Halloween Memories

Trick or Treating was big in my house, even as it came with its own set of rules. It was on Halloween, not a Friday or Saturday or what was convenient or politically correct. School night or not, we were out and we were going to get our loot.

My earliest memory of it was early grade school and that Cat outfit mom bought.  She was recently out of the hospital following cancer surgery and didn't have a lot of energy to sew one (she made most of my clothes with her little Singer machine), so she splurged on a store-bought costume.  I still have a photo of me in it, the black pants and top with a big glittery cat on the front, my cheeks flushed with the cold, one front tooth missing and a smile that said: "Look at all the candy Mom!"  As we got older, she encouraged us to make our own costumes, to spark our creativity (note to self - wearing Superman Cape does not enable the user to fly).

As an adult, I do the same, though it's a rare party I'll go to, preferring a home-cooked meal with the company of just one or two people, or even myself, to a crowd.  But sometimes I will venture out if the people are those I really enjoy spending time with, showing up with a smile and something hot from the oven to add to the table.

One party at a doctor's house, I wasn't sure I'd be off duty so didn't get a costume. A friend from work, (not boyfriend) also invited, was going and he was in the same predicament.  He was a pretty tall guy and ex-military, so I had an idea. I had him bring over a pair of fatigues. I wore the top half, which fit just down to mid-thigh, with flesh-colored tights beneath. He wore the bottom half with combat boots and a flesh-colored T-shirt that I'd picked up with the tights at Wal-Mart.

We showed up and the guests, most of them as well, in the medical field said - "What ARE you two?"

Upper and Lower GI !

As adults, we can still laugh, even if it's sometimes just at ourselves.

Childhood Halloween traditions never varied. There was always Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin to watch.  For dinner, we'd have hot dogs with sides of orange jello and some carrot sticks and a glass of milk.  Then we'd suit up as quickly as firemen, eager to be out the door, out into the night where the cool Fall breeze shivered and stirred the grass where the leaves had long since fallen.

I paired off with a brother who was older. We were limited to where we could go but we had pillowcases that would hold a LOT of goodies.

There would be an occasional homemade caramel apple, popcorn ball or another such treat from a couple of older ladies up the street, but they put little commercial address labels on the wrapped treat with a note so our moms knew immediately who sent it and that it would be good to eat.  But the occasional popcorn ball aside, what we were after was the commercial loot. Hershey's and Tootsie Rolls, Fruit Stripe gum, Sugar Daddies, Smartees, Milk Duds (still a favorite), Crows, Skybar, Nestle Crunch, Dots, Pixy Sticks, Big Hunk, Boston Baked Beans (those were given away, I still don't like them), Gobstoppers, SweetTarts (more, please), Charms, those little candy necklaces, Necco Wafers, Slo Pokes, Jolly Ranchers, Chic-o-Sticks, Bazooka gum.

The only thing Mom wouldn't let us keep was the Sugar Daddies. For some reason, she thought those would just ruin our teeth and would hide them away with a plan for them to be rationed out one by one over time. Usually, however, after a month, she'd forget about them. We'd run stealthy espionage missions into the kitchen until we found her hiding spot and would capture them and hide them in our secret fort to ruin our teeth at our own darn pace.

But the trick or treating wasn't just about the candy. It was being out, imaginations running free, flashlights shining into a future as exciting as we could imagine.

To each porch that had a light on we'd go, candy bag in hand. Trick or Treat, though with my front tooth missing, more like Twik or Tweat. Still that missing tooth got me extra candy (oh aren't you cute).

One house, always anticipated, had its owner dress like a witch, press on warts and all, and she'd have a steaming cauldron of dry ice and spooky music playing. That was the best part of that whole street. We'd approach the door, it would open with a haunting creak, the interior of the room blooming with light, a flutter of slender muscles in our arms as we held out our bags, trying to show we weren't really scared. That's just some kids Mom... right? She really doesn't turn into a witch every Halloween? Then she would laugh, more of a honeyed laugh than a cackle, blue eyes, sparkling, holding us silent with her lifted hand from which would pour down sweet goodness, not toads or bats or other scary things.

