Halloween is Coming

Once upon a time Halloween was a night; now it’s a season. Good grief! We’ve been eating candy corn for a month. My grandkids have made skeletons, pumpkins, and bats at preschool, Primary, the library, and the local Lowe’s Hardware store. They’ve gone trick or treating at preschool, the zoo, and last Saturday night there was a trick or trunk party at the church which included a carnival as well as the traditional round of candy collecting. One smart mom passed out toothbrushes.



















The era of witches, scarecrows, hobos, clowns, and ghosts is gone, replaced by Disney princesses, Darth Vader, and Spiderman. Once little kids dressed in costumes, and teenagers dressed in black. For the little kids Halloween was a once-a-year opportunity to snag treats. For teenagers it was a once-a-year challenge to sneak over to the neighborhood grouch’s house to knock over an outhouse and soap windows. A generation later a lot of toilet-papering took place.













The treats have changed too. Once popular treats included; cup cakes, cookies, apples, popcorn balls, and an invitation to warm up in someone’s kitchen with hot chocolate and doughnuts. Now it’s individually wrapped candy and gum. It’s true Halloween is a celebration of deviltry, but it once had a touch of innocence too. Now with the addition of a mean-spirited element who inject harmful substances into children’s treats, parents have to supervise their little goblin’s treats more carefully. Heavy suburban traffic adds a life-threatening element to the excitement of wearing a costume and potential childhood carelessness. Children must carry flashlights and be accompanied by an adult.

Homes and yards were once decorated with candle-flickering jack-o-lanterns on porches and fence posts. Now Halloween competes with Christmas for elaborate decorations including electric lights and inflated yard scenes.

I’ve never been a Halloween enthusiast. My mother never allowed me to trick or treat; she said no child of hers was going to run around the neighborhood begging. My only trick or treat experience came when I was about twelve when our Beehive class went trick or treating to collect money for UNICEF and almost everyone gave us candy along with money for the charity. I did like Halloween carnivals which most of the schools I attended sponsored on Halloween. As an almost seven-year-old I lost my first tooth biting into a caramel apple at the grade school Halloween carnival. I lost my enthusiasm for carnivals, however, when it was my turn to be a parent working in the PTA.

I allowed my children to trick or treat and even made most of their costumes. Their trick or treating experiences were mostly positive and now they’re as excited as their children about picking costumes for their little ones (which have already been worn half a dozen times and Halloween isn’t even here yet), mapping out which routes to take through their neighborhoods, and planning for movies and activities after.

For the little ones there’s still a sense of innocence and wonder about the adventure even if they are attired in Hollywood scripted costumes. And today’s parents are geared for keeping a vigilant eye out for traffic and sadistic spoilers. I’m not sure I want to know what teenagers do instead of tipping over outhouses.

Once the pictures of costumed children were proudly displayed by grandparents after the holiday, but I’m doing my best to be with the times by showing you a few of my pre-Halloween pictures in advance.


Adults get in the act too. Here's a son-in-law followed by my son and his wife.

And some people don't need Halloween to dress up.

Creations

Just this morning I was listening to an interview on NPR with an author who wrote about Mary Shelley's "Frankstein." Movie clips were played from both the Boris Karloff version and the Mel Brooks version of the "It's alive! It's alive!" scene. Someone mentioned the monster had an "abnormal brain" and everyone started giggling since the "Young Frankenstein" script gave new meaning to “abnormal.” This was "the" movie to see when I was a teenager--I must have seen it about 10 times and all my friends and I all memorized the dialogue.

Creativity is an absolutely fascinating process, and I love being a part of it, as both a writer and an editor. I love watching the ideas for plot and character develop as writers revise, and I love seeing a revised manuscript, when an author has really worked with it to make it come "alive."

Creativity feels good, probably as good as any drug (not that I'm any expert, although I really, really liked the Demerol when I had my appendix out :-) And although revising + creativity feels just as good, revising is one of the toughest parts of writing and one that, for some reason, some people feel is completely optional. I'm always stunned when I come across (usually new) writers who actually brag that they haven't changed a word since they wrote it. "That's just how it came out," they tell me, when asking for my opinion, and without reading a word, I generally have an opinion.

I’ve had a few experiences like that myself when an idea took hold and the writing flowed and I seemed to connect to this inner fount of words; and later, when I read my article or piece of writing over, I felt like I had done a pretty respectable job (bordering on downright fabulous). In fact, when I was a graduate student working on a thesis made up of creative essays, I took one such piece of writing (it was just a scene but I reverently attached it to the greater piece) to my advisor, who, in response to my exuberant "It's alive!" (metaphorically speaking, that is) said without even reading it, "I can see somebody's still too close to her writing."

