Halloween Thelma Style

I've got to make this quick, because it is already Halloween, and I was just talking to my oldest daughter about how my mother loved to celebrate Halloween. She said, "Mom, you should blog about that." Well, I'm running out of time, and I don't want to wait a year to share this with you!

My mom was a pretty funny character. She had this thing about Halloween. We five kids were allowed to Trick or Treat until we got to be teenagers. Once the word "teen" came after the number in our age, we were doomed to become the greeters and official candy-disher-outers to all the lucky little kids who came to our door.

Well, I say "lucky", but actually that was only if one was under the appropriate 13 years of age, or if one was short enough to easily pass for being 12 and under.

You must understand my mom's point of view; there were lots of kids in our predominantly Catholic neighborhood, and candy was expensive. Older kids had the advantage of speed over little treaters, and as far as my mother was concerned, she wasn't going to run out of candy for the little ones just because teenagers were beating them to the door. That wasn't right.

The original Halloween of Trick the Teenager fame was a holiday of extreme delight for my dear mom. The first teenagers to darken our doorway on that memorable night were clearly older than 12. As a matter of fact, Mama suspected that the vampire, Frankenstein and ghost were at least 16 years of age. And as I said, that was against the rules. In our house, anyway.

So the tall, lanky ghouls held out their bags and said in deep, crackling voices, "Trick or Treat!" Mama excused herself, and came back with her hands behind her back. She could not disguise her obvious delight as she swept her arms forward and dropped something heavy into each bag. Whatever it was, it hit the bottom of the bags like a lump of coal. Heavier than apples, but lighter than lead.

The ghouls, looking bewildered, peered into their bags. What the heck was that, anyway? Thanking Mama properly because they were yet young gentlemen, they quickly exited our yard.

Mama shut the door and had to sit down, she was laughing so hard. She was infinitely satisfied with her cleverness.

Now you're wondering what it was that gave my mom such delight to drop into those bags.Well, the night before, she had served the family Southern drop biscuits. I don't know if you've ever had such biscuits before, but I can assure you that after 30 or 40 minutes, drop biscuits are hard as rocks. Let alone, a day or two. Our dog wouldn't even eat them.


So began Mama's tradition of always baking a few extra drop biscuits the night before Halloween.

I just thought you'd enjoy it. And by the way, if you were one of the ghoulish recipients of my mother's Halloween prank, the answer is yes. It was my mom, and it was you...you don't think anybody else's mom gave out those things, do you?

Trick or Treat, ya'll!

It's Five O'Clock! Do You Know Where Your Camera Is?

This is a beautiful Autumn! I am in love with Autumn, too. Have I ever told you that? If not, then perhaps you will enjoy reading my post from my art blog, "Little Pink Spaceship Gazette" on http://www.deberklein.com. You'll find out how I love this colorful and mysterious season. You might even get a good laugh out of it.  It was later published in Fine Art Views, Clint Watson's art blog, and remains one of my favorites.

Posted below it are this year's photographic gleanings.