But the trick or treating wasn't just about the candy. It was being out, after dark, by ourselves, just kids, with scores of other kids, flashlights in hand. Out in front of us, two whole blocks, dozens of houses, the darkness slung low with lights, the night blowing cool and full of promise.

One year I was a ghost. That year a lot of kids were ghosts, the lumber mill had laid off a bunch of men, and money for costumes was sorely lacking. An old sheet, a couple of holes cut for eyes and you were a ghost. Pity the poor kid who was the pink ghost, he was going to get flattened like a pancake next time the boys played dodgeball. Other years, the costumes were as wide as our imagination and bigger than all our fears.

In our garb, we hovered over places of play, breathing sugar-fueled dreams like air, ashen figures gliding through the night on silent feet. To each porch that had a light on we'd go, candy bag in hand.  The houses weren't decorated up the way they are now, but on the porch would often be a lone jack o lantern, eyes shining from a candle or some fake cobwebs along the porch (those aren't fake! ack ack ack, get it out of my hair!) We'd pass each other wondering just who was that superhero, who was that under the Casper mask? We scurried along, hands waving, quick steps in time to the chatter of chilled breath, the blocks of a post-war suburb stretching out, the dim lights of small-town America.

As ghosts, cowboys, baseball players and Superman, we covered ground, drawing in deep breaths of it all, unutterably aware of how brief this night would be. I think even as kids we know that too soon we'd have to put this other life, this other identify away, as we melted anonymously back into our regular life, with wistful longing and the taste of sweetness on our lips.

Even though we were told to just do two blocks, we always went ahead and did that third one, or as much of it as we could fit in before our little watches told us it was time to back. We advanced, trudging up the steps to that first house, looking over our shoulders as if we could already see our Mom scolding us. We hit about six more houses, with other kids from our street, before as a group we agreed to go back. We swear each other to a secret, the words not spoken but carved into stone upon which lies a nameless and forgotten effigy, those secrets of childhood we bear with us always.

There up ahead, the lights of our house. Home! We cross the empty lot where a new house was going in, following a faint path were dozens of small feet had worn the rotting leaves down to the soil. We clicked off the flashlight, whispering there in the dark about Great Pumpkins and Ghosts, where overhead, Chestnut trees thinned against the skies.

The wind had blown the clouds away, leaving a bright starry night, imaginary bat wings beating in the trees, a black cat crossing the road under the silver echo of the stars. Smoke hangs on the air suspended, the ash of burnt leaves that once rattled on the ground like tin.  I stretch out my hand into the vast expanse of darkness as if to clutch a star, to save a sweet fragment of the night to tuck into the book of that day.

Too soon it would be time to go in, the night rushing past all too quickly, stolen moments of sweetness there in the dark. As children we live in the moment, we live in a sugary world where not all is a warning, where people are inherently good, and the goblins and witches and demons take off their costume and reveal a harmless smile. We know that in recollection, we see how quickly it all went past, and holding a sweet piece of time with blurred eyes, I realize we all have lost part of that, the innocence and the wonder, forever, even if memory remains.

When we got back to the house, Mom sorted through our candy, tossing anything not completely wrapped, being careful. But we appreciated that she let the two of us go without parental oversight those last few years; Big Bro being big enough to keep me safe in the street. There were so many other kids out, the streets full, an adult not in sight but for the ones with little tiny kids. She had to worry, it was dark after all, we were hardly isolated, but we were alone.

We probably didn't even look back as we ran out to start our night of fun. But if we had, we would have seen her standing there, evanescent and forlorn, even as she put a smile on her face and waved, so we'd venture forth with hope, not fear.

There weren't many more Halloweens with her there. Too soon we lost her. Too soon we were adults living on our own and learning that too much sugar can make you fat and that roses often draw blood. Too soon we'd understand the night's promise of unease, the dangers that lurk in the shadows, finalities that go beyond a grave. But she let us live with our innocence as long as she could, while preparing us to be fighters and risk-takers, teaching us to be not fixed, but flexible in the light, no darkness to flee through and knowing nothing we could not handle armed with faith and occasionally a firearm.

