a beautiful truth

The morning is still and I'm thinking of you. Today we will visit with tulips and crayons but it won't be the same. Your smile is gone now...your voice is but a whisper. The sun's rays will warm our shoulders and the quiet of it all will have to be enough.

Today we raise a glass to love without conditions, a soft hand upon a cheek and gossip over coffee. We honor that part of our heart that only a mother can fill. And for some of us, the past is really all we have. There are many whose joyful memories were cut short way too early or have gently folded themselves away; some who have sadly had to do without. For those, I will revel in the treasure of my babies' tuck-in this evening and linger just a second more to listen to their peaceful breath. I have no choice but to hold what is left and honor it always. To know that nothing, not even this ravaging eraser of a disease can ever take away our history...your history with my father....your full and amazing story.

I love you, mom. I miss your laugh, the camaraderie, the perfect timing of a phone call...your homemade wheat bread with orange zest. Thank you, for your fervent prayer and perfect love that has buoyed me all the days of my life. Thank you, for believing in my dreams as if they were your own. My deepest wish is to rise to life's occasion and re-gift my two girls with all the heart and twinkle that is you.

Happy Mother's Day to you and all my devoted mommy friends who read this. Each one of you inspire me to do better and love deeper every day.

and so it goes

We memorialized my pop's life this weekend. It was a wonderful reflection of who he was, what he believed in and just how much love scatter was manifested in those nine, long decades. We shared funny stories, e.g., the time he and mom drove back in the early '80's, to West Virginia, and their rental car cassette player was on the fritz and a Conway Twitty tape was stuck inside...on an endless, repetitive loop. "I had to listen to that son-of-a-b**ch comin' and goin'!", he said. :)

While my sis and I were at his bedside in hospice, she spoke of how, no matter what Dad may have been busying himself with at the time; if you came to him to ask a question, express a feeling...he would stop what he was doing and listen. Always. Something I knew but hadn't really reflected on until she shared it with me. It was there for three weeks we sat over him, laughing, crying...remembering, until he told us to get lost and he could take it from here. He was old, tough until the end, brave in the crossover, warm to the touch and surrounded by love and its healing closure. We should all be so lucky, friends.

My youngest, T-Mag, had a birthday, her 6th, in the midst of all this. She continues to light my life. The world is your oyster, baby..your dreams are mine. Don't you ever forget that. Whatever your tomorrow brings, it will always hold my heart within it. And your grandpa's watchful eye above it.

Funny, how life is...there are goodbyes and sweet beginnings. It's mystical flow continues on- the pain, the pleasure, the loop-de-loop. Never easy but always worth it. And if we're smart, we take the time to deglaze the pan as much as we can. Because it's all those little bits on the bottom that make it so damn good.


This one's for you, Dad...

as ever

He was born in the first week of February, 88 years ago, in the hills of West Virginia. His abusive father was a successful coal mine superintendent until he lost it all and died an alcoholic, alone in a hotel room, leaving my dad to pick up the pieces. His mom had left his father many years before, which in the 1930’s, took a woman with a whole lot of guts. She raised her four kids by becoming Post Master. My dad loved and admired her with his whole heart. His closest friend was a German shepherd named Lady. He worked, pumping gas, even filled up the tanks of John Dillinger and his goons on a cloudy day way back when.

He was shy, a loner, who liked to spend all his free time hunting and fishing. He joined the navy at 18 to escape the mines. It was on a ship, as a Gunners Mate, where he spent the next six years of his life. He saw a good friend burn alive right before his very eyes and swears it was only from the prayers of his beloved mother that he lived to speak about the War. On December 7th, 1941, he was on the Lexington, an aircraft carrier that had moved southward to help reinforce Midway when he heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor. They had pulled out of Oahu just a few days before. Five months later, the Lex got torpedoed twice, followed by three bomb hits and then the gasoline vapors caught. It was there she burned until she sank..my dad jumping into the warm Coral Sea, with the sky exploding around him.

