Halloween and Me

My son Bryan was telling me why Halloween is one of his favorite holidays, “You get to

Bryan as Aquaman

dress up in costumes like people you wish you were, then you go out into the night, and knock on doors to meet strangers, something you would never be allowed to do normally. And they give you “treasures” usually candy.”

I have always liked Halloween. I recall when we were living in one house on in the middle of the block on Pages Lane, it had a storage room under the house (not a basement, but had dirt floors). One year we had a spook alley there, and according to my brother, Gary, our party was mentioned in the local Davis County Clipper. I don’t recall the Halloween costumes I wore as a child, but as an adult, passing out candy, I was usually the witch. Rather than go trick-or-treating with my children, most years I stayed home dressed as a witch with scary music, handing out candy. However once I went as a genie while Bryan was Aladdin. My witch costume was my contribution to the “make-believe” of Halloween. Or maybe I was just living up to my real personality—that of a witch! 

Beth as a witch

Halloween is a uniquely American holiday. Some say it was originally a Celtic festival known as Samhain, which celebrates the end of the harvest. The ancient Celtic felt that on October 31, the boundaries between the worlds of the living and dead were weakened; that night the dead could come back to life to cause problems. Some say that the Celtic were the first to wear costumes—“typically animal heads and skins.” I don’t think they were thinking of trick-or-treating.

Others maintain that Halloween is separate from those pagan roots, and has solely Christian roots. We know that in the 700s, Pope Gregory III expanded a feast of All Martyrs Day into a festival honoring all saints, and moved the date to November 1. Many believe the Catholic church was trying to supplant Samhain with “All Saints Day,” also called “All-hallows or All-hallowmas (the Middle English term for All Saints Day.”) The night before this saints’ day was All-hallows eve, which eventually became Halloween. In England, there was no tradition of the pagan Samhain, and All Saints’ Day retained its religious significant. But the Irish loved their Halloween and kept alive its spooky traditions. 

Today in Mexico they celebrate November 1 as the original All Saints' Day or "Day of the Dead" and it is a spiritual holiday--UNLIKE our Halloween.

The celebration of Halloween in colonial New England was strictly limited due to the rigid Protestant traditions, there, but in the southern colonies Halloween was more common and merged with Irish and native American Indians traditions to become more of what we know, today.

My husband Ed grew up in a small Idaho town and he recalls playing many “tricks” on Halloween, turning outhouses upside down, or moving them to the middle of town. By the 1950s, however, communities were trying to eliminate this type of vandalism, and “trick-or-treating” became common.

Tipping outhouses

Trick-or-treating supposedly goes back to All Souls’ Day parades in England when poor citizens would beg for food in exchange for a promise to pray for the family’s dead relatives. Pastries called “soul cakes” would be given to these beggars, but eventually gifts of ale, money, or food became more common as children visited the houses in their neighborhoods. Between 1920 and 1950, according to one site, the centuries old tradition of trick-or-treat revived in America.

My grandson a Ninja

Today, because of the fear of children being harmed on Halloween, many communities are having “Trunk-or-Treat” where supervised parties (many in parking lots or parks where treats would be given out of the car trunks), are becoming more common. In small safe communities, there is still door-to-door trick-or-treating, but in the large urban communities this is becoming less common. Who knows where this trend will eventually go. Maybe 50 years from now, children will not go door to door.

Typical Carnivale costumes

Many other countries still don’t celebrate Halloween. When we lived in Vicenza, Italy, we were in an Italian/American ward, and had a Halloween party. Many of the Americans wore scary costumes, but the Italians wore their Carnivale costumes, beautiful, historic costumes rather than demons, witches or other frightening costumes. Every Carnivale (in February or March), the Italians in that area of the country go to Venice to wear beautiful costumes. It was a big holiday for them. My grandson on a mission in Costa Rico could not celebrate Halloween there, but he carved a face into a carrot.

My great-grandchildren--
a mosquito and a can of "OFF" 

I loved making costumes for my children to wear on Halloween, the more creative the better My granddaughter, Skye, followed my example this year as she created a mosquito costume for her niece and an insect-spray can for her nephew. But whatever my family wear for Halloween, it usually is unique and different.