by deber klein on 11/7/2008 9:26:22 AM

"Mower in the Midst" or "Mowing Over the Speed Limit" It's Autumn and the fall colors are truely awesome this year. Three days ago as I headed toward the grocery store, I noticed a tree so red that I about ran off the road looking at it. Actually, I'm a safe driver (a very good driver, Rain Man!).  But it was tall tree, a little awkward in it's shape. It stood alone by the busy roadside flaunting it's vibrant red leaves much like old ladies who swagger about with those feathered red hats atop their heads. I was instantly inspired. I must paint that tree! But where was my handy dandy brand new fancy Canon camera, my friend? At home on the kitchen counter. Of course. And the afternoon light was changing so fast that I couldn't go back and grab it in time. I would have to wait for another late afternoon, hoping the rain or wind wouldn't come and knock off all the leaves before another opportunity arose. Thank goodness yesterday, only two days later, was a perfect fall day. So I grabbed my camera around 2:00 PM and headed out for my annual autumn photo fest. The tree would still be there in all its glory. It was a little early, so I saved my special red tree for last. I always do that anyway, save the best for last. Driving all over the neighborhood, I photographed other red trees and yellow trees, families walking hand in hand with their kids at the park or walking their best friends on leashes. Oh. And that one wildman mowing the park lawn at an obscene speed, dust flying up behind him obscuring everything in its wake. Nothing at all. Hmmm... At last I swung Bullet toward the grocery store. (Bullet is my trusty little red Subaru.) As I came around the corner where the tree had been or where I thought the tree had been, there was nothing.  Nothing at all. Hmmm... It was just a little strip of land between an old neighborhood and the main road, so I turned onto that road thinking that the leaves must have fallen or I'd mistaken the location and may miss the moment again. Well I missed the moment all right. I stopped and asked a man about the tree and he said, "That ol' red tree? The one 'at wuz right over there? They cut it down yesterday." I was like, "No they did not! Not yesterday? Were they crazy? It was gorgeous! They should have at least waited...'till the leaves fell off." I mean, just between you and me, I wouldn't have been able to do it to a tree who had such zest for life. It's like having your dog put down 'cause he's getting old and his eyes are a little hazy, but he's still running around playing tug of war with the cat. Then seeing the man's expression, I realized he figured he knew who the real crazy was, so I did my usual explanation of being an artist and blaa, blaa, blaaa. I mean, I like trees but I don't hug them, you know. He just turned his back on me and went into the house shaking his head. It was just a tree. It was a red tree, though. And now it's gone. All this is just to say that those of us who go around taking hundreds and thousands of photos of charming but insignificant things for the purpose of possibly wanting to paint them some day must realize our secondary roll in all this. When we take a photo, whether it is of a crooked old tree or a 150 year old dilapidated broken down two room shack with no doors on it, or some big wild fella' mowing the lawn at fifty miles an hour with the sun behind his back making his head glow like that of an angel's, we are recording a moment. A moment that will never be again. I often go through my photos, finding something wonderful in it's antiquity and charm that no longer exists. I pass by places and remember when the light was amazing and the shadows were long and mysterious and I missed it. Why? Well, maybe I was too busy to turn my car around or too shy to ask if I may take a picture. Maybe I was slow on the draw. Or maybe...I didn't have my camera with me at the time. So, my advice to you, my friend, and to moi self? Never leave home without your camera. Never! Unless you have one of those photographic memories that only liars and other fishermen have. As for me, I am getting a purse big enough to hold not just my wallet, but my camera as well. In the camera case of course, since I have been known to be little reckless. Me and that mower dude. And next time I see a rickety old tree showing off just for my eyes and mine alone, I'll do it the honor of recording its unique beauty. Right then and there. For eternity.

It's Fall and I'm Still Falling In Love!

 I'm always and eternally falling in love with Fall! Here is my annual sampling of one of the best wonders of  good ol' Planet Earth.

Just a pile of dry leaves...or a small fall pleasure? I especially love the sound they make as I walk among them, but alas, you'll have to take my word for that.

This big old show-off is one of those trees that deserves an annual photograph, just like the ones they give little kids in school. The squirrels seem to like it, too.

What would any fall photo series be without a picture of this classic Autumn show-off pretending to be a Karate Dude. But fear not, dear friend. It's just my Bill, and he's just your average, ordinary brilliant business executive, enjoying cooking out on the back deck with his best friend, Moi. (You should see the pics I didn't put in.)

The creek that runs through my yard is babbling this week; probably about how refreshing life is when you're a little creek sporting a carpet of mossy rocks and yellow leaves on this nice fall day.

My magnificent "Champney's Pink Cluster" rose, now climbing at least 12' high above "Lady Banks'" tall canes, can only be enjoyed through the close-up flower taking lens of my newest camera, my Nikon something-or-other, which is very handy-dandy, indeed. I just wish she'd bow down and let me get a little whiff of her wonderful fragrant perfume.

How sweet is the color of this Japanese Maple with the sun at her back.

Below: My favorite geranium loves to sip from the spattering fountain when I'm not looking. Like me, she thrives in the Autumn weather.

What do you do when you plant a species rambler on a cute little arching metal arbor in your front yard? Well once you realize that that nice yellow rose gets to be 20' or more high, you prop the dang thing up until your dear gardener hubbie can build some sort of "arbor" for it to creep out on, to shade the parking area in your yard. This is what I call making the best of a situation...not a bad situation, but an unexpected one.
  

