Archives for posts with tag: family

I’ve been a kid and I’ve been a parent and now I’m a grandparent.  How does that happen so quickly when I’m still so young?

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Anyway, I have four kids and eight grandkids, so I’ve got a little bit of experience.  I’m not saying I’m an expert because each one is different and presents you with an infinite variety of happiness, challenges, pride, fear, disgust, amusement, moodiness, anger, tears, laughter and every other emotion…sometimes all in the same day.  You never know everything about them because it changes all the time.  Mine are all pretty good kids, not perfect, but pretty great all the same.

This week, I’ve had two of my grandsons for several days while their parents are out of town.  It’s been quite awhile since I had the day to day routine of a 15 and 11 year old, so it’s brought back a lot of memories.  They’ve been pretty terrific, so I’m not really getting the first-hand experience their parents get to have.  They get up and get ready without a fuss, say Thank You for every little thing I do, don’t fight, and are cute as can be.  Isn’t that what they’re like at home?  I know better.

Their parents warned me that the older one might retreat to text and not talk much.  Well, duh!  I don’t think I came out of my room during high school except to run to get the phone, which was in the hall.  Then I stayed on it for hours or went back to my room to read, study or…what the heck did I do?  I just didn’t find it that fun to sit with my family all evening long.  They called me the “mole in her hole.”  Which was annoying.  I can hardly criticize any teenager since I was one myself and so were my friends.  Even good kids do some stupid, idiotic things.  All we can hope is that they don’t get hurt.

I’m also rediscovering how they go through food, have homework and endless activities, and, in general, take a lot of time to raise.  No slacking off in this job.  Glad I’m still up to the required energy level.  I also get to share their day and spend some time with them.  Pretty special!

There is a reason that we usually have our children while we are young.  The best reason is to watch them grow up and have their own children and watch this wondrous cycle continue.  I loved Lady Violet’s comment on Downtown Abbey, “People forget about parenthood.  It’s the on and on-ness of it.”  When you hear that as a parent, you sigh.  When you hear it as a grandparent, you sigh…and then you smile!

When I try to think of a perfect day, I always go to this photo.

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Don’t ask me why.  I know I’ve had days that were more fun or adventures that lasted longer.  We’d been fishing at a private pond and we’d all caught fish.  On the way home, we stopped to show my parents and my father took this picture.  Simple in all ways.

We had lots of days that were less than perfect and we had many days that were beyond perfect.  Why this one?  Maybe it captures a minute with all of us not trying to be anything but what we were.  It was a pretty day, we’d piled in the car and gone fishing.  It was the middle of all our days, the middle days with four healthy children, a happy couple, and our dog, moving through life.

I’m not sure any of us would remember too many details about this day, but it was a conglomeration of many others in many places.  Daddy trying to get everyone’s line in the water and thrilled when we caught a fish.  Mommy trying to get us fed and keep the kids from falling in the pond.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

Maybe, just maybe, I consider this one perfect because memories like this are what kept us all together and got us through the harder times, the sad times.  And, times like this are the foundation of our other happy and happier days.  And, maybe, because it’s always good to remember that there are people who never get to have a Perfect Day when we’ve had so many.  And, to remember that the Perfect Day may not be, and probably won’t be, something you plan.  It will just happen and then stay in your heart forever!

 

My grandparents were special people in my life and I was lucky to have them for as long as I did.  My father’s parents lived in Oklahoma City during my lifetime and we drove over to see them every week when I was little.  Daddy worked for his father and they discussed business with my uncles while we played with our cousins.

My grandmother’s name was Agnes, but we knew her as Aggie.  She was born into a large Catholic family in Uniontown, Kentucky…a rather poor family.  Some of her siblings became nuns and priests, some to escape poverty.  Grandad was James Clay Hamilton, known as Clayton.  He was also from a large family in Uniontown, but his family was Episcopalian and a little further up the income scale.  Grandad went to college at the University of Kentucky, was a Sigma Chi and majored in mechanical engineering.  I guess Aggie graduated from high school, although I never heard.