What? He doubted me? Didn't he think I had any sense of good writing? He certainly burst my lovely bubble. Well, long story short, I did go back and revise the scene. My creative burst had given me some good material to work with, but it was only the draft, the first step in a longer creative process.

Writers often compare to their work to the act of giving birth, and editors compare their role to serving as a midwife in assisting in the work. We've all heard something like this and may even have experienced it. What I would like new writers to know is that even when the childbirth is accomplished, and the baby is declared perfect and healthy, it still needs to be cleaned up before it (excuse me, he or she) is presentable. Imagine leaving that lovely, perfect little baby all slick and icky as you show your latest accomplishment off to everyone. (I'll say it again, ick, but then again, maybe you new mothers would like to weigh in and tell me I'm completely wrong, it's not icky at all. My only experience is with watching kittens get the cleanup treatment from their moms and the kittens looked much better after their first bath).

As I started out saying, being a part of the creation process feels really good. It feels amazing, in fact. Granted, it can also feel grueling (to go back to the childbirth metaphor, not to mention the morning sickness that’s a part of the earlier process). Writing 10 pages, 100 pages, 300 pages—even an imperfect first draft is an accomplishment to be proud of. But like giving birth to a child, the work is really just starting as you the author, or the mother, begin a long, tiring, frustrating, at times, heart-breaking, stimulating and thrilling journey.

The Book Was Better! by Nancy Campbell Allen

There's a reason people say, "The book was better."

When we who love to read get involved in a story we see things a certain way, we experience the book individually. I've heard that the same book is never the same to various readers, and I believe that. Reading is a unique, usually solitary experience and the reader finds herself living that book in her own way until she discusses it with others and broadens her perspective on it. Maybe she'll agree with other opinions, maybe she won't, but she comes away from the book with her own feelings about it.

J.K. Rowling once said that a young girl standing in a signing line was a little upset that there were so many other people there, that she felt Harry Potter was her book. I love that! And it's one of the reasons that I sometimes have a hard time with audio versions- it's like the reader is intruding on my experience or something. I know, weird.

The reason I bring all of this up is because I was thinking the other day about one of my very favorites, The Count of Monte Cristo, and the movie version that came out in 2002. I have loved the book for ages. I suggested it for my local book club, we read it, and then went and saw the movie together. (Should have seen us all, a bunch of married Mormon women, staring at the screen with our mouths agape at James Caviezel).


But other than the eye candy, I was really unhappy with the way the story had been totally altered.

I mean completely.

Why does it have to be that way? Monte Cristo gets a happy ending in the book! Why couldn't Hollywood have stayed true to the story?

It's funny to listen to my kids say, "That didn't happen in the book," when they watch movies. And one of my favorite memories along those lines was when I was first married and my husband had read John Grisham's The Firm. When the movie came out, we sat in the theater with him muttering the that-didn't-happen litany through the whole of it. The reason I was so tickled by this is because my husband isn't a reader.

So, I'd have to say that overall, the book is better than the movie. My Junior English Seminar teacher at Ogden High School once told us that this was true for every movie she'd seen except for the movie adaptation of A Separate Peace. I hated both the book and the movie, so I can't say I agree with her.

What about you? Can you think of any movies out there that are better than the books? Have you seen a movie adaptation that made your blood boil because it was such a shame they slaughtered your favorite book so much?

Simple Lives

George and I have been visiting in Lake Tahoe, California this past week. It is the third anniversary of my mom’s passing, and we came to the beautiful Sierra Nevada Mountains to visit her grave and celebrate the goodness of her life.

Along with my sister, who still lives in Tahoe, we bought pale lilac colored gladiolas (my mom’s favorite color and flower) and drove over to the Happy Homes Cemetery to place them on her grave. We stood by the graveside in the beautiful Tahoe sunshine and talked and laughed and remembered. My sister remembered how our summer days at the Lake were filled with people visiting from near and far, picnics on the beach, hikes into the mountains, and making room for lots of extra guests. We were awed by how Mom was always jovial and welcoming when the hordes descended.

We also chuckled about how she saved aluminum foil, and rubber bands, and plastic bags—not because she grew up in the age of recycling, but because she grew up in the age of the Great Depression. Both Mom and Dad were good at saving, paying cash for a big ticket items, doing without, and not caring what the “Jones’s” possessed. I have a little Christmas book coming out entitled, “Christmas for a Dollar” which tells of an actual Christmas my father had when he was a boy during the depression, and how he and his family made a joyful celebration out of very little. Retelling the story has made me reevaluate how I approach the season. It’s also made me very grateful for parents who lived such frugal and good lives.

Both my parents are gone now, but I never think of them with sadness. I think of the fun, charmed, and adventurous life they provided while I was growing up, and for the legacy of hard work and simplicity they taught. All the lessons have served me well.