He met my mom when they were teenagers but didn’t make his move until he was visiting home, on leave. He stepped off the train, and saw her standing there, with “the prettiest, shiniest, blackest hair you ever saw”. They married at City Hall..he in his uniform and her in a mauve dress that I still have in a box in my closet. They had two kids and in the early 50’s, packed up the Chevy and moved west to California, welcomed by the fresh scent of orange blossoms and and all the dreams a young family can hold. They bought a brick home in the Valley for 18 thousand bucks. My dad became a tool and die maker and well into his 40's became a father again when yours truly came along. It was then they picked up stakes and moved eastward to Arkansas, where they farmed, cattled, grew blackberries..even owned a boat dock in a small quiet cove where memories of swimming and skipping rocks are some of my sweetest. In 1999, he buried my brother who died at 49 of a drug overdose. The only time I ever saw my father cry.

He was diagnosed with bladder cancer a year ago last January. He had 8 chemos and 32 radiations without so much as a whimper. He never lost a hair, he never complained and he always had a smile for the nurses.

He has loved my mom for 62 years. They live in a yellow house in the middle of the forest. It is there they will finish out their ordinary lives while listening to the laughter of their three grandchildren and one great grandchild. He's a veteran, he made it through, and he is my dad. I honor you today and always.

It was three years ago, Veteran's Day, that I wrote the words you just read about my father- to honor him and his years served in the United States Navy. It lets you in on the chronicle of it all. Tonight I will give you a little bit more. The spine of who he was...the piece of him, in me, who is left. And it is on this quiet, rainy evening in March, I say a final goodbye to my dad. He died just two mornings ago. A man as stubborn as myself. A man whose pride would rare up and butt heads with mine more than a time or two....a man who didn't think twice of driving back an hour and a half in the dead of a winter's night to fetch his crying girl her forgotten stuffed "Froggy" from a restaurant chair.

I can tell you he loved pinto beans, trees, Ray Charles, horehound candy and his kids. But not in that particular order. My siblings and I were first. Always. His patience and work ethic led by example and were only exceeded by his commitment and capacity to sacrifice. I will always remember his healing touch when my back was sore from fever. And the way he smiled as my mother danced to the record player. No one could make a fire as swiftly and beautiful as he. A poetic dance between brittle kindling and a beloved silver Zippo. Sadly, I remember when his mind was keen and how the vicious hand of dementia began to slowly eat away everything I knew and loved. This is where the story gets sad. But I must speak of this sadness because only by owning it and swimming through it's sludge will I make it through to the other side. The place where I know my father would want me to be.

Years ago, upon moving back to the Ozarks with the hub, my one-year-old, Will, and unborn lima bean, T-Mag, things began to manifest in him. An angry word here and there. A hurtful comment...odd behavior that I stupidly took personal and began to hold inside..like a pot simmering on the back burner. The last few months, things were said that cut me so deep, I never thought they'd heal.

I began to mourn what I had all those years before and ugly ole embitterment set in. Somewhere between the festering, wicked confusion, and badly acted Lifetime movie of the week, we lost our way together- Bobo and I. Last winter, I had to pull away after family decisions were made that I did not agree with...the situation became so painful and so physically stressful, I was forced to step back and take a breath. A breath that lasted almost two months and one that could have cost me a karmic plenty had it not been for a phone call from a nurse in the ER, who by chance, found my name in a dusty hospital file. But like any difficult mountain we are forced to climb in life, we have to sink in our boot spikes; and through time, careful thought and fervent prayer, we eventually end up atop and are rewarded with the view. And this is where my story gets good. The music swells, there's a panaramic wide-shot and what do ya know..dad and daughter unite. Just in time for Oscar season. Maybe not under the most healthy conditions...but together they find themselves, face to face, in a white room, with really bad art and the kind of healing that can only take place when the Universe opens wide and decides to teach an ordinary girl a lesson in forgiveness in the most compassionate, awesome and humbling way. It was there we held each other, we spoke more clearly than ever before and it was there I learned not to loathe myself any longer for mistakes I've made by not understanding just what it really was in the boxing ring against me. I have met an amazing woman along the way who will nurture my remaining parent who has also fallen victim to this Freddy Krueger of a disease. She will help my sister and I through the pain in understanding the ever-changing Alzheimers, and hopefully morph our helplessness into a couple of ass-kicking superheroes.