The story is that when Grandad took Aggie on the train to get married, he brought her a fur muff.  She was embarrassed as she didn’t even own underwear.  I wish I knew more about them when they were young…that’s the only story I ever heard.  My father was the oldest child, born in Grandad’s family home in Uniontown.  Then they had another son and a daughter in the next couple of years.  The youngest son was born a couple of years later.  I know they moved to Ohio and eventually to Oklahoma City, where Grandad opened J. C. Hamilton Co., an automotive parts warehouse.

They raised the kids and there are infamous stories of my father’s rebellions.  But he turned out ok and went to work for his father, also becoming a champion bowler and golfer along the way.  He’s another story.  All the boys and their son-in-law were in the service during World War II.  My grandmother never got over the sorrow of losing her youngest son, shot down over Germany and buried there.  She took her anger out on F.D.R. and would never even buy a stamp with his picture on it.  In later years, she developed arthritis and it was attributed to the anger she held inside.  She kept in touch with her son’s girlfriend for many years.

But, the Aggie and Grandad I grew up with were delightful grandparents.  I loved to stay at their house with the old furniture, antiques.  In their first house, there was a room across the back, behind the kitchen.  On holidays, the adults would eat around the big table there, while the youngest of the nine grandchildren were at a kids’ table in the kitchen.  Grandad had a workshop in the garage where he made beautiful things from wood.  I can still smell the sawdust and see the piles of shavings on the floor.  They had a tall bed in one of the bedrooms and we would hide under it in our endless games of hide and seek around their house.

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Aggie got a parakeet when those were the new fad.  He would ride around the house on her shoulder, talking to her and giving her a peck on the lips.  She loved that little bird.  One day, she stepped out the back door, forgetting he was with her, and a noise startled the bird and he flew away.  She had other birds, but never like that one.

Aggie was very involved in her church – she’d had to convert to the Episcopal church since she didn’t marry a Catholic.  At Easter, they took oatmeal boxes and made them into intricate Easter baskets that they sold to raise money.  I can’t even begin to describe these baskets with their flowers and petals made of crepe paper.  They are works of art.  I have a couple of them that I keep wrapped up.  You can see them in this Easter picture of my family.

Hamilton Family   Easter 1953

When her friends would call and ask for Agnes, my cousin and I would start giggling and call for “Agnes” to come to the phone.  She just smiled at us.  Grandad wasn’t as involved, although I know he left the church a lot of money.  That pretty little church later became a nightclub.  I wonder what they would have thought of that!

Grandad was a bird hunter and I can picture him suiting up with my father, leaving early in the morning with the dogs and returning with quail for us to eat that evening.  Hunting and building were his hobbies outside of work.  He invested well in the stock market and was one of the wealthiest men in Oklahoma City for money you could put your hand on at one time.  You would never know it.  Nothing much changed around there.

They eventually moved to a newer house, but nothing changed there either.  It was a place of stability.  They had recliners when those were new and would stay up on Saturday night to watch wrestling on TV with Aggie furious with the bad guys.  We never stopped giggling over that.  Aggie fixed us the same breakfast…two pieces of bacon, prunes, probably toast or cereal.  On Sunday nights, they had crackers, cheese and sardines.  I never liked the sardines.  There was always candy corn in a dish on the coffee table in the fall.  Around the holidays there was that sticky ribbon candy.  She had a finger that she couldn’t bend.  She had been cleaning a toilet with the harsh chemicals they used in the old days and some got in a cut in her hand, causing blood poisoning.  I picture that crooked finger, bent with arthritis in later years.  She made wonderful cookies which were always in the jar in the kitchen.  I have that jar in my kitchen window now and it makes me smile.