This is how the taller mountains looked two weekends ago. Yes, honey, that's snow and I love the stuff! Especially when it creeps up on me unexpectedly...

Who Needs Peace and Quiet, Anyway?

I crawled out of bed this morning at 9:04. Bill had been up just long enough to brew some coffee, so he brought me my first cup, as is his tradition. Then he disappeared, as is his tradition. I remembered him saying last night that the leaves are all in color out back, so I hobbled out in bare feet to the back deck with my coffee in hand to enjoy the beautiful Autumn leaves. That's why I live in North Carolina. So I can enjoy the change of the seasons. Right?

The two dogs followed me outside. They also wanted to sniff the fresh fall air and survey the back yard.

I crossed the deck to the table, barely (tip of toes) avoiding stepping full footal in a wet little plop of rained on doggie poop which evidently had gone undetected from a couple of days back. Great. Rinsing my toes off in a handy puddle of rain water, I thought, "Whew! At least I didn't step right on it! That would surely have distroyed my moment of peace and quiet." Nevertheless, I was headed back inside to bathe my five stinky little piggies in some of my sister's handmade soap when suddenly there was a terrible commotion.

The two dogs had cornered a poor little squirrel. Probably the one who's shadow had been dancing across the wall yesterday when I grabbed my camera only to find she'd already departed. Now she was running this way when one dog would grab her. Then she'd escape and go that way, and the other dog would nab her. I shouted frantically at the dogs as they and their prey skitterd hither and tither. I ran around flailing my arms wildly. "No, dogs! Bad! Bad!"

"We hunters," they proudly barked. "Squirrels bad!"

The door to my bedroom remained agape, and I realized the squirrel was eyeing it as a means of escape. She was headed that way, but the dogs were on the job. Still I screamed, "Stop! No! Stop! Bad dogs!"

Finally I got the dogs in and the door closed. The poor squirrel just lay there, breathing heavily. She was injured, but I couldn't tell how badly. At least no blood was evident. I thought I'd give her a moment to recover.

That's when the cat walked up. As is his habit, he wanted in so he could eat breakfast. Then he saw the squirrel and thought, "Oh! Breakfast Delivered!" He wouldn't go in, so I had to capture him, slamming the door behind him as I tossed him inside.

Then I let the dogs out front and the second of our three cats came in. Though Layla can jump the fence, she can't get onto the back deck because of a gate. Whew! Only one cat to go.

But alas, peace was not yet in my grasp. Somehow, clever and relentless Bo managed to escape the fence. He was determined to get that squirrel, yet. Both dogs ran barking to the back gate. Discovering it locked, they just ran amuck about the yard for a while, chosing to bark at neighbors and the mailman instead of the victim still recovering on the back porch.

Thank goodness that the one cat left outside was Little Kitty, who has FHDS...Feline Hunting Deficit Syndrome. I'm not too worried.

But an hour and a half later, I'm still concerned about the squirrel, because she hasn't gotten up and scampered off. What am I to do with her, poor thing? I'm thinking it would have been more merciful to let the dogs just do her in. It would have been swift, and thus more humane than letting her die out there, suffering for hours.

As I write, Bill just found Little Kitty locked accidently in my studio overnight. My hero. (That's what you get for sneaking in my studio and hiding, as is your tradition, you little...)

I'm going for more coffee. Maybe I'll get dressed, too, and hang out with my husband for a while...and check on the squirrel again and again and again. I should take her to the vet. Dang. Dangdangdang!

Well, I must away, my fellow squirrel lovers. (And to you squirrel haters? I know you're out there, and I don't even want to hear it.)

Autumn Blessings to all,

Deber

Squirrel update: Bill assisted the squirrel off the porch where she fell into an empty pool. (Again, My Hero.) Bill thought she'd broken her leg and was headed down there to check, but she was gone when he got down there. So I think Bo bruised her leg when he had her in his mouth but not so badly that she couldn't scale the walls of the pool. All I can do is sigh and shake my head. What a way to start the day.

Also, our friendly mailman caught Bad Bo and put his hiney back in the fence. He loves Bo. Thanks Mr. Mailman. You're my other hero of the day.

At last. Peace and Quiet. I shall enjoy!