I can't help but think it was my dad's heart that forged through the glop and found me. Not the other way around. He, the ailing one, teaching his numb nut daughter the way the land lay....taking my ostrich stance to a peacock preen. That's what daddies do. A dear friend comforted me more than he will ever know by saying those two months lost between us were only but a blip in an otherwise long and loving relationship.

And so it goes, it was there in hospice, I advocated for him as hard as I could, forgave myself in the balm of his love, made up with my sister and slept on a really crappy recliner. I love you, Dad. I love you for your tenacity to reach through a ravaging disease to find me again, to forgive me when I slipped and continuing to be a mentor to me even in death. I wish you all things golden in your next life...and that I may share the journey with you again- working out the kinks and filling in the grooves...finding our way through the mystifying scape of the cosmos.

winter's ham bone

Yes...it's Mama. Down here, to the left...under the drift with the red flag on top and the vodka bottle sticking out of it. Oy with a capitol O, friends. Eighteen inches and several sub-zero temps later, me and my Magcicles made it out alive, don'tcha know. What a time we've had here in Arkansas- the New Alaska. I don't remember the winter season in them thar parts ever giving a bitch-slap like this. The white stuff went Snooki on us and it has been a flakey whopper, lemme tell ya. Of course, I have no recollection, because the last blizzard on record was back in the late 1800's! We got dumped on but good. And now 7 snow days, 11 netflix, plus the 5 day non-traditional school's winter break, later...well, you can do the math. It's the square root of one bulge-eyed, tuckered maternal unit who is tempted to go and beat a certain Superintendent's ass. Why they couldn't take away the days from the kid's May break instead, I do not know. My oldest is already struggling in math, so after all this Nanook craziness...I don't know what's going to happen to her. It sure won't be Harvard. I guess I could pull a Dugger and home school if worse comes to worse. Then again, I could also poke both of my eyeballs out. Ain't gonna happen for this stay-at-home mommy!

Yesiree, this season's festivities has been non-stop fun. Note to self- don't adopt a puppy for the Christmas holiday. Yeah, yeah, yeah...it was a grand photo and video op and the casa was all awash in sentiment, curly-ribbon and squeals but flash forward to my frozen rump in a pink robe and Fargo hat, trailing the dog over ice and dale every two hours. Potty training and -17 below just don't mix. We got through the worst of it though and he is trained and big enough now to be tethered for his tootsie-roll visits to the great outdoors but... He's a smart little guy. Cute as a button with a heart of gold. Having had to say avoir to a chomped phone charger cord, a kitchen rug and Jiminy Cricket's ascot, though, I could surely do without those razor sharp toofies.

Speaking of golden hearts...you can take the girl out of the Hollywood sunshine but ya can't take the girl out of Hollyweird! It is that glorious time of year for sparkles and Spanx- the 83rd Academy Awards, dah-lings! Turn up the snow and melo-dramatics..it is just around the corner! February- my fave month, hands down. Minus, the day after, when I wake up in a Grey Goose fog and have to say hello to another birthday. This particular one being the last official year of my forties. I better enjoy it because after this...it's all just "Sag" awards from here on. Big Daddy Mags pulled a twinkly one out of his hat this year as he scored a comped suite for our family's Oscars in the Ozarks-VI celebration. The girls are thrilled! Last year, we had my peri-menopausal Snuggie fete , but hell, this year, I just may brush my teeth and put on a little mascara!

