Like Piles, Reflections on Halloween Night

I know, I know Halloween is gone, it's 6 days later...but thought I post this  anyway since i started it Halloween night...and maybe it's about more than Halloween.

It's cool outside, but not so cool that you couldn't go for a walk with just a sweater and some thin gloves. Some of the leaves have fallen off the trees, enough to scrunch under your feet, while others hold on tight.  It's been that type of day where you can feel the coolness in your nostrils outside, the type of day that when you come inside, the comforting heat hits you and you know it's gonna be a good night.

The steps in our neighborhood are dotted with jack-o-lanterns carved in elaborate patterns. "Doesn't anyone just do the triangles anymore?" said a co-worker in the staff room during a break today. It got me laughing and thinking about how simple things used to be.  


I am sitting in my living room in total darkness aside from the light  from my computer screen. There's a couple of candles in the big living room window, and a jack-o-lantern with a tea candle inside it's body. We put some  clear Christmas lights on the front step to make the place seem inviting, yet dark enough to be slightly scary to the little ghouls and goblins in search of tricks or treats.  So far we have had 7 kids.  I can only remember a giraffe, two pirates, a train, (perhaps the little engine that could (?), and a princess. All the costumes were bought it seemed, that's what they do these days. Guess that's the new fun way and perhaps some day someone like me will blog about fond memories of shopping at WalMArt for the perfect costume, or remember that weird lady with the orange scarf on her head, the one with the black cat in her arms who lived in the scary dark house with candles in the window, the one that the gave them three really good treats.


Only one kid said "trick or treat", the tiny giraffe who also wanted to ring the doorbell because that is what she was told to do.The rest just held their bags open...but that's not their faults because when they held their bags open I added treats!  Most said thank you. A pirate asked if he could have two choc bars. At least he asked.


This is one of my favorite nights of the year, but not because I like getting dressed up, although that's fun too. And I don't think it's because it is the eve of my birthday. But there is something comforting about this night. For me it marks the beginning of winter. 

I have fond memories of Halloween. Maybe it's as simple as I  left my house with an empty bag and came home with a big bag of treats all ready for the eating. I  didn't gobble all mine up at once though. I savored them. First, I  would empty the mysterious contents of my Dominion bag onto the floor, (Back then nobody frowned on the use of plastic supermarket bags). Then I would slowly and with such sweet anticipation arrange all the same things in one pile. Chips first (you mostly only got two kinds, the Hostess ones in the  blue foil bag or the cheap oily ones in the white, thin unmarked plastic bag) then, hard cheezies, soft cheezies, and all chocolate bars together (to be later separated into "exactly the same" pile). There were always lots of  rocket candies, gum, Tootsie rolls, and suckers of all colours. (these of course to be separated by colour and eaten in order of taste preference, all yellow ones to be given away) You might get some life savers, a package of four, but that was as exotic as it got, and yes, we got apples and oranges which were likely fine and that we actually were allowed to eat but were too afraid to because of all the stories about razor blades hidden in them.  That seemed about it back in those days, but what treats they were.

One very memorable year I  got a full can of RC COLA, and a full size CRUNCH bar from the Downey's who owned a store and lived across the street from us. I was certain the Gods had bestowed upon me a great gift for my good behavior in taking my little sister around with me. Another year I went out taking two bags with me because my big brother was sick. I remember saying, "trick or treat" twice every time and then explaining that my brother was home sick. It was true, but now that I think of it could have really used that one.


Yes, as I sit here in this room feeling all nostalgic, waiting for little trick or treaters, to ring my doorbell I resist the urge to go get dressed up myself, and instead I just organize the really good treats I'm giving out into like piles ready for the taking, and I remember.

Ah...Retrospect

Robert Leo Oliver
Well, its Father's day again. Every year it comes, every year it goes. Usually it just slips by unnoticed by me, unless of course I go for brunch and can't get a seat, suddenly realizing that it is in fact Father's day and that's why there are so many people about celebrating. Today I decided not to let that happen. I would not let this day go by without thinking about my father.

It has been so long since the word "dad" had been part of my vocab that it feels weird even typing it.

My father died when I was young, eleven to be exact. My aunt arrived in her most serious form and as she leaned against our kitchen stove she told my brother and I, "Your dad is gone my Loves." Well, I didn't exactly know what she meant. Really I just wondered where he went and when he would be back. But somehow, I knew, what with all the tears and my aunt's serious face. I knew he was sick, but I had no idea how serious it was. I learned very quick meaning of words like "cancer" and "stroke" and so on.
Back then I was considered too young to go to a funeral. Its just as well. I can remember him alive and a comforting force. And so he went away...

Every day he would get up, wash with Ivory soap, & shave leaving tiny dark whiskers in the white sink. He would go off to work delivering other's fine furnishings for Osmonds Furniture. Sometimes he might bring home aspecial treat like my brand new pure white dresser. This was my pride and joy until my budding artist sister, whom I have since forgiven for this, saw only a fresh white canvas as she did her best work with her red crayon.

Every night he would come home, sit down for supper, bless himself, eat, have some tea and then sit in his big green lazy boy, sport his thick reading glasses and examine with great interest the Evening Telegram. Then we might watch Bonanza which I pretended to like cause it meant spending more time with my dad.