As they got older, they discovered the cafeteria.  It was a very nice one near their home and the entire family would drive over there, sitting at a big table.  Aggie never learned to drive, but she could tell Grandad how to.  The grandkids would be giggling in the back seat as she told “Dad,” as she called him, to go faster.  I’m sure he got pulled over for speeding, but most of the police knew him and let him go.  There wasn’t as much traffic then, so I don’t think he was much of a threat.

When we stayed with them, I explored or giggled with my cousins and siblings.  I went through and read their books, opened the drawer of old photos, hung out in the garage watching Grandad make things or sat in the kitchen with Aggie.  It was peaceful and safe.  In later years, I remember being there for a weekend when I was in college.  I was engaged that year and more aware of them as a couple.  Grandad was sitting in his recliner and Aggie stood behind him, combing his hair.  It was the sweetest thing ever.

Grandad helped a lot of his family members who hadn’t done as well as he had.  He opened branches of his company for his sons, sons-in-law, and even grandkids through the years.  The traveling they did was to visit relatives, mostly in Oklahoma and Texas.  My mother, a great housekeeper anyway, said their visits were a terrific incentive to get everything in shape.  One time they went to Hawaii, maybe for their 50th wedding anniversary.  They looked so out of place, Grandad in his suit and Aggie in her sensible shoes.  I loved that they took that adventure at their age.

Agnes & J. C. Hamilton

Mostly, I remember their laughs and how much they loved each other.  I know their life wasn’t always the picture perfect vision we saw as children, but they had the marriage we all wanted.  They loved each other and they loved us.   Perfectly delightful!

Aggie & Dad

I wonder who came up with the traditional wedding vows?  Those are pretty serious promises.  When you’re young, as I was 46 years ago today when I said mine, they make you feel pretty grown up to be saying serious things to someone you love.  We meant them with all our hearts and understood them as best we could at 21 years of age.  We abstractly understood that richer or poorer, sickness and health, until death do us part could happen to us, the last two probably when we were old and gray.  In the meantime, we would have a family and grow old together.

What happened to us was a marriage…as opposed to a wedding.  Weddings are where you are surrounded by friends and family wishing you well, parties, presents, and serious, we thought, conversations about the future.  Marriages are the reality of that future.  We had a good one for 31 years, ups and downs and all.  I learned from watching my grandparents and parents and their friends that long marriages aren’t always achieved while traveling a smooth road.  There are challenges in the very best of marriages, some caused by people within them, some caused by the world around us.  My paternal grandparents were married over 50 years, but they lost a son in the war.  My maternal grandmother was widowed at 29 and left with three children in the depression.  My parents were married over 50 years and were very much in love.  Was it always easy?  Not at all, but they worked at it.

My marriage was great fun, passionate in all ways.  We made each other laugh, we adored our children, we worked hard.  It was a lot of work…a lot…to raise four children.  We really succeeded at that.  But we had to deal with all those pesky vows.  We never wavered in those promises…richer or poorer, sickness and health, ’til death do us part.  We didn’t expect to have to deal with all of them and we didn’t expect it to end so early.  I never thought I’d be a widow at 52.  Wow.

But, today, December 23, I pay tribute to those kids that we were who never quit trying.  It was quite an adventure with that special guy.  Knowing what I know now, would I go back and do it again?  You bet!  I’d say “I Do!” without batting an eye.  What an amazing life we had together.  We packed a lot of living and a lot of loving into the time we had.  And, that adventure led to my next one and my next one and I keep heading to the next one.  Yes, I do.

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No applause, please, but I did the Jingle Bell 5K Run/Walk today.  It was my first run/walk…let’s just call it a walk.  I hate to run and always have, but I love to walk. I had no problem walking 5K (3.1 miles) and really didn’t even feel it.  I could have gone faster or further, but I chose to just walk a steady pace rather than setting a personal best.  I was setting a personal best just by being there.

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My 11 year old grandson, Marc, went with me.  He’s a runner so I told him to go ahead, but he chose to walk with me.  I was there for the experience and it was fun to have company.