Per usual, the hub and I have been trying to catch all the noms that are rentable since our movie dates outside of the home are few and far between. Not the proper way to see them mind you, but a Frau has gotta do what she's gotta do! The Social Network was fab..terrific screenplay, rocking score by the j'adorable Trent Reznor. It was a winner all around, I thought. I really liked Inception and was surprised Nolan was snubbed. Can't say enough about the impeccably done Toy Story-3. Animated feature winner, done deal. Another wonderful performance out of Melissa Leo. She has always been one of my favorite actors. Can't leave out the solid show of John Hawkes as a redneck meth-head, in the Ozarkian feel good movie of the year, all shot very close by in this neck of the woods. I think I saw a lady in it who works behind the deli-counter at my Walmart. Geoffrey Rush gives me a rush with each amazing character he embodies. Just love him! The King's Speech was lovely. It must be nice for Mr. Firth to be able to sip that limo Dom on his way down La Cienega, knowing full well he'll walk away with that bald, eight pound hunk o' Oscar! There are quite a few I haven't been able to view yet...Blue Valentine, being one of them and right up this Drama Mama's ally. That will be a must-see as soon as I can find a night where the children are fast asleep in their boudoir and I'm able to stay awake past my carbs and 7:15pm.

Oh, I could just emote all the live long day when it comes to award season. I don't know where I'd be without my motion pictures and inspiring performances. Year after year, the movies always deliver the Calgon moments I need to get through this crazy game called Life. It may be all about dough and business for most but I'm lucky to have the quiet, simple luxury of craft and catharsis- tucked away in a dark theatre with a salty bucket of 'corn, in my sweats and scrunchy.

P.S.) CLICK THIS LINK HERE if you are so inclined, for my Oscar Ballot, Trivia (went pretty easy on ya this year) and Quotes! Whee!!

what once was

I watched a bright orange sun rise this morning behind a frost-covered pear branch. The chill of the air worked its magic on my cheeks, as I spent a sleepless night moving back and forth across my pillow, thinking of a young boy...a child who went to school with my girls. He was nine, a cub scout and sang in a local choir. His life was lost on the playground a few days ago as I sat in my car talking to my husband about a casserole that I would make for dinner. I squinted off in the distance at the gathering of faculty and student and said a prayer as the EMT's trotted toward a fix that I thought would be a broken leg, a bad cut..a scrape or two. As I slowly moved forward, the cacophony of laughter, the squeak of swings, the excitement of a day well-studied seeped through my window along with the soft snore of my pup in the backseat. It was there, I picked up my babies, like any other day...watching their familiar jog to the car, smiles wide, arms full of backpacks and colored-paper drawings of princesses and rainbows. As we drove away, little did I know our hearts would stay behind and the hallways would forever be palpable with the sadness of one missing.

The last few days have been heavy and thick. I have looked into the worn faces of our brave school staff whose eyes will not shine for quite sometime now and watched the rosy cheeks of the very young ones atop the monkey bars, pristine in the purity of their faith, unknowing in their innocence of the harsh blow that life has given us. A wallop when we least expect it...a change that takes away warm, summer days, popsicle grins and a Christmas that never feels quite the same way again. But it is within these agonizing fractures, we learn to listen and love..to smell a rose we hurry past each morning, to see that any typical day is really not that at all. And if the 48 years I've spent on this planet has taught me anything- it is that poison can be turned into medicine. This boy's life will shout from the highest mountain tops as the many who have left before him. And we, the caretakers, will learn a little bit more at how better to keep them safe.

Today at 2 o'clock, they will memorialize this precious child. They will speak of his angelic voice, his love for video games and the imaginings & adventures he shared with his big bro. I will spend the day like I have the last few, thinking of a woman I never met but who I feel I know deeply. A mommy no different from myself and all the mothers who read this...whose breath and meaning are for their babies. I will pray for footsteps forward, for hopeful mornings...for joy again within this family.