Tonight, the wind is silent and the house stirs, shadows gathering in the basement, a dark pine forever trying an ancient latch on the window of the room in which I sleep. I smile at a taste of sweetness on my lips, a stolen moment of childhood nibbled before bed. Around me are homes, some dark and cold, no pumpkins yet in the yard, the doors shuttered against laughter. There are always those that look at childhood dreams like viewing something through the glass, behind which is only vacuum, from which no sound emits and which, too soon, fades to where they simply live anchored, until they simply cease to exist.

Happy Anniversary

We'd been the best of friends on-line for several years, trading secrets, failures, bad dates, bad puns and an occasional phone call when we needed a friend's ear. He had seen me through some heartache, something good friends do. But we never met in person, just sharing conversation, virtual good pancakes, and bad timing. 

We met for the first time at a small coffee shop, at the tail end of summer eight years ago, when we were both unexpectedly, actually at the same spot on the planet at the same time, though neither of us was where we lived. Spotting the handsome young man in the old fashioned fedora was not hard.

We stayed for hours drinking lots of coffee, but not ordering anything, neither one of us wanting to leave. But we did, with a reluctant goodbye. That day, I think, we both knew.

A little over two years later, on this date, I said I Do.  We didn't blog much about it but it's there in The Book of Barkley, for it was a story of not just Barkley and me, but all the people he brought into my life.  As to the wedding, Barkley agreed; it was the smartest thing I have ever done; the redhead with the inquisitive mind, marrying the bow-tie wearing long-distance traveler, for whom, I was his whole universe.

Cake by Emily at cakesbysugarmamas.com

It was a very small ceremony, the setting, unique but with only room for a handful of people.  It's the way we wanted it.  And no, I did NOT throw my bouquet at Tam, or anyone else, or a garter belt.  Partner made me something better (yes, that is a ninja garter and yes, those are throwing knives).

Happy Anniversary Babe.  You are my heart and there can be more than "one per Tardis."

For Partner in Grime on his Monday

via GIPHY

The Doctor is IN - Range Dinner

When your spouse or partner comes home from a long day at work or a day of doing chores around the house- you can nuke him or her something, Or with a crockpot and 6  ingredients from the store (plus common spices) you can make this.

I'd recommend this. It's easy to make and less than $3 a serving.

Dr. Pepper Pulled Pork.

3/4 yellow onion
1 cheap pork shoulder (3-4 pounds)
1 can Dr. Pepper (not diet)
1 cup cheap barbecue sauce
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper
creamy deli coleslaw
bakery kaiser rolls.

Slice onion and place in the bottom of crockpot.
Season the pork lightly  with salt/pepper and/or garlic powder
Place in crockpot on low.
Pour can of Dr. pepper over it.
Cook on low 7-8 hours, carefully, turning the roast over halfway through if you're home (not required).

An hour before serving, remove about 1/4 cup of the liquid and discard and pour the cup of the barbecue sauce on top of the pork.

When it's done, remove about 1/4 cup of the liquid and set aside.
Shred the pork, mixing it into the sauce, adding Dr. Pepper liquid back in if needed for the desired "wetness".

Serve on buns with coleslaw and additional barbecue sauce, if desired.

If Walls Could Talk

As many of you know Dad's home was sold earlier this year to help pay for his assisted living care.  He made the choice to go there, a big surprise to me as he had been adamant he wasn't going to go, then suddenly I get a call it's all arranged and my cousin Liz (who is his power of attorney as she lies the closest) and her partner Keith got him all moved.  But that left a house out in Washington State to empty out and sell.  That's a chore I don't wish on anyone.  There was 70 years of memories, trunks full of WWII Memorabilia, drawer after drawer of photo albums, clothing, tools.  I only took a few of my Mom's cookbooks and glassware, my Dad's military uniform and a big box of photos of growing up. My brother's remaining pictures on the wall and Navy memorabilia went with Dad to his new home.

