the southern hemisphere, where it’s just a few days into summer, he’d quickly sweat off those extra pounds he carries.

I enjoyed the warmer California weather of my Christmas past. It was nice to have a bike by the tree in the morning and actually be able to take it outside and stream up and down the street on it. If you lived in Minnesota and you got a bike for Christmas, you’d have to wait until June to ride it. Either that or ride it up and down the hall of your house, running over your parents’ toes, cat’s tail and over the face of an older sister who happened to be on the couch, watching TV, eating a bowl of Cheerios.

Snow is a great equalizer. It covers all the junk in the neighbor’s yard and my patchy lawn looks just as manicured as everyone else’s. With a few inches of snow on my car no one can see that the paint is faded and flaking like the aftermath of a bad sunburn. It’s difficult to tell new cars from the older, classic styles. It’s sort of like how China used to be, where everyone wore the same black outfits. Everyone was equal. When I’ve got a coat of snow on my car, I’m feeling like I’m drivin’ a new car. Except for the smoke coming from the exhaust and the groans, whines and creaks of the engine coming from beneath that fine layer of white.

Cinderella

A few weeks ago we received a wedding invitation. Not an unusual thing. It must be because of the hundreds of dollars we spend on each personalized gift we give and our popularity that word has spread that we receive hundreds of such invites annually. Of course, I exaggerate.

This one reception has aroused some curiosity among the invitees because rumors suggest this was going to have a Cinderella theme. I haven’t been to many receptions that actually had themes, or not that I as an average wedding cake eating, cream puff popping male could detect anyway. The only theme I could tell were, you know, wedding, or like marriage, type themes. Husband and wife, standing next to each other, shaking hands, hugging…not so much each other.. but others, sort of stuff.

I was curious as to what a Cinderella themed wedding reception might consist of so I wanted to review that wildly romantic fairy tale. From what I remembered of the Disney story most of it wasn’t about any wedding reception, it was about the prince trying to find his ideal wife. His idea of the perfect wife involved foot size. Sort of weird, really. Cinderella fit the shoe, they got hitched. That was it. Don’t see how you could build much of a reception around that. Being a college grad I realized that Disney did not write the Cinderella story so I set off on a web search to find the original story of the poor little servant girl who would become the controller of birds and mice; the future queen of some imaginary kingdom.

The first story I read was something about Cinderella and her corset made of leather and bones. I didn’t remember anything about that and it seemed a little off course. So, I looked again and found another story, this time by the Brother’s Grimm. And Grimm they were. Let me give you an abridged account of the true, original story of Cinderella. You’ll see why Disney made some changes:

A wealthy man remarried after his first wife passed away. His new wife brought two beautiful daughters into the marriage. He had one daughter from his first wife. The two step daughters were jealous of their step sister and their mother demanded he either send her away or cause her to become a servant. So, she moved downstairs.

At meal time the girl’s stepsisters would throw her beans into the coals of the dwindling fire and make her pick them out in order to eat. As she did this she’d become covered in soot and cinders, hence they nicknamed her Cinderella. (Not mentioned in the story but wonder if her name was Ella, get it, Cinder- Ella)

There’s a lot more to the story but Cinderella would often visit her mother’s grave and cry. She even planted a tree there which grew and birds would nest and visit Cinderella. Eventually the prince of the kingdom decided to marry. To find a wife he and his father decided to throw a three day party (middle age version reality TV, The Bachelor). The stepmother and daughters received invites. Cinderella wanted to go and, you know the story, the stepmother didn’t let her. So Cinderella went crying on her mother’s grave and, magically, the birds brought her a beautiful gown and shoes. She danced with the prince all night, then ran off into the pigeon house and disappeared.

The second night she appeared in an even more beautiful gown, but at the end of the evening she ran off and climbed a pear tree. The king chopped down the tree but she wasn’t there. The third night, the prince put some pitch on a step to trap his prize. Unfortunately, when Cinderella ran off this time she ran right out of her slipper because it stuck in the pitch. Now you would think a lot of other shoes would have also been stuck in the pitch that night too, including a few dukes. So, the prince went around to find out who fit the shoe. Sort of risky because the prince must have been pretty ignorant of the fact that shoes can fit a lot of different feet. But, the story just focuses on his stop at the home of Cinderella.

