When their bags were full of goodies, the kids stopped
at the schoolyard to stuff themselves silly.
“Trick or treat!” beeped the thing.
“There’s something weird about that new kid,”
whispered Lily.
 
                                                              from Space Case
                                                            by Edward Marshall
       
​       ​I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up. Even at the tender age of six, I knew that was pretty impossible. First, I was the wrong shape, too round. Next, I didn’t have enough poise or grace. I’d bump into walls, sometimes, and we all know how I (sorta) learned to roller skate.
       But if I pretended, especially with a little bit of dress up, I could be ANYTHING, even a round, clumsy ballerina.
       So, back to Halloween. We’re always telling kids they can do and be anything they can dream of. So maybe the point of Halloween is to help kids identify their dreams and walk around as someone else for a little while, just to try it out.
       Astronaut? (jump into the future)
       Archeologist? (blast back to explore the past)
       Mad Scientist? (even the Mad ones discover stuff!)
       Ghoul? Witch? Vampire? (maybe especially important to feel powerful when when you’re very small)
 
       Okay, even the scary stuff can be useful. I understand, but I still don’t have to like it!
 
                                                                   --stay curious!

In October I'll be host
To witches, goblins and a ghost
I'll serve them chicken soup on toast
Whoopy once, whoopy twice
Whoopy chicken soup with rice
                                                            from Chicken Soup With Rice    
                                                                          by Maurice Sendak

       Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. I was always too little to go with my sister and her friends. My brother was too much of a baby for me to even think about going with him. I wasn’t allowed to go to people’s houses who I didn’t know, so I didn’t go with the neighborhood kids who were allowed to go really far. Then there was the issue of getting lost. I was really afraid I might not be able to find my way back home in the dark. So mostly I liked to stay home and give out the treats.
       As a grown-up, I question the sense of warning kids about strangers all year. Then for one night, encourage those same kids to go to strange houses and ring the doorbell.
       Why do we tell kids they need to avoid sugar and sugary snacks all year long, and on one night, give them the okay to overindulge?
       Then there’s the issue of the costumes. Sometimes it’s really cold on Halloween. The hard work and creativity get covered up by winter jackets, hats, scarves and mittens! Then there’s the problem with the gory, really scary make-up!
       All in fun, people tell me. My idea of fun is something other than going to great lengths to scare little kids then tell them it’s okay to drown their fear in chocolate covered everything!
       I give the kids who come to my house quarters instead of candy. No one has complained, yet and I like the leftovers!
       I’m only kidding a little bit about all this. I will get past Halloween. I always do.
                                                                                                                                                      --stay curious! 

       My grandson’s teacher invited her students’ grandparents and grandfriends to a grandparent’s breakfast.
       Although I was lucky enough to know and love my grandparents (two from my mom and two from my dad) and even my great grandmother, Mom’s grandma, I also had a grandfriend. I didn’t know that’s what he was, at the time. He was my next-door-neighbor, and my friend, Mr. Spisak.
       When I was about four or five, my mom was busy with my baby brother and I don’t remember my older sister being around that much. I was at loose ends for a kid. It was a new neighborhood with muddy streets, new sidewalks, and nobody my age.
       Pretty much every day, I’d knock on Mr. Spisak’s door. Mrs. Spisak would answer. I’d ask if Mr. Spisak could come out to play. She’d always ask me in for a cookie, if I was allowed. (I always was.) He’d come out from wherever he was in his house and we go outside. He’d ask me to help with all his projects: washing his big, black car; weeding his wife’s garden; planting flowers; like that.
       One day I asked him to help me with a project. I wanted a butterfly. We went into his garage, that marvelous, wonderful place that held all his tools, lots of boxes, and I was sure, some magic. He found a large net. He asked me if I had a glass jar (the world was not full of plastic, yet), so I went home to get one. Of course my mom asked why I needed it, but she found one right away when I told her it was for a project with Mr. Spisak.
       I watched as he used a hammer and nail to poke holes in the lid. So my butterfly could breathe, he explained.
       We went back outside and ran around for a long time, chasing those elusive creatures. I finally settled for a grasshopper. I put some grass and sticks in the bottom of the jar, gently placed the creature in its new home, and kept it for a few days.
       I don’t remember much about the grasshopper, if I fed it leaves or even if I put a stick in its jar. But I remember many happy hours with my wonderful grandfriend. I hope you’re still watching out for me, Mr. Spisak. Thank you!
                                                                   ​--stay curious!

​Ice is ice unless...
it forms flakes.
Pack.                    
    Stack.
Shape it and--
    —smack!
Snow is snow unless...
Spring comes back.
                     from Water is Water
                     by Miranda Paul

​       Skating is not something I’m good at. When I was seven or eight years old, I had a pair of metal roller skates. I tightened them onto my shoes and hooked the key on a shoelace around my neck. I really wanted to keep up with the neighbor kids as they glided around the block, but the smallest irregularity in the pavement would throw me for a loop and land me on my bottom. My mom came to my rescue with a pillow and my dad’s belt. I held the pillow around my bottom and strapped the belt around, fastening the buckle, tight. I wasn’t graceful, but at least it didn’t hurt as much when I fell.
       Many years later, some friends thought it would be fun to go ice-skating. I did not think so. But, being the good sport that I usually am, I said okay. Without a pillow or belt to hold it on, all I had was my pride. After the fourth or fifth try (and fall) I left the ice, alone, still smiling (somewhat), pride intact (somewhat).
       Like Miranda Paul says, water is water until it becomes something else. And we’re all in our own ways, becoming something else. I watch the trees change color and make sure the bird feeder is full. I’m content to wait for another cozy winter to melt into another sloppy spring before summer comes back.
       I wonder what I will have changed into. Probably not a skater! I'll have to find some other way to be graceful!
 
                                                                                                                                                      --stay curious!