Seeing the house completely empty, the rainbows in my room painted over after 45 years, was heartbreaking. It's the only family home I've known in 60 years.  I could still picture us all there, even if, within the silence, all our joys and griefs are being forgotten by the very boards on which we danced and played.  For today, a post from 2016, with a photo (above) that will always touch my heart - Dad stealing some cookies when he thought I was not looking.  - Brigid
-----
On the wall at Dad's is a platter that my Uncle the engineer brought back from a business trip to Iran back in the late '50s or '60s.   He had told my Dad that it was a serving plate, covered with olives and all sorts of tidbits and they gave him the platter as a gift.  I went to snap a photo and only after enlarging it, did I see someone in the kitchen pilfering a cookie.

When I arrived at Dad's on a recent trip out, Dad only had packaged cookies from the store, made out of special Keebler Kevlar, so I said I'd make up a batch from whatever was on hand, once I got a nap. He's sleeping a lot more now, but for being almost 96, I'm just astounded he still gets around, riding his exercise bike each morning and going for a walk on any day it's now snowing or pouring.

Dad was a little low on chips, sugar and real butter. so I added in some sour cream for moistness, and a hint of cardamom and orange zest to accent the reduced dark chocolate.  It made a soft, almost cake-like cookie that Dad raved about.

2 cups flour
1 and 1/2  tsp vanilla
1 tsp baking soda
pinch of sea salt
1/2 tsp cardamom
1 tsp. orange zest
1/2 cup butter, gently melted so it's mostly  liquid but not hot
1 cup white sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup sour cream (NOT light or non -fat)
1 cup dark chocolate chips.

Preheat oven to 375 F.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper (or grease it well, even if non-stick).

In a large bowl, with a hand mixer, cream together the melted butter, sugar and vanilla until smooth. Beat in eggs and sour cream until well blended.

Sift together flour, baking soda, salt, and cardamom, stir into the butter mixture. Mix in the orange zest and dark chocolate chips.

Drop dough by heaping tablespoons 3 inches apart on cookie sheets. Bake 13 to 15 minutes, until lightly golden brown.. These will be a soft, lightly colored cookie so do NOT over bake. Let cool on wire rack

Dad didn't get a fancy platter, but after his late afternoon snack of cookies, he did get a small martini and both remotes so he was a happy man.

Poppin Fresh Without the Tactical Dough Tube

It's a weekend morning, the phone rings, friends visiting your area are going to stop by for coffee and to say goodbye before hitting the road.

They will be here in a little more than an hour.  What to serve them?

Meals Ready to Eat with Mountain Dew?

A Slim fast and a a Slim Jim?

Cinnamon Rolls!

What, you say?  You can't make Cinnamon rolls in less than an hour without thawed bread dough or the Popping Fresh Guy?  I don't have time?! I don't have yeast?!

Try this, they bake up soft and pillowy and sweet without the yeast and can be in the oven in fifteen to twenty minutes. No, they won't replace your favorite yeasty, "take hours to have ready" recipe.  But for a quick treat for company or the little ones in your house, they will be popular and they're much tastier and MUCH cheaper than those store-bought or canned ones.

Makes 5 or 6 big rolls

Generously grease a 10 x 10 casserole, 11 x 17 pan or a couple cake or pie tins (my 8 x 8  was too small to get a nice round roll) 

Mix filling; (OK, I just eyeballed the filling, but these measurements should be close)

3/4 cup light brown sugar
3 Tablespoons Penzy's vanilla sugar (or sub regular sugar and 1 tsp of vanilla)
2 Tablespoons Melted butter
2 and 1/2 teaspoons Cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon Cardamon (or Nutmeg)

In a separate cup melt 3 tablespoons for brushing the dough before rolling, and during baking.

Dough

1 and 1/4 cup milk
1 and 1/2 Tablespoons lemon juice
2 and 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus and additional 1/3 cup for working  and prepping the dough (I recommend White Lilly or other soft flour to get the most rise)
2 Tablespoons granulated sugar
1 and 1/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon  salt

Icing:
2 tbsp cream cheese softened
3/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/4 teaspoon vanilla
Whisk with just enough milk to make an icing, until smooth

Preheat oven to 425 F.