I wish you well in your travels, Jonathan. May your rebirth be swift and glorious. There is a star that is you which will shine in a night sky this evening and in the hearts of all who knew you, sweet boy.

www.haydensgoal.org/

Here's wishing all of you a New Year of love, light, wisdom and happy feet!

pottersville

Well, the day was a good one friends! My Christmas surprise was pulled off without a hitch. A little tinsel and one big red bow later, the girls are as happy as a fly on...er..well, while I'm on the subject- man, oh, man. I just wanna say, a puppy's digestive tract is one big assembly line of waste removal. You'd think a couple of tinkles, here and there..but no. The last 24 hours in the Mag casa has been like a festive True Grit. Instead of a couple of six-shooters,
I am armed with my Greenworks and Odor Remover, and just a wee-wee bit trigger happy. Oy. I realize it has only been one measley day, but I will be beyond elated when that part of training is over and done with and I can put my grassy double-lot to good use.

The day could not have been jollier though, despite all the yucky D.Q. soft-serve treats. In keeping with our holiday couch potato tradition- the Disney parade and Alistair Sim's 'Carole were followed by a lovely nosh of what I like to call, Mama's Christmas Chicken (made w/ roasted red pepper & olive..yum!). A teensy weensy bit of snowfall and a couple of Zyrtec martinis later, we all settled in for a good winter's nap. This morning was a joy to find four new eyeballs looking up at me as I made my way to the kitchen. Of course it took me 40 minutes before I even had the time to sip my java & Facebook but..... Big Daddy woke up early to assist, and let's put it this way, his "morning paper" takes on a whole new meaning now.

Yes, we definitely have our hands full on this one but couldn't be happier. The kids are obsessed with their new besties. I just hope the poor furry guys can live through all the squeezing, bear hugs and stalking. It is like an Elvis concert in there right now. In time, all will settle, I suppose. Until then, back to school stories are being bandied about, snow days won't be so darn boring anymore and the dog run will be the happenin' hangout.

Here, here, folks! Let's raise a glass to love, laughter, and memories that last a lifetime. And soft puppy tummies. That is way up there on the list now.

It truly is a wonderful life!

merry, merry

Have a wonderful holiday, friends! May this special eve bring soft candlelight, laughter & yummy nosh your way....and the New Year be jam-packed with all things exciting!

santa paws

It is almost here! St. Nick is all porked up and will soon be ready to lock and load. This year promises to be a special one for the Maglets. Besides the orange & Nerds, there will be a surprise to beat all surprises in their stockings- a kitty! It all began months ago, très loads of moaning and groaning from the both of them- "Mommy, everyone has a pet. Everyone..BUT US!!!" For awhile, I was able to take a big swig and let my well-rehearsed 'our home is too small, my allergies to huge' monologue do the talking but as time went by, Mama Mag's heartstrings began to get plucked like a Glen Campbell banjo...and heck, I dunno- the next thing I knew, Daddy and I were at the shelter checking out a furry orphan. Don't get me wrong. Dad and I are huge feline fans. But, I am busy enough with my hairless rug rats!

I remember my first pet, a dog who took my heart captive the minute our eyes locked. It was around my 10th birthday. I have a beloved pic of us napping on the sofa together...me, awash in puppy breath and bell bottoms, and her on my chest...catching some canine z's. She was smart as whip, that dog- a Border Collie mix. She had an uncontrollable urge to herd the cattle, bless her, which resulted in a lot of yelling from my dad. :) I used to saddle her up with lunch and my journal. We'd amble off on the farm somewhere for a little respite. No D.S.'s or I-Pads in those days, just a girl and her dog, quiet...eating wild blackberries in the sun. It was a hoot watching her curl her lips back, toofies exposed, carefully picking the morsel from its thorny crown. That memory makes me smile.

So flash forward- here we were, looking for a cat. My hub and I had four of the little rascals between us when we first moved in together many years ago. It was a dandered Brady Bunch, let me tell you. But it was a critter we were most familiar with, so we decided it would probably be be the easiest new addition for our fam. A special Christmas morning delivery indeed. By none other than, Amanda, Santa's special rescue elf. I don't have to tell you that I have a sack of camera batteries and a jumbo box of Kleenex for this one. To say their heads are going to twist off their shoulders is an understatement.