Every Sunday he would sport his best hounds tooth polyester pants and white dress shirt and I my white turtle neck and jumper and off we would go to mass. It was he who fostered in me the fear of God without once raising his voice to me. Always letting me sing loud at folk mass, always letting me place the envelope in the velvet lined collection plate. I was full of joy when we set out for the House of the Lord, but only cause I was with my dad.

With my dad I picked my first pair of fashionable road runners, a hefty $17.00 purchase. Now, I realize that was a lot of money! With him I chose my first pair of stop signed shaped eye glasses from the cheap section at Mitchell's and felt great about it.

Every Tue. night, we would drive to my grandmother's house and I would go to Brownies with my aunt, feeling safe knowing he was waiting just down the street. On the way home we'd stop at Sunrise Confectionery and I would be allowed to fill a small paper bag with penny candy as he chose his
Rothman's from behind the counter. Swedish berries, and Fun Dips, Orange Pineapple for him and Rainbow ice cream for me, Dixie cups eaten with a wooden spoon. A bag of hostess chips for John, and "something for the little one".

And who could forget the old Dodge Dart he and a neighbor attempted to hand paint and were so proud of. think they wanted beige and red. It was more like peach and red.

I went everywhere with my dad. Visits with his step mother "Mrs. Oliver" on her farm with free roaming wild and crazy turkeys with scary bulbous masses hanging from their chins, gathering caplin at St. Phillips, walks to the Janeway apartments playground, camping in the back of the furniture truck, fishing in the water supply area, rescuing my brother from quick sand, getting the Christmas tree from the woods, falling asleep in his arms.

And of course, trips to clean up the family plot. He trimmed the grass, picked up the mess, layed flowers while I played with the rocks. The best part though, of family plot day was sitting on the cement frame (which defined our dead family's space) and eating bologna sandwiches and drinking Pepsi in the sunshine with my dad. Ah...the family plot... He lives there himself now.

Yes today I will honor and remember my/our father who instilled in me a healthy dose of self esteem. His spirit with me always...He was a great dad, and he would have been a wonderful grandfather too.
Happy Father's day to all dads...and to me too...as I remember.

Yuletide Thoughts #1 SANTA...

It is freezing outside today...I can hear the wind howling through the window...I kind of like it...makes me want to tuck myself in and have some hot chocolate...The crows don't mind the frigid wind it seems. They are in the tree again...three of them. Think they are the same three that always show up in the beautiful naked birch tree outside my window. My mind wanders...back...back...back....STOP! REMEMBER!

(Sigh)

Well, here we are again, Christmas. How did that happen? Seems we just packed up the decorations from last year and had just moved on but here we are again. I am thinking that each day until Christmas if I can be so disciplined I will post a personal Christmas memory, or a memory someone has related to me. (how interesting!) But hey, in the meantime I may prompt another to have a special...or not so special Christmas memory.

I love this time of the year, nothing to do with Christ or with mass. (although I will admit I love a good ritual, a joy-filled choir singing their hearts out, and, well...a good version of Silent Night always makes me cry) We'll get to the Jesus part later...

For me, it has more to do with the feelings surrounding this time of year. The memories...ah the memories wah....

My earliest memory of Christmas involves my mother convincing me that she and my cousin had just seen Santa and his reindeer flying through the sky and then landing on the house next door as they sat in the window watching the snow fall, playing cards and sucking back a Rothmans. All such a comfort as the wood stove in the kitchen warmed us up and baked our bread. This was her way of getting me to bed I guess...She had me so convinced of it that I actually saw them myself. They were real at that moment and it was magic and wonderful. It helped my mother's case that the announcer on VOCM radio was saying that there had just been a sighting of Santa and his reindeer in the St. John's area. I was a bit freaked out, took this all very seriously,ran up the old stairs and jumped right into bed beside my big brother and tried to force myself to fall asleep before him.

I have no memory of the next morning so unfortunately I have to end that part of the story here but lets assume Santa did arrive and I did have a present the next morning. I even had heard the thump when he landed on our roof & fell through the chimney. I still believe I saw Santa and his reindeer that night...I did, real or imagined...I saw them and I will always have my mother to thank for that magical moment whatever her motives might have been. This one my one and only sighting of Santa. I was probably five years old but it seems like yesterday. I remember it as if it was real. My mother was quite skilled in making imagined things become real.

Years later When I was nine I found two garbage bags in my parents closet, both full of toys and Christmas things which I immediately knew were for me, my brother and my new little sister. I knew they were from Santa. At that moment I knew that Santa must not be real, but I carefully placed the bags back in the exact position I found them just in case Santa had just stored them there because he might run out of space or something. I knew not to mention this and although inside I knew it was all a lie, I carried on the next day pretending to believe.

After all, that was the year I received Hugo Man of A thousand Faces, a Makin Faces clown make up kit and a gigantic colouring book almost as big as me, so even if Santa did not exist...well, I still believed in him. Nobody ever told me Santa was not real. I just knew. It was still like magic, I went to bed crayonless, I woke up to find 64 brand new fresh Crayola crayons to compliment my new colouring book. Eventually my Mother told me that we had to pay Santa for the things he brought, so if we got less, it was not because we were "naughty" or that we were on the "bad" list, it was just that they could only pay Santa a certain amount that year. I believed her...sounded reasonable...but the Santa part...I let that go...I knew what she meant.

We were poor but who knew, I didn't.

As an adult I visited Iceland and enjoyed a fine meal of reindeer...felt weird about that!