One of the stepsisters tries on the shoe. She can’t get her big toe in. Her “caring” mother tells her to cut off her toe to make it fit. So, she does. Prince dodo doesn’t notice blood spurting out of the shoe and takes her home to marry. As he passes the grave of Cinderella’s mother the bird’s who roost there sing a little poem that tells the prince that there’s blood on the shoe and she’s the wrong one.The prince returns the damaged goods.

The second sister tries on the stained shoe. She can’t get her heel in. So, the mom tells her to cut it off. She slices it off until her foot fits. The prince takes this one home but the little birds say the same thing. He again takes her back.

This time Cinderella tries on the now bloody slipper and, amazingly, she doesn’t have to cut anything off. The step sisters still want to be part of the wedding so they ride along in the carriage. As they pass the grave of Cinderella’s mother the birds swoop down and peck out an eye of each sister. After the wedding, as the carriage returns, the birds fly in and peck out the sisters other eye.

That’s the story. A little Disney, a little Hitchcock, a little Stephen King.

Now, how does that apply to a modern day wedding reception? This is how I see it…

You pile a mound of earth with a headstone and a tree growing out of it. Put a couple of unruly birds up in the tree. In the reception line you have the prince (groom) and Cinderella (bride) but then you have to have a maid of honor and a bridesmaid each with two pecked out eyes, wearing bloody slippers.

And most bridesmaids only have the dress to complain about… Ahhh! Another fairy tale wedding come to life…

And Then There Were None

That’s actually the title of an Agatha Christie novel where several guests invited to a dinner party get knocked off one by one. (I never read the book…remember seeing the movie on the black & white when a kid. I just remember it being creepy and I think I saw Agatha Christie’s name in the credits. Thought it was a funny name.) That has nothing to do with this…

Now that all that needed to simmer down is done I’ve reflected a little on what’s happened over the past several weeks. So, I’ve brewed a huge cup of hot chocolate and curled up around the computer, (a little pokey and cold) to tap out a few thoughts on the keyboard.

I was asked many times how I felt about Heather, she being the last to leave the nest so to speak. Well, she actually left this tight little nest of ours years ago. I think in that aspect this marriage was different than the others.

You have to permit some father sap to leach from the grizzled bark of this old stump of a tree at this point when I say that there was no feeling of selfishness, sadness, remorse, or any negative feeling concerning the last of these tender shoots to spring free and blossom.

Both Jan and I were filled with joy for Heather as we watched her kneeling at the altar and being sealed to her husband. (Sometimes we think of the term “being sealed” as being sealed in a container or being restrained. The term sealed used in this case means being approved by God, it has received His stamp of approval. This marriage has been graded A-1 and as long as covenants are kept here, God’s covenants will be kept there.)

The day was filled with “life touch” moments.

Little “say it like it is” Hayley telling Heather at the unofficial wedding day pancake breakfast (sorry you missed this, Jason) that she “looked beautiful …different.” Yep, Heather exuded atomic bride wedding day radiation.

Grumpy old men at the temple telling young brides and their mothers to leave wedding stuff in the lobby and not take them to the brides room...(note to temple presidencies: don’t put grumpy old men at the recommend desk to battle mothers of the bride. G.O.M will lose…badly)

Having Kevin, Jordan, Heather, and knowing Brittany would be there if she could in the temple that day with their wonderful spouses. With Jan, that’s all I need.

Trying to line the three grandchildren up for a photo in front of the fountain. The best pictures are the ones taken when they are frozen in time, trying to scatter.

I love it when the long anticipated moment when the newly made bride and groom emerge from the temple doors. What are they supposed to do?

Thank you Heather for being indulgent in letting some football junkies incorporate a game into the festivities. A unique luncheon.

We were again stressed to get to the reception on time. And again, despite my telling Jan this wasn’t going to happen again, Jan and daughter were no where to be found and women were asking me questions about what needed to be done in the kitchen or with the food.

Jason’s family was AOL at the beginning of the reception. We were afraid they had gone back to California already. But, they had just been given some wrong directions and as usual at any reception and in any marriage, you “gotta roll with what you got.”