I got my Gosselin on and named them already. "Dorian" is our eight week old smokey ball of feline lightening. He is at the pouncing-out-of-nowhere stage. Uh-oh. Strong martinis and moves like that, just don't mix. I figure since he is lucky enough to have nine lives, then he'll be the only Mag among us who doesn't age, so the name will fit him well. Yeah, yeah, I should be ashamed of my mommy self, but I'm not. I simply can't go through the next ten years or so, calling out to a Sparkle or a Cuddles. Another great gray meowy opportunity to drum up the fanfare and open our peepers to the fortune we have in our lives with appreciation and a renewed sense of wonder. All the gifts given me from two amazing little girls.

"Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see."

the variance

Family is a confounding thing. The journey through time that each one makes can run a root deep, provide a foothold in the climb when we need it and shelter our backs when the rains become too strong. But sometimes within its winding history there are byways that separate, and we are left to navigate some of the way on our own. Often by happenstance, sometimes by choice. Its mosaic, a unique, recondite mix of this and that, made all the more allusive when we figure in the karmic tangle of it all.

This last month my baby learned to ride a bike while I was away. The special surprise was given me with a chocolate smile on a cold, dark night after a long, trying day. Her curls trailing in the shadows, the sky filled with stars. The hope and locomotion within that magic impulse infused me and I will hold it dear as I continue to hack my way with kin through a jungle of painful transition, acceptance, old age and fear. Prayer, at this time, is essential as breath as I try to sort word from action and present from past.

Life's journey does come with a compass, however, so now I must ground, suck up a super-sized inhale and reorganize my mystic Samsonite again...finding my way through- remembering it is along the sojourn where we find all the meaning, and not at the end of rainbows. And it is within this purposeful quiet...we hurt, we question, we dig. And if we own up to what we should, forgive when we think we can not, and love when there is nothing else we can do, we can resurface. That's just how it works.

my hallow-wieners

Another Halloween has come and gone. We had a devil of a time last night at the Mag casa. We stuffed ourselves silly on ghost pizza and Milano tombstones. The goblins were all so precious. I cherish the sweetness of these times. Their little hearts are so open, they are game for Life..and those toothless grins just fill my soul. Thank you to all my parent friends who share their beautiful children with me. Any time that we can create a little magic and a spark of imagination in the lives of our children is a special time indeed. It is a place where dreams are born and plans are laid. And it is within this joie de vivre...a haven is created in which they feel safe and free to fly. I love you Willers and T-Mag. You are the beams that guide me, the constant that reassures and the Tiffany giftbox I get to open every morning over coffee.

big daddy's gourds

The G-Man can sure carve when he wants to!

The Mag Haunt is slated for Sunday! Scary pizza, cemetery cake & ghoul-hand punch with eyeballs...yummy! I'm so excited, I think I'll jump the gun and levitate!

ghouls gone by...

Ahh, it is that splendid time of year again...Autumn, and all the fun that comes along with it! We Mags really dig on the best part- the cool, the crackly and the toothless. No, that wouldn't be my West Virginia ancestors, folks, but Halloween and jack o' lanterns! Whee! My girls are stoked for another haunt and are lined up to be a bride and an "elegant" witch this year (as in cute, A-line, bronzy dress and matching pointy hat, not the Christine O'Donnell kind).

Yep, after a très fun visit hanging out with the zombies at Halloween Express yesterday, we are a rubber recluse, a mouse and one eyeball richer. The table will have a few new goodies upon it this holiday. We had a ball hamming it up for pictures and whatnot. I'm surprised they didn't kick us out, telling us to buy it or beat it! T-Mag is a little slow on the eerie draw though...still a wee bit reticent of all things amputated and howling. She'll come around. She has to. I have big dreams of turning our humble annual gathering into one of those Roseanne shindigs like they used to do on her show every year! Mama needs to get a part-time job and hire some set dressers to slash the gourds and gorp me up a graveyard out in my double lot. That space is just going to waste anyway. That reminds me...the girls and I watched the cutest show on HGTV a few days ago- Halloween Block Party. Four designers each take a house in the neighborhood and go all out. Simply fiendish!