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First of all, I love the fact that people make these kind of events into an opportunity to dress up and be funny.  The whole atmosphere was holiday festive with accessories ranging from hats (we wore Santa hats), to elaborate costumes worn by entire groups.

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I was surprised by the number of dogs, most for the 1 mile Fun Run, although I don’t know why.  People love to take their dogs with them. There was a group of German Shepherd owners with some beautiful animals, and the other dogs ranged from small to large, wearing bows, bandanas and full costumes.

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There were families and clubs and sororities and church groups and friends who made it an excuse to get together for the morning.  They wore matching tee shirts or costumes.

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I love the women who ran in long skirts.  Were they Amish, Mennonite, what?

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I love the Santa pushing the stroller.  Wonder what his little one thought?  Especially when Santa quit pushing and started running beside him.

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It was fun to watch the crowd gather and then head out to the tall buildings of Tulsa.  Marc kept looking up and I realized he wasn’t used to walking downtown.  It was an opportunity for me to tell stories of my childhood, coming to movies & shopping downtown.  He couldn’t believe there used to be movie palaces downtown.  I pointed out places along the way  that he might not have noticed.

Marc

We didn’t break any records, in fact we walked slower than I usually do.  Maybe it was all the people watching we were doing or talking to Marc or taking pictures or just enjoying the whole experience.  We crossed the Finish Line and then went to get coneys.  I’d say it was a good morning.

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We have family and we have friends and then we have in-laws.  In-laws are relatives we acquire by law by that definition.  The crazy in-laws, the beloved in-laws, the dreaded in-laws.  When you marry, you get a set of them, like it or not.  When your kids marry, you get some more.  Some people get the roll your eyes kind, some get the avoid as much as possible kind, and some get the love them like family kind.  Most people get a humorous mixture of all…just like our families.  In-laws are family with all the quirks and personal history and personalities of our biological families but we’re tied to them through another person rather than through DNA.

I got lucky.  I’ve had good in-laws all the way around.  Oh, my sweet mother-in-law was a case, but I handled her better than my husband did most of the time.  I reminded myself that she produced him and I was grateful for the things in him that I knew came from her.  And those were some of my favorite things about him.  Eye roll here.

Marriage is not the easiest thing in the world and don’t argue that point with me.  I’ve watched couples who were married for more than 50 years and it was never easy.  No matter how much they loved each other at the beginning and at the end, I could see the rolling road that marriage had taken them on.  Some had financial problems or job problems, some lost children, some had illness to deal with, some had affairs, some had to deal with problems with the kids or taking care of parents or families that caused problems, some just got bored along the line, and almost all had a combination of these things to varying degrees…but they stuck it out.  Some couples are there because they think they should be.  I think the ones who are the happiest are the ones who laughed together along the way, with laughed and together being the key elements.  You can love someone and not laugh together?  Maybe that works…I can’t imagine.

My kids did really well.  I love their spouses and I like their spouses’ families, which makes it easy since we share grandkids.  I have three sons-in-law and a daughter-in-law.  They are all terrific and get along with each other and I can’t imagine anyone else for my kids.  I can’t tell you how much I love them for what they have added to our lives.  But…a big but… they made me a mother-in-law.  Ugh!  That’s a term that bears a lot of responsibility.  Father-in-law doesn’t even begin to match the connotation of mother-in-law.  I try very hard to be a good mother-in-law, trying to learn from my own observations and experiences.  I don’t meddle in their marriages, I don’t tell them how to raise their kids, I don’t try to push myself into every family event, I don’t demand they be at my house rather than the other in-laws, and I keep my mouth shut at appropriate times.  At least I hope I do.

I laugh with my in-laws a lot.  I love and respect each of them tremendously.  Some days I like them better than I like my kids…that must be the ultimate compliment I can give.  And I never have to roll my eyes…hope they aren’t rolling their eyes about me.  That makes me laugh!