My favorite memory of the entire evening however was toward the end as Heather and Jason were gathering their things together to leave. Throughout the evening Hayley, Tia and two other same sized little girls dressed in identical party dresses had flitted and floated around the reception like little birds. Heather had suffered, as most brides do, Cinderella syndrome and had taken her shoes off as she stood in the reception line. Her glittered spiked heeled slippers sat by the back white wall of the castle that had served as the backdrop where those from the surrounding kingdom had come to meet and wish Jason and Heather good will in their marriage. I’m not sure if Heather had asked Hayley and Tia to retrieve her shoes or not, but when these little princesses realized they had a mission, the four girls flew across the room, fluttering around table and chairs, returning with shoes in hand.

Then like the magical mice in true fairy tale tradition these four little girls scurried around Heather’s wedding dress, lifting her skirt, placing her shoes on her feet, nearly getting lost beneath the ruffles, and then pranced, danced, and giggled in a circle around their new queen.

The newly married couple then waved farewell to their loved ones as they drove away in their coach with silver ribbons streaming in the cool misty air.

And they lived happily ever after…

Trick or Treat, You're Dead Meat (my favorite saying when I was a child)

Halloween is different when you have no children around. When we had kids it seemed like such a rush to have dinner before the sugar glut of trick or treating, or parties. Jan and I always buy way more candy than is needed. We bought a huge bag of mini- mini candy bars then bought some additional Nutrageous and Peanut Butter Cups just to make sure... all this for the 12 kids that annually show up at our door. Actually, let me rephrase that…all this for the slightly over middle aged adults that live behind the door. As usual we sorted through the candy bars to make sure we had an ample supply of our first, and second favorites.

So, I came home from work and started our traditional Halloween dinner consisting of tater tots and wiener wraps. While waiting for dinner to finish cooking our first visitors pounded on the door around 5:30. Two boys, one dressed like the grim reaper, the other dressed like what I would guess was a chubby monk. I told the grim reaper that he shouldn’t be knocking on some of these doors since there’s a lot of older people in the neighborhood.

As Jan and I sat down for dinner another knock at the door. Jan handled this one. This one was big! She quickly confessed she wasn’t a trick or treater but let us know the brake lights on the Sable were on. Sometimes the brake gets stuck and the lights stay on. So after jiggling the brake pedal so the lights would turn off we soon received another group. A little family of goblins, actually I think they were Hispanic.

We’ve had several Hispanic groups come by this evening. I was starting to wonder if the illegal aliens were now crossing the border, not to work, but for trick or treating. Then I would get a little fearful that while we were being distracted by the kids at the door, others may be tagging our house with gang graffiti.

Actually they looked like nice decent families As I closed the door I would always wish them well on their trip to Canada. For some reason they always looked a little confused.

We’ve actually had several large groups come by. Several kids are so excited that they start yelling trick or treat before they ring the bell. I swing open the door and yell excitedly, “Wow, what did you all bring me?” For some reason they always look a little confused.

We kept the blinds open in the living room so we could see who was coming down the street. I noticed this one large group stopping at each house. I had the candy basket ready as they rang the bell. Opening the door there were two of the cutest little princesses I’d seen all night. They were twin girls about 3 years old. I wondered where the big group that they were with was. In the back ground, standing in the dark on the sidewalk was the rest of the girls' entourage. I’m sure it was either their parents, grandparents, great grandparents along with assorted other relatives. I asked the girls if all those people were from their Verizon network. They too, looked a little confused.

During the evening I figured out a way to keep all my candy. I grab several pieces in my hand then as I reach into their bags I flick the side of their bag with my finger. Yep, sounds just like candy hitting the bottom of the bag. As the evening goes by and their bags are full it’s easy to even reach into their bags, and, instead of dropping candy into their bag I can actually take a few pieces from their bag. That’s what the parable of the talents is all about, right? You’ve been given two candy bars and you increase that to five.

As it gets later we start get the bigger kids. I still give them candy because, frankly, I’m afraid of them. I give them some candy, then my watch, my wallet; the computer…Jan protested that one. Now some large kid dressed like Hell Boy is driving my car away.

I wave and wish him a happy Halloween and slowly close the door. Another great holiday hits the books.