Bryan has always been very creative in his Halloween costumes. I made him a “Riddler” costume years ago, but now he makes his own costumes. Which is quite ironic as he performs in plays, commercials and even movies, so he can be someone different all the time in his job. 

My daughter and her husband recently went to Halloween as “Simon & Garfunkle.” I guess it goes back to Bryan’s idea of Halloween—to dress up as people you wish you were. 

My daughter and son-in-law at a
Halloween party this year

Bryan (in front as the Riddler) and his buddies in years past

My three older children, Marc, Marlowe & Athena as children
El Paso, TX

Athena & Marlowe, Ft. Wolters, TX

Marlowe, Athena & Marc, Ft. Hood, TX

Bryan years ago 

Ed, Marlowe, Marc & Diana (in a recycled costume) Carnivale in Italy

My grandchildren (and Bryan in the far back) on Halloween years ago
The little cowboy is the current-day missionary

Miracles of My Mother

I’ve been thinking a lot about miracles lately, especially the miracles that have occurred in my life. But first I need to answer the question, “What is a miracle?” Many people consider all the marvelous and miraculous technology of our days, TV, radio, satellite transmissions, smartphones, etc. miracles, and I agree. But there are many more miracles.

Matthew Cowley

A definition that I like is found in Mighty Miracles, a book about Elder Matthew Cowley’s miracles: “Miracles are difficult to define. Some say a miracle must defy the laws of nature; others define it more loosely. The Encyclopedia of Mormonism includes a simple definition: “A miracle is a beneficial event brought about through divine power that mortals do not understand and of themselves cannot duplicate.”[i]

I also remember a wonderful song from Fiddler on the Roof about miracles:

Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles-
Stood by his and side and- miracle of miracles- 
Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles-
I was afraid that God would frown,

But like he did so long ago, at Jericho,
God just made a wall fall down!

                                            When Moses softened Pharaoh's heart, that was a miracle.
                                            When God made the waters of the red sea part, that was a miracle too!
                                             But of all God's miracles large and small,
                                             The most miraculous one of all
                                              Is that out of a worthless lump of clay,
                                              God has made a man today. . . .

                                             When David slew Goliath (yes!), that was a miracle.
                                             When God gave us manna in the wilderness, that was a miracle too.
                                              But of all God's miracles large and small,
                                              The most miraculous one of all
                                              Is the one I thought could never be:
                                              God has given you to me.[ii]

This song celebrates the fact that the singer was able to win his love’s hand and the approval from her father, when she was promised to another.

There are several types of miracles in the book, Mighty Miracles, which Olaveson mentions:

“Matthew saw the miracles in his life for what they were. . . . He saw grown men give up long-held addictions. He saw grown men give up long–held addictions. He blessed people who were near death to live, he healed villages of typhoid fever.[iii]”

President Spencer W. Kimball said of miracles, “What kind of miracles to we have? All kinds

Spencer W. Kimball

—revelation, visions, tongues, healings, special guidance and direction, evil spirits cast out. Where are they recorded? In the records of the Church, in journals, in news and magazine articles and in the minds and memories of many people.[iv]”

One experience in my mother’s life was a classic miracle. Jennie Hansen, my own mother, was sick following her first mastectomy in 1953. My father told me the story how my mother had asthma and went into a coma following the surgery because of complications.  In fact, Mrs. Mann, the next door neighbor that was sitting with mother said that she saw my mother die and turn cold and blue.  Mrs. Mann rang for the nurses. Dad said a general authority came in the room right then; he said he had been in the hospital, had felt that someone needed a blessing in mother’s room, and so he gave her one.  Mrs. Mann saw the color (and life) come back into mother’s face after his blessing. This story is one I remember; I asked my father about it before he died, and he confirmed the facts as I have related.

Jennie hansen

My mother related to me that she had an experience after her first mastectomy that I am not sure if it is related to the previous experience. Mother said was very ill after her own first mastectomy and saw her mother appear. Mother thought she was dying and her mother had come to take her to heaven. However, Grandmother Hendrickson told mother that it wasn’t her time to go; that she still had another child to be born.