My mother used to always tell us the story of our birth on our birthdays.  She would call or I would see her and she would start off with “Twenty-one years (or whatever our age was) ago today, I had a baby girl.”  Then she would tell us the details of that day.  And we laughed…but, we always waited for the story.  I’ve done the same with my kids.  It’s just a funny tribute to my mother and a sweet remembrance of those special days when I gave birth to my incredible children.

Thirty-seven years ago today, I had a beautiful baby boy.  He was my fourth child, following three girls.  He wasn’t planned, which turned out to be appropriate.  Who could have planned for Clayton?  That day, I felt like I was having labor pains, so I called the doctor and he had me go to the hospital.  I had the girls very quickly and he knew that I didn’t need to wait around.  The girls were all born early and this one was late by about a week.  Of course, we didn’t know he was a boy.  This had been an interesting pregnancy anyway.  I didn’t know I was pregnant and they did some tests and decided it was an etopic pregnancy.  I had surgery and they cut me open to find out that everything was ok.  I must have had an MRI  and they had just gotten the machine and nobody was very proficient in reading the tests.  I remember the doctor opening me up and then cursing.  He realized I was awake and apologized, but I understood that he was frustrated that he had just done surgery on someone who didn’t need it.  From then on, the pregnancy was easy.  I remember diving in the pool all summer, feeling great.  I also remember being at the mall where there was a fountain.  I was very pregnant with three little girls with me and one of them tried to climb in the fountain.  The thought went through my mind that I must look like a mother duck waddling along with little ones trailing behind me.  Another friend told me I just looked like a knocked-up 14 year old.

Anyway, on that day, I went to the hospital and waited.  The doctor wouldn’t let me go home because of the other quick births.  Finally, they sent me out to the fathers’ waiting room to sit with my husband.  You can’t imagine how strange that was.  Dads didn’t get to go in while you were in labor or giving birth back then…nobody did.  The fathers’ waiting room was full of about to be Daddys who couldn’t figure out why I was there.  I read magazines with them and read the comments book that the fathers wrote in while they waited.  Alan was frustrated and nervous.  This was too odd.  When I went back into the labor rooms, they tried to check the baby’s heartbeat.  The nurse said they were having a problem because the baby was dancing around in there…”doing the hustle.”  Well, it was 1975…what an inkling of things to come.  At some point during the evening, after we had been there all day, the doctor came in to tell me that the baby was stuck and they needed to do a c-section.  I guess the head was pressing on my pelvic bone and couldn’t get over to the way out.  He had a dent in his head for a long time that made me laugh.  Tears rolled down my cheek, not from fear, but because I could just see another scar on my stomach next to the one from the earlier surgery that had stretched to about an inch or more wide as my abdomen expanded.  It turned out that they took that one out & made another one.

When they wheeled me into the operating room, it was later that night.  They painted my hugely expanded abdomen with iodine so it was oddly orange.  They put a curtain across me so I wouldn’t be able to see the operation, but I turned my head and saw the reflection in the window just as they began to cut.  I turned back and listened to the conversation.  The anesthesiologist was holding my hand & sitting by my head…his name was Dr. Love.  When they pulled out Clayton, Dr. McShane almost shouted “it’s a boy!”  Dr. Love kissed me on the forehead.  Dr. McShane couldn’t wait to get out of there and run to tell Alan.  They all knew I had three girls by this point.  I just laid there and smiled.  Unbelievable!

We named him Clayton Alan Fraser.  Clayton was for all the men in my family (my grandfather, father and brother) who were named James Clay.  My grandfather went by Clayton.  Alan was after my husband, Alan, and his father, who was Ralph Allan.  We covered all the bases.  Alan went immediately to buy him a pair of jeans and found a size one.  They didn’t have baby jeans back then.