I Vote for Democracy! by Anna Jones Buttimore

Democracy works! I know, I was surprised too, and quite thrilled to have made that discovery this week. Here’s how it happened:

Recycling services in our area are really quite poor. The council collects paper, cardboard, glass and green waste (grass cuttings), but most of us can never remember what is being collected which week, and what colour box or bag it is supposed to be in. And they don’t collect cans and plastic bottles. Being a responsible sort of soul, each time I visit friends in the next borough (where they do have collection facilities for such items) I take along my empties. I’m extremely popular, as you might imagine, arriving with three noisy children and four bin bags full of mouldy tins and festering milk bottles, then eating all the cheesecake and going home leaving the smelly rubbish, and occasionally a child or two, behind.

In May I actually took the time to read through the “Vote for Me” leaflets which came through my door from potential local counsellors. You know the type – community minded individuals who have served on every Parent Teacher Association from pre-school to sixth-form, planted 50 trees, scrubbed graffiti off the village hall and raised £500,000 for the local hospital before lunch. One of them was promising that, if elected, she would improve recycling collections. So I voted for her. So did everyone else, it seems, because she won. And tomorrow I can proudly put out my first pink sack containing paper, cardboard, glass, cans and plastics, all mixed up together. And soon thereafter, I trust, a gleaming yellow truck will come and take it all away to be recycled.

What this has taught me (and I know you knew this already) is that if enough people want something, and are capable of saying so, then it has a very good chance of happening. That's what democracy is about, and why it is such a good idea.

Now, even over here it's diffcult to escape the fact that you Americans have an election coming up. I have no idea who I'd vote for, were I entitled to, because I don't know what they stand for. Which one is going to ban abortion and guns, and give you a free healthcare service such as the one we Brits rejoice in? Well, he'd have my vote.

Elections here - like everything here, actually - are pretty low key. Campaigning starts only six weeks beforehand and there aren't really the big public rallies, theme tunes and excitement that I see on TV reports of the American campaigns. Politics, like religion, is really considered something of an inappropriate subject for polite conversation, so most of us do what I do. We read the leaflets, and we vote for the person promising to do what we want them to do.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and look at my pink recycling sacks and reflect on my awesome power.

Temples

My husband and I had the opportunity to go to the Bay area. While there we visited the Oakland Temple grounds. I was in awe of the beauty of the landscape and view, as I had never seen the Temple before other than in pictures.
Upon our arrival, the first thing I noticed was the music of the Mormon Tabernacle choir reverently signing hymns over a speaker. I have never heard of this at the Temple and I was immediately filled with a sense of reverence for the sacred ground in which I stood upon.

This past week, I have taken the opportunity to really ponder and once again realize just how blessed I am to not only attend the Temple but to work in such a Sacred environment.
I enjoy my work in the Jordan River Temple. At one time I volunteered as a receptionist for a few years, but I now work in the cafeteria. It’s interesting to me to see the people who come and go through the doors of the dining room of the Temple. To me, working there is much more than just a job, it’s part of my Temple experience.

The Temple represents many things. It is a House of order, glory, prayer, fasting, thanksgiving, learning, faith, refuge, and so on. With each of these descriptions, a multitude of blessings can be ours.

Seeing how the Temple was a house of thanksgiving for one particular young man touched me. He couldn't have been more than twenty-three years of age or so when he walked up to me and handed me two hundred dollars and said, “This is to pay for their dinner,” He pointed to the long line of people that had formed to get their dinner when he started to turn and walk away. “Wait, I don’t know who you mean,” I said. Often times a family member will walk up and hand me money to avoid confrontation of who will pay for the others dinner in their group, but this time I had no idea where this young man’s family began or ended. He stepped closer and said, “I came into some money today and wanted to show my gratitude. I’m sorry, but it’s all the cash I had on me. I just wanted to pay for as many people’s dinner as that money could buy.” He turned and stepped to the back of the line. He was all-alone. He had come to the Temple to show his gratitude for the blessings he had received that day. With thankful heart, he bought 38 people dinner with that money. Elderly people, single people, couples, and workers benefited from this young man’s expression of gratitude. It made such an impression on me. The outpouring of love and appreciation was inspiring. Tear filled eyes were in awe that a young man would be so generous. When told that their cup of soup and roll had been paid for, an elderly couple said, “Who would do that for us?” They were so shocked and humbled, they just stood there speechless, unsure whether to accept the meal or not. A sister who came alone said, “No, there must be some mistake. No one would pay for me. I came by myself.” She started crying. A couple kept asking, “Really? Really? Just because? Please tell us who would do such a kind thing. We have to say thank you.” They were so impressed. The reactions of the people were incredible. That young man touched so many hearts with his gift of gratitude.