Another experience was when my mother's sister, Ingeborg was dying of cancer.  We were living about l2 miles out of Monticello, Utah at the time on a dry farm without a phone, electricity or running water.  Mother was very concerned that it would take a lot of time for the notification of Ingeborg's death to come all the way out to their farm, so Mother prayed that she would know when Ingeborg died so that she would be ready for the long drive to Brigham City.

Ingeborg Hendrickson Frye

Mother said that Ingeborg appeared to her and told her that she'd passed on, and Mother immediately got up, packed and had everything ready to leave by the time official notification came out to the farm.

My brother Gary told me that when mother was dying, and it looked hopeless, Dad asked Gary to give her a blessing of healing. Gary said he gave her a blessing, but rather than telling her she would live longer, he basically “released” her from her painful and suffering she was going through. He also mentioned that her deceased sisters were there and waiting for her to join them. Afterwards, Mother was looking fixedly at a corner of the room, and told Gary she could see her sisters there. It was only a few more days later she passed away.

Fay Hansen

One of the earliest experiences that I recall my mother telling me about was how she knew that she was to marry my father.  She was living in Corrine, Utah and boarding with her family was Alma and Eulala Hansen.  One day Eulala showed Jennie the photo of Alma's younger brother, Fay, and Jennie said, "That's the man I'm going to marry."  And of course she did.

Are these miracles? I think they are and prove how the Lord blesses us through miracles that strengthen us through the trials of life.

---

[i] Olaveston,Breanna, Mighty Miracles, Covenant Communications (2015). page xi.

[ii] hhttp://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/f/fiddlerontherooflyrics/miracleofmiracleslyrics.html

[iii] Olaveston, page xii

[iv] The teachings of Spencer W. Kimball, Ed. Edward L. Kimball (1982), page 499.

Looking Back at “Back to the Future”

October 21, 2015 was the date Marty McFly went to in his journey to the future from 1985 in the iconic “Back to the Future” film of 1989. As the world celebrates this “Back to the Future Day,” and compares all the things that were and were not foretold, I’d like to go back to 1985 and compare how my life was in October 1985.

In October 1985, we were living in Vicenza, Italy, with our three children. Marlowe was at Utah State (in Logan, Utah), Athena and Marc were teenagers attending the DODS (Department of Defense School) in Vicenza. Diana was an eight-year-old. In the movie, Marty McFly goes back to the future to save his son from being arrested, and it is ironic that that year I was always worrying about Marc, my 14-year-old teenager, who it seemed was always getting in trouble.

Marc, 1985

This was our second year of our three-year tour in Italy; Marlowe had graduated from Vicenza High School, received a four-year scholarship to Utah State University, so we only had three children in Italy with us. Athena was a popular junior in the high school, school officer and performing in gymnastics. Marc was a ninth grader, class president, and wrestled on the high school team. Diana was in elementary school, and doing well.

I was in my second year in University of Maryland, attending night classes on base. It was very ironic that I, who had waited over 20 years to complete the college education I had interrupted when I married Ed in 1963 so I could be home with my children, now attended night classes, when the children were home and I wasn’t.

Athena, my prize-winning gymnast

My classes started about 5:00 p.m., so I can remember the “hand-off” when I arrived on base to attend school and met Athena and Marc, who would tend Diana that evening for me. I felt like I was handing-off Diana for their care, but of course, we were comparing plans as we traded places—me to school and them to home (or activities). Ed usually took care of Diana while I was in school, except for when he was TDY (away on temporary duty) and out of town.

I wasn’t gone every night, but usually took classes Monday through Thursday; however I also took a Saturday Cultural History Class where we went to visit the places we had studied about that week. It was a wonderful way to study history and I took at least four of these classes, visiting all the areas in Northern Italy. We studied Rome, but never visited there as a class. We would study the history, art, music, culture of the city (for example, Ravenna); then on Saturday, took a chartered bus to Ravenna to look at and discuss all the things we had studied!!!

Angela Buvoli, Conversational Italian teacher

I took Italian language classes through the University, (two full years), as well as attended a “conversational Italian” class on base to further enhance my use of the language. The conversational Italian teacher, Signora Angela Buvoli, told us about every-day life in Vicenza, its history, and how to understand things in a foreign country—how to take a bus, where to find things we needed, but didn’t know where to obtain; I recall I broke my sewing machine foot and she told me which marketplace I could most likely purchase a new foot for my machine; she was right. She taught us “how to get along” Italian, not the rigid grammar I learned from my university professor. I was always trying to practice my Italian, though I spoke it with a German accent (because I had studied German in college—or that was why they said I sounded more German than American).

