"Double, double toil and trouble...

                                                    ...fire burn, and cauldron bubble"

I write a lot about traditions and what they mean to me. I suppose this week is as good a time as any to talk about my favorite holiday: Halloween. Now, I love Christmas and Thanksgiving. They are full of food and family...and more food. I love the ambiance of my home with just the lights on my carefully decorated tree glowing. The bitter chill that accompanies each visitor that walks in the door. Halloween holds that magic for me too, except the weather is much more pleasant, and everything carries with it a spooky feel. Halloween is a perfect "single person" holiday. Instead of dreading the instant solitude at the end of a day full of togetherness, you acutally hope to come home to an empty house after the festivities have ended. At least you hope Michael Myers isn't lurking in the shadows to walk toward you slowly as you run away quickly, only to have him catch up to you and stab you repeatedly with a butcher knife.

I remember the first time I saw "Halloween". It was a dreary fall day, and I was excitedly getting ready for my friend, Laura's party. My parents were sitting on the couch watching the classic movie. I don't recall what my sisters were doing, but I sat down next to my mom on the couch and watched it with her until it was time for my dad to drive me to Greens Fork. I learned a very valuable lesson that day:

When you're going to a party in the middle of the country, at night, complete with a hayride, it is never a good idea to choose that day to introduce yourself to Michael Myers.

My eyes were as big as saucers every time I stepped outside. I was on full alert, watching for any sudden movements or glimpses of a white mask bearing a slight resemblance to William Shatner. I didn't sleep for days. I was certain the Boogeyman was going to somehow circumvent the locked doors and windows I triple-checked every night before going to bed, and come in to murder me.

Eventually I got over it, but "Halloween" is still the scariest movie I've ever seen.

Figuring out my costume each year was always a big deal for me. I would start planning months in advance, always saying, "Mom, I want to be ______________ for Halloween this year." To which she would typically reply, "Lindsey, it's July."

I have been many things through the years:

A Raggedy Ann doll
A princess
A witch
A bunny
A punk rocker
The Invisible Man
A box of Kleenex
An old man
White Trash
Meg Griffin
Sue Sylvester

                    ...just to name a few.

I'm an adult now, but I still get all tingly when I feel Halloween approaching. While, as a child, I was terrified of the dark, and masked-murderers...and basically everything, I have grown to love horror movies...and I even watch them in the dark. It's a time which allows us all to be just a little different, to let our freak flags fly. Decorate with the color orange. Eat a Twizzler....hell, eat two AND a Snickers, because when you wake up the next morning, with a hangover brought on by too much sugar or the big beer bash the night before, it will be November. November means you have to start thinking about Christmas shopping and whether or not to buy a real tree, or go with the artificial one. You begin to regret carving your pumpkins because if you hadn't, you could have squeezed another three weeks out of them in an effort to keep your porch festive until the Christmas lights come out.

Besides,

                 "It's Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare..."

The Autumn Leaves Have Got Me Thinking...

I'm in the mood to shake things up, and make some changes for the better. After all, it wouldn't hurt for me to attempt an improvement. It rarely pains one to continue striving for betterment, and even when it does, the pain is certainly worth the feeling of victory once that goal has been achieved. So, I sit here and ponder...do I wish to add, or subtract? Perhaps I'll give up beer (not likely!), or set aside an hour each night to read for fun (much more likely). I have allowed myself to become so bogged down with things to do, things that need to be done, and things that I want to do but either can't afford or find the time to do, that I'm not really enjoying myself as much as I should. I'm always so preoccupied with something elsewhere in need of my attention, that I often fail to fully place myself within the here-and-now.