That is the story.  Clay was unique in all good ways.  He spent the next 35 years teaching me, teaching us all, to enjoy life.  He was the cutest, sweetest, kindest little active boy who was determined to be different from his sisters.  He didn’t need to try, but try he did to the point of trying us all.  Keeping up with him as a job for everyone.  He was always a character, always funny.  From as early as possible, he and his father would sit and trade puns.  He knew he was funny and it kept him out of the trouble he should have been in.  He was smart enough to know that he would learn the way he was going to learn and the teachers had just better figure that out.  He hated timed tests, preferring to work on his time.  He wiggled and squirmed through classrooms all the way through college but probably remembered more than I did being the perfect student.  He charmed his way past many a teacher.  The typical summary of a kid like this is that his sisters and I were driving to Westminster College for his graduation and got a call from him saying that he was going to go through the ceremony but wouldn’t get the degree.  I think he flunked bowling or something ridiculous.  We watched him walk in his cap and gown, taking another Clayton moment in stride.  He finally got that degree years later, taking two classes and getting As so that he could get into culinary school.  He promptly handed me the diploma as it meant little to him.  You have to shake your head and roll your eyes.

This is a long blog and my heart is full of memories today, so I’ll give the shortened version.  Clay grieved when his father died of cancer.  He went into a state of depression that we didn’t realize since he was away at college.  He came home, fell in love and the wonderful girl was killed in a tragic fire.  He picked himself up and went back to school, started a comedy improv group, and began living again.  He then went through the graduation I mentioned before, came home and started teaching English as a second language and waiting tables with his friends at BBD.  He complained of problems and pains in his jaw and nothing could be found.  One day he announced to me that he wanted to have his tonsils out.  I told him I didn’t know if you could just ask to do that, but he did.  When the doctor came out after that simple surgery, he told me they had found cancer behind the tonsil.  I had to wait the weekend to let the doctor explain it to Clay in his office.  A horrible weekend that makes me cry to remember…watching him and knowing I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t know enough myself.  When we left the office, a tear ran down his cheek.  “Why do we always have to get the rare cancers?”  Clay had Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma and his dad had died of cancer of the esophagus (rare at the time).  A friend told me it was the scream he couldn’t get out.  A doctor nodded when I told him that.

From the time he found out he had cancer, Clay was adamant with me that this was his cancer.  He would be the one to fight it.  We all know it takes everyone you have to fight cancer, but he was trying to make me not worry.  I look at a statue he gave me one Mother’s Day.  It’s of a buddha like figure, bent over with worry.  He told me it was to keep me from worrying.  That was even before the cancer.  The treatment – neutron and electron radiation – that Clay received in Seattle was new in 2001.  It gave him 10 more years and it killed him in the end.  The cancer did come back, as it does in this kind, and he was able to beat it with natural means.  His death was from the residual effects of the radiation.  But those last ten years were incredible.  As the radiation effects took hold, he lost his ability to talk and eat.  But along that journey, he met and fell in love with Whitney, finished school, went to culinary school and became an incredible baker (it didn’t take much talking), and produced Eliza May Fraser.  Many people don’t do all that with well bodies.

I look back on the 35 years we had with my incredible son and think of all that he gave us.  He lived his life on his terms, he loved and was loved by so many people, he made us laugh and he taught us bravery.  He lived with incredible pain and touched lives everywhere he went.  He had a full life in 35 years and taught me that we never know how much time we have on this earth.  This weekend, I was with his daughter Eliza, who is now 3.  She knew we were getting together later to celebrate her daddy.  We went to the park and she started calling out to him…”where are you, Daddy?  Daddy, where are you?”  She does this with a smile on her face as she seems to talk to him often.  She wanted him to be at the party.  It doesn’t make me sad because she seems to have a relationship with him that we all wish we were innocent enough to have.  I told her he was there…he is all around us.  She understands and that is the blessing.

I love you, Clayton Alan Fraser!