I always spoke Italian with an accent, unlike my older children, who picked up Italian and spoke it without any accent (especially Marlowe). But Marlowe, who took Italian language classes in college in Utah and who always sounded like a native Italian, did not know his grammar as well as I did. Because of my English major, I studied English grammar and could compare it to the complex Latin grammar of the Italian language. But what I learned about Italian and practiced, although I was never very proficient), got me around. In fact when Ed and I traveled to Spain for a creative writing class taught on the “Costa Blanca,” I was able to speak enough Italian to help us though France (and of course, they thought I was German because of my accent), and never were quite as prejudiced as they would have been if I had spoken English and been a terrible American.

Ed in Germany 1985

I wasn’t as bad as my husband, Ed, who had studied Italian for six months in the Army’s Monterrey, California language school, and couldn’t seem to understand it. Once he stopped at a fruit market and asked for a “kilometer” of grapes. Of course kilometer is a measurement like miles and he meant to ask for a “kilo” or a thousand grams or approximately 2.2 pounds of grapes. He gave everyone in the market a good laugh at the ignorant American who couldn’t compute measurements.

Hitler's Eagle's Nest

That fall we went to Germany with Ed for meetings and were able to visit Hitler’s “Eagle Nest” at Berchesgaden, in Bavaria. The 20-minute “adventurous” bus ride along the steep rock walls and gorges to an altitude of 5,000 feet gave us a breathtaking view of one of Hitler’s favorite places. I recall buying a drink of “hot chocolate” there and I got a demitasse cup of thick, bitter, dark chocolate syrup without milk or sugar and couldn’t drink it. America’s idea of “hot chocolate” is definitely not the same as Germany or Italy’s.

The other thing I remember about that trip was that we were trying to help Marc be more responsible about his grades. Marc failed to turn in his assignments, or whatever, so he could not miss school to go on the trip, so Ed, Athena and Diana drove to Germany during the end of the week. Then Marc and I had to take the train after school on Friday afternoon to Germany to meet them.

I recall being confused in Milan when we had to change trains to go to Munich, Germany, and the signs referred to Munich as “Monaco” (Monaco di Baviera); it took me a while to determine that “Monaco” was the Italian name for München (German for Munich) and where I wanted to go—and that I was not headed toward the Monaco principality on the French Riviera. It was late that night when Ed met Marc and I at the train station and drove us to the hotel.

Athena and Marc were also very active in the base community theater program that fall, and I remember Athena was rehearsing for a musical that would be performed in December.

Diana

When I look back at October 1985, I think of it as the calm before the storm, because in December 1985 Ed was got a bone infection in his left arm, was medevacked (medically evacuated) to German and would spend nine months of the next year and a half in hospitals in Germany and Walter Reed Hospital (Washington, D. C.) before he was finally well again.  Ed spent that Christmas in the hospital at Landstuhl Airforce Base. I had flown with him to Germany as he was so sick, and arrived home on Christmas Eve. Diana had been staying with friends while I was in Germany, and I picked her up and Athena, Diana and I had Christmas together. Marc was skiing with friends in Austria that Christmas holiday and Marlowe stayed in Utah with Grandma Chambers in Burley. It was a lonely Christmas. 

Ed in the hospital at Landstuhl, Germany Christmas 1985

Moving—One of Life’s Worst Experiences

The dictionary defines moving as “to go from one place of residence to another."

 That sounds so easy, but in real life, moving from one residence to another is one of the most traumatic experiences in your life. Ask me—I’ve moved 25 times before we settled in Utah 25 years ago, and even then we’ve moved once while we’ve lived here.

Once, many years ago as a teenager, I had the bug to travel, “to be a gypsy,” and see the world. I grew out of that about the 20^th move. Actually I don’t mind it after I have moved and gotten settled into a new home; I enjoyed living in new areas of the country and learning about new cultures. I never got tired of that. It was the actual physical MOVE that drove me insane.