(1)  Mix milk and lemon juice in a cereal bowl and set aside.

(2)  Mix sugar/spice filling in a small bowl.

(3)  Mix remaining dry ingredients in a large bowl and add milk mixture.  Stir until the dough is a shaggy looking ball (about 20 seconds).  Remove to a board floured with the extra 1/3 cup flour. Have additional flour handy, if needed, to add as you work it to keep it from sticking to the board and your hands (this is initially a sticky dough). Knead until the dough is starting to smooth, less than a minute, (do not overwork). Dust a little bit more flour on the board underneath the dough and pat out dough with floured hands to an 8 x 12-inch rectangle.

(4)  Brush dough with about a Tablespoon of the melted butter, setting the rest aside.

(5) Sprinkle sugar mixture over dough leaving an open area of about 1/3 inch around the edges.

(6)  Roll up from the narrow end and slice into 5 or 6 big pieces. These do not rise like yeast rolls, so make the slices thick.  Place in the well-buttered pan, barely touching one another but not squished together. Bake at 425 for 23-25 minutes, or until golden brown, brushing with remaining melted butter about halfway through baking.

(7)  Remove and promptly remove rolls from pan onto a plate with a big spatula, spooning any caramelized topping from the bottom of the pan onto the rolls.

(8)  When cool enough to glaze, do so and serve promptly.

Why I'd Rather Be a Hunter than a Cosmo Girl"

You have all seen the magazines at the grocery store, most of which have the oxymoron of articles.

"Lose Weight NOW. Our easy Lutefisk diet."

and "20 cheesecake recipes."

And of course

"100 tips to turn your man into a sissified wienie."

followed by

"Where have all the real men gone?"

See why I don't like them?

And of course, there was always the monthly Cosmo "Quiz".

What does your man do after lovemaking?

(1) Whisper sweet nothing in your ear while
showering you with rose petals
- 10 points
(2) Roll over and go to sleep - 4 points
(3) untie you - 1 point.

But I have to admit, in my youth, I picked up more than one "Cosmo" with the inevitable overly primered, airbrushed, and shellacked model on the cover, telling me and all my friends, THAT was what men wanted.

But, like those of us that sneak covert glances at the tabloids while waiting in line (Hillary meets with space aliens), I quickly discarded that particular shame-based guilt. Seriously? the Cosmo girl?

Look anyone can do that. Take the girl next door. Cleavage, airbrushing. . and
CAMO???

See?

But for tonight, a few reasons while I will always be the girl next girl WITH the deer stand and NOT the Cosmo girl.

Why'd I rather be a hunter than a Cosmo Girl.

I don't have to decide between 50 pairs of shoes.

Two fragrance choices - dirt or Tinks.

I don't drive to another tree to pee because this one is just too "icky".

People I'm around telling me the truth.

I can clean my fingernails with a Gerber knife.

The whole trip only needs one suitcase.

No public bra strap problems.

No one cares if I shaved my legs.

The people I'm with, I trust, as my back up, guarding my life, and most importantly, keeping an eye on the crock-pot.

"Sleeping bag hair" is the norm.

I can buy "protective gear" without the clerk imagining me naked.

When you drop in on other hunting parties you don't have to
bring a little "gift".

If I want to adjust "the girls" in the stand, no one is going to stare at me.

I can buy all the clothes I need in one store in 25 minutes.

Hunting boots don't cut, blister, or mutilate my feet.

Even if I don't score, I don't sit home weeping over my Yogurt.

If I retain water, it's in a canteen.

No one counts Weight Watchers "Points" of the Backstrap and Beer.

No worry about mascara smearing, I'm not wearing any.

The occasional treestand belch is expected.

When I'm showing off my "156 on the Boone and Crockett non-typical" they're looking at HIS rack.

You will NEVER hear Michael Bolton in the woods.

I can kill my own dinner.

One mood all the time - sheer happiness

What are you gawking at? Whitetail season is next month. Start planning that trip. And if you haven't before, take the lady you love with you. She might surprise you.

Love,
Brigid