Halloween has become one of the biggest holidays of the year.  Back in my day, we dressed up in simple costumes (gypsy, ghost, hobo) or wore the cheap ones from the dime store with the funny mask, grabbed a pillow case and ran up and down the streets trick or treating.  My grandmother had candy corn in a dish through Thanksgiving – a sure sign it was fall.  After a certain age, we didn’t need our parents with us and ran for blocks, filling our case and coming home for another one. We had sacks of candy (full size bars), popcorn balls, and carmel apples hidden under our beds for weeks.  Nobody worried about poison from the neighbors and nobody worried about us getting grabbed off the streets.  Sometimes there would be a party with bobbing for apples, cider, popcorn and snacks.  I don’t remember ever seeing an adult in costume unless a rare one dressed up as a witch with a caldron of dry ice steaming at the door.

My, how it has changed!  By the time my kids were big enough to go out, there were more decorations than just the construction paper cut outs we made.  I dreaded the costumes since that really wasn’t one of my strengths, but we muddled through.  Occasionally there was a costume party with our friends.  In our neighborhood, the dads went out with the kids and you could see them in the streets laughing, drinking a beer, watching the kids run up and down while the moms opened the doors with treats, waving to all.  Then that first bit of aspirin was found in candy and people started having private parties and strangers started bringing their kids from the “unsafe” neighborhoods to the nicer ones for treats so we didn’t know who was at the door.  That was ok since treats were getting more expensive and I understood those parents wanting to give their kids a better experience with less worry.  I was sad when my mother started turning off her lights and pretending she wasn’t home for fear of the big kids who came to the door long after the trick or treating should have ended.  It was a new era and Halloween had gotten a little scarier.

By the time I opened my gift shop in 1992, the Halloween phenomenon was an explosion.  Decorations were getting pretty fancy and adult parties were the norm.  Costumes were more elaborate and the kids I had handed treats were not wanting to stop dressing up.  Parties in bars, parties at churches, parties in neighborhoods…Halloween was everywhere!  The candy companies got smart and learned the power of packaging with treat sizes and holiday themed wrappers.  Smart business!  What an array of treat choices we have today with the greatest danger being buying them too early and then having to get more when you realize you have eaten them all way before the holiday.

I still get a kick out of the kids coming to the door.  They’re always polite, sometimes shy, sometimes bold.  Great costumes. Their parents come right up to the door these days…hovering over the kids.  That part is a little sadder.  Some of the fun is gone for the kids…but, that’s just my opinion.  It’s still a great holiday and I love that it’s enjoyed by all ages!  Have a Happy Halloween, come by my house for treats, and be safe out there!Scan 6

My childhood Halloween memories include jack-o-lanterns, but I don’t remember where we got them.  They must have come from the grocery store.  It wasn’t until I married a man who was in love with Halloween that I discovered the pumpkin patches.  Every year we headed for the country to find the best pumpkins.  Around here, it was in Bixby and we stopped at the pumpkin farms to go into the patches and pick our own.  Everyone had to have a pumpkin, with Daddy’s being the biggest, and we took them home to carve.  Over the years, the pumpkin patches got a little more sophisticated and added animals and places to pose for photos and sold cider and gourds and corn stalks.  Halloween was becoming a big deal everywhere!  The pumpkins got bigger and bigger and then they came out with the tiny ones and the odd ones and it was an adventure.  Even after our kids were grown and in college or married, we had to go get our pumpkins.  I miss watching him carve the faces – he would be amazed at the design industry built around pumpkin carving today.

Our grandchildren have always gone to the pumpkin patches.  Now the atmosphere is like a fall carnival with hay & corn mazes, more rides, and higher piles of pumpkins.  This year I was thinking about how much time the farmers had spent on all these extras and wonder if they make enough money selling pumpkins to cover the costs or if it’s just as fun for them as it is for the rest of us.  It’s kind of an innocent tradition for our family and bring memories of long drives, nights at the kitchen table watching Daddy carve the pumpkins, and then the final lighting of the jack-o-lanterns on Halloween night.  Boo! – to your family from mine…