Daddy Mag's spider web and punkin' fireplace lights are at the ready. We're bloody dying to carve but are holding off to avoid smelly, moldy heads. Speaking of which, I have put my outfit together- a "Freudian slip", complete with cigar and psychoanalytic stare. Sigmund would be proud. Though I should have just saved the dough and gone as a vampire. What with my hormones being as mondo as they are, my widow's peak has become frighteningly bushy these last few months. Good times. I am having to "gel" it everyday! My poor body. Who knows what part will be next to expand or deflate? I think I read somewhere that the hairy pointage is a sign of spiritual enlightenment. I guess that would make me the Eddie Munster of Mother Teresa's. The trait of a villain..it is also believed. That's more likely the case with this Mag. No wonder my hub gets a scared look on his face when I'm brushing my teeth. Speaking of the rattling ball and chain, we have our late-night-after-the-kids-are-down, Hallow's Eve flick perched on top of the entertainment center. We scored The Others for a measly five clams the other day! Great movie by the way, for any of you out there interested in that kind of thing. Nicely put together, with a twist. And it was before Kidman started shooting all that junk into her face and was able to show some semblance of emotion on her mug. Ugh. Why do actors do that? Oh, well, that's another entry.

Rotting digits are crossed for no rain and a full moon. Last year's weather sure was a keeper. We are set to check out a patch this week..and a corn maze. They do labyrinths up right around these here parts, so that will be something fun to look forward to on Papa's day off. I sure wish I had an extra 139 bucks to spend on the creepy, mechanized rocking witch I saw yesterday for our front porch. Bummer. The peeps two blocks over from us, who really go over the top every October, splurged on a big, seven feet tall Hell Raiser Pin-Head, so that will serve as a freebie for us and a cauldron of fun for all the local goblins, I'm sure.

I am glad to say that no child will be harmed in the making of the costumes this year as I went the store-bought route for my two over at Walmart. I figured my hand-made mummy and crappy ghost sheet from last Halloween was enough abuse on my little ones. Being a complete loser in the Beaver Cleaver sewing dept., I made the mistake of washing Will's mummy wrap after our diabolical shenanigans last year and all the scraps came off. Literally- the small pink Henley and sweat pants were completely washed clean afterwards. I was broken hearted as I wanted to save it for their memory box. Being gravely Hobby Lobby-challenged, little did I know that particular garment glue was not water-proof, so all the little bits ended up in the bottom of the washer. Right along with my tears and self-loathing. Oh, well, I try, and that is all a mama-of-frankenstein can do, I guess.

All this monstrous thinking gave me a wicked flashback the other day, so I decided to put together a little retrospective of my munchkins and their spooky past. It seems just yesterday that I held my spidered bald wonder in her baby sling web. Pretty soon, there won't be any more sticky, little hands and snaggletooth smiles. It will be replaced with jaunts off to the Mall with friends and "Gee, Mom, get real. That's for babies!" Until then, I will treasure every magical moment..every memory. It is within each giggle and tiny step down that sidewalk, my heart and deepest dreams reside.

Of course, since the need is completely different for each individual, we have many forms of mountaineering. It may take the form of a need to live heroically, or to rebel against restraint and limitation: an escape from the restricting circle of daily life, a protest against being submerged in universal drabness, an affirmation of the freedom of the spirit in dangerous and splendid adventure. Or it may well be the pleasure of physical fitness and moral energy, elegance of style and calculated daring; ordeals gaily faced with friends themselves as firm as rock, the hard life of the high huts, the happy relaxation on remote pastures as one smokes a pipe or sings mountain songs. It may be the search for an intense aesthetic experience, for exquisite sensations, or for man’s never satisfied desire for unknown country to explore, new paths to make. Best of all, it should be all these things together.

~ Giusto Gervasutti, alpinist