<Since my husband was in the military, we had the army move us in moving vans so it

wasn’t like I had to physically pack every box, and unpack every glass and plate. But the process of moving was still overwhelming.

Moving involves change and no one likes change. Usually it means going through and getting rid of stuff. There is a weight limit, so you have to look at everything and weigh in your mind whether it is worth moving if you go over weight and have to pay [blank dollars] per pound for a $5.00 item that weighs 20 pounds.

>If you can buy an item somewhere else as cheaply, then give them to Goodwill or neighbors. Everything has a material value and a sentimental value and you have to separate the two. Children’s kindergarten drawings can be dumped when the children themselves are in college.

One of my memorable moves were moving to the big island of Hawaii. All our items were in

containers and a fork lift went right through the top of one of them and destroyed everything in that area of the container. They left it open to the weather and still shipped it to Hawaii, so by the time it arrived there, everything in that container was pretty bad. That was an interesting arrival because we had to wait months for our stuff to arrive so they put us up in a hotel until it got there. Four children, including a six-month old baby living in a hotel. It was insane.

My husband got his dream when we left Hawaii; I had gone back with the kids for a family reunion, so he did the move by himself. He got rid of anything he wanted and I couldn’t say a thing. That was his favorite move, and mine also, because I wasn’t involved in the move at all—I was on holiday.

Somehow overseas moves always went wrong! When we moved to Italy, we had to store most of our furniture and take a limited amount with us to Italy. I remember when the movers were moving a lot of our heavy furniture to the van in a driving rainstorm without covering it up, I had a conniption. This was the stuff that was going into storage for three years and they were loading it and all the boxes with it wet with rain. I could see what it would look like in three years after being stored in hot, humid Alabama weather. I called and they stopped, and corrected the problem, and our stuff survived.

We had our first three children in three years so they were a handful. On moving day, we always farmed them out so they wouldn’t be in the way. But somehow, something always happened, whether it was injuries at the friends’ house, or stomach flu, or no sleep for days. Moving from Chicago, my youngest son, 18-months old had just gotten home from our friend’s house, fell off something, and needed stitches in his chin. It was a welcome relief to leave my husband in charge of the move, and take him to the emergency room. At least we didn’t have it as bad as our friends’ children breaking out in chicken pox in the middle of the move. Children always sense stress in others so they always act out and make things worse, so you just have to deal with it, but it isn’t always easy.

My worst move—the absolute worst—was moving from El Paso, Texas to Ft. Hood,  Texas in 1974 with those three little children. We had two cars, so my husband drove one car and I drove the other, with all of the children in it. (I knew how to take care of the kids, of course; he didn’t, he explained.) Our children were six, five, and four-years-old, and I got moving boxes to make desks for each of them, made them “travel kits” hooked onto the boxes for their stuff, and away we went.

Now, to understand this situation, you must know I hate driving. I am terrified of driving.

Marc, Marlowe, myself, Athena 1974

Driving on the freeway back then would give me nightmares for a week. Put me in a car with three little children and tell me to drive almost 600 miles across Texas was enough to do me in. I always used music cassettes in the car so we sang across Texas, but every time we pulled into a gas station, I’d get out and take all the children to the bathroom, get them something to eat, and then, sob on Ed’s shoulder that I couldn’t drive another foot. That I really couldn’t. I would die if I had to get back in the car. He would tell me that he’d been behind me and I’d done fine; none of the kids had gotten out of their seat belts or killed each other. I hadn’t crashed the car. I could make it to the next gas station. Finally I’d take a deep breath and climb back into the insane asylum on wheels. There were no DVDs, no TVs, no video games—just me and the kids, my cassette music and my “travel kits.” It took us two days to make it to Ft. Hood—two days and my sanity. I still have nightmares of that drive.

"Why I am reminiscing about trials during moving? Because my daughter Diana and her family just moved from Chicago to Utah with her five-year-old son, and Diana developed shingles on the way here. Stops at Insta-Care Centers, Emergency Rooms, and lots of pain meds followed. Diana had started out driving, but after the shingles got so bad, Diana couldn’t see because of the pain in her trigeminal nerve so Diana’s mother-in-law had to drive. As bad as my moves were, at least I didn’t have any move THAT bad. Diana is just trying to show me up!