The Temple is indeed a House of Glory. All you have to do is step inside and know it is a place where our Heavenly Father’s Spirit can dwell. I think it’s crucial for us to remember that you cannot enter there with a worldly attitude and expect to have a Spiritual experience.

There are days it is hard for me to go to work. I need to be home getting something done or I feel a need to be with my family. There are days when my job has it’s own unique challenges, but how I love to be at the Temple! The people with whom I work and come in contact with have influenced my life in many ways. As a House of service, my family and I have been on the receiving end of that service so many times I couldn’t possibly list them all here. (In a later blog, I will tell you about the M&M project) As struggles have fallen upon myself or my family due to surgeries and medical conditions, we have been the recipients of meals, money, prayers and fasting. Within the cafeteria, we look for ways to serve each other and it has caused us to bond and become a close knit Temple-family.

The Temple is a House of refuge. It doesn’t matter how frazzled my day is outside of the Temple, when I walk inside, a calmness comes over me and I know all will be well. I love the people I work with, the people I serve, and the environment in which I am so blessed to be a part of.

The Temple is also a house of protection. The Temple is one place on earth where we can go to find peace, solace, and comfort. If you are overwhelmed, with a prayerful heart, you can enter unto the Temple, and find strength from the scripture in D&C 109:22
“Thy servant may go forth from this house armed with thy power and that thy name may be upon them and thy glory be round about them, and thine angels have charge over them.”

I am reminded of a quote by President Vaughn J Featherstone: “I promise you that all who faithfully attend to Temple work will be blessed beyond measure.
Your families will draw closer to the Lord, unseen angels will watch over your loved ones, when Satanic forces tempt them. The veil will be thin and great Spiritual experiences will distill upon this people.”

My work at the Temple has been a tremendous blessing in my family’s life and mine. As I come in contact with the people who enter the Temple to do their Temple work, in whatever capacity it may be, whether they are patrons, workers, volunteers or employees, I find my life is more richly blessed.
I am incredibly grateful for the eternal blessings the Temple provides us as we make a commitment to be obedient I am thankful I have a constant reminder in my life that in this world we have a greater purpose and that eternal happiness can be ours.
I am so grateful for the House of our Father where I can find peace, solace, inspiration, and learning. The Temple truly enriches my life.

Ten More Days!

by Stephanie Black




As a child, I loved Halloween. My sisters and I were expert trick-or-treaters. When we arrived home after our eager trek around the neighborhood, we’d dump our candy out and sort it—Three Musketeer bars here, Tootsie Pops here, Bit O’Honeys—yuck, Mom and Dad can have those for “tax”.

Unfortunately—but naturally—I outgrew trick-or-treating. I was twelve, going on thirteen. My older sister and partner in crime wasn’t going with me that year. I hadn’t even bothered to plan a costume in advance—I was rummaging through the dress-up box on Halloween, trying to come up with some last-minute thing to wear, and I ended dressing as a sort of makeshift alien. When trick-or-treating starts to feel like more trouble than it's worth, you know that's it.

After that, Halloween always seemed to be a bit of a bust. I loved Halloween, so it felt like it ought to be special, but without trick-or-treating, I wasn’t doing much that was special. I wasn’t a party-thrower (possibly having inherited too many party-pooping genes from my father who, when at Disneyland, decided “Nothing is worth standing in line that long for” and left to go work on his talk for Education Week).

To my delight, the excitement of Halloween rose again with all its spooky thrills when my children got old enough to enjoy the holiday. I even get to go trick-or-treating again, at least every other year (sometimes my husband goes and I hand out candy). I still love trick-or-treating and no, it’s not just about the chocolate. At my age, I could buy a bag of candy if I'm so all-fired desperate for sugar, but that's not the point. Candy is much more fun if you get it by trick-or-treating. I love the scent of trick-or-treating candy, that delectable aroma of a bunch of different types of candy mixed together in a trick-or-treating sack. That's a once-a-year smell. Yum! And I love the decorations—the glowing jack-o-lanterns, the ghosts (the fun stuff, not the gruesome stuff).

Last year, my oldest daughter and her friend were taking my youngest daughter trick-or-treating. My middle daughter and son were going with a friend. That left my youngest son to come trick-or-treating with me. He didn't seem thrilled with this arrangement. "I want someone fast!" he said. He was afraid I'd be too slow and wouldn't keep up with his frenzied pace. Oh my heck. In the words of the villainous Yzma from The Emperor's New Groove, "Does he have any IDEA who he's dealing with?" Son, I could trick-or-treat your little costumed self into the ground. Just try to keep up. Eat my dust.

Of course, I’d probably get some funny looks if I rang the doorbell without him.

Happy Halloween!