I have several guidelines under which I live my life. Occasionally, I have to remind myself of what they are, and it is something I felt was necessary today. I have listed these guidelines below:

• I want to continue to evolve in an effort become better at the things I do. 
• I will strive to admit when I am wrong, and learn from my mistakes.
• I can only hope to become a better person and continue working toward accomplishment in my life's passion.
• I never want to be unreliable.
• I always want to be inspired.
• I vow to never blame anyone or anything else for my own shortcomings.
• I promise to remember that I am in charge of my own happiness.
• I will always understand that others may not always be what I want them to be, and I will not let that fact influence my mood in a negative way.
• I am not going to allow myself to worry my way out of taking chances.
• I will not let fear of failure keep me from being everything I am capable of becoming.

Now that I have reset my priorities, and added a few more, I think I'll go grab that book I've been trying to finish reading for the past month. The simple things in life really do make that struggle to survive the complicated stuff totally worth it.

"So you live from day-to-day, and you dream about tomorrow..."

In My Own Little Corner...

I spent this beautiful fall day at home, with my dog, rearranging my furniture. I do this a lot. Sometimes it is because I need a big project to keep my mind busy. I tend to dwell on things that don't deserve the time required to devote to such deep thought. Other times, I just need a change. Today, I think it was a bit of both. I have been in a lull, not quite to the point of "going through the motions", but getting the sense of arriving there quickly. When I get to this point, I get antsy, I need to change something. I need to break up the monotony, and clear my head at the same time.

I have noticed, since beginning this blog, that I look at things, and people, and situations differently. I find myself paying closer attention to detail. I dawdle more than normal, trying to take in sights, and sounds and smells. I question my every action and my reason for committing it. It has helped me grow, as a person, but it has also caused my mind to go into overdrive. My brain is constantly analyzing and questioning, and writing.

So, today, I moved my favorite drop-leaf table into the dining room. A table that actually belongs to my parents. A table I keep conveniently avoiding giving back to them, because I love it so much. It had been in my living room, with the television sitting on top of it, along with some of my favorite photographs. This morning, however, I was looking at the table and decided I needed a writing desk. Actually, I decided this a couple weeks ago, but today, I decided I needed one right that moment. So, I set to rearranging my entire living room and dining room.

As usual, while I'm disrupting my former sense of order in an effort to create a new sense of order, I found myself going through photographs, and writing stories in my head, and forgetting about things that aren't worth thinking about. I set up my new writing corner. I filled it with things that inspire me: a picture of Cooper, pictures of my great-grandparents, my favorite books, my favorite scarf, as well as plenty of space available to place my laptop and type away.

As I compose this post, sitting on my couch, watching "The Walking Dead", I look over at my new little corner, and I smile. I have to say I did a pretty great job putting it all together. Maybe someday, I'll actually go over to the desk, plug in my Mac, sit in the chair, and write something.

"In my own little corner, in my own little chair, I can be whatever I want to be..."

Wilbur and Bagel

I have always had a vivid imagination. Genetics is clearly a contributor, as my family has produced several creative people. Another part, I'm sure, is the fact that my mother read to me, a lot. Later, once I had learned to read myself, I was encouraged to read to myself. While I admit, the very thought of checking out a book from the library, a book completely devoid of pictures, was appalling to me, the day my mom brought home Ramona Quimby, Age 8, my opinion changed. It was then I learned that I could see the pictures in my head, and I had complete control over their creation. If wanted Ramona, traditionally a notorious redhead, to have purple hair, it was purely my prerogative. My imagination ran wild long before that, however, for one day, my mom walked outside to find me sitting underneath a tree, talking to it. She inquired as to whom I was speaking, and I told her "Wilbur". This was my mother's first encounter with my imaginary friend.

Wilbur, the elephant, lived in a tree. The tree was in front of our neighbor's house. Wilbur and I would have all kinds of adventures...well, we would talk about having them. Mostly all I did was sit at the bottom of the tree and yell up to him. You see, Wilbur's mommy was going to have a baby, and he wasn't allowed to come outside to play very often. Wilbur and I both thought she was kind of mean. Now that I'm a grown-up too, I realize she probably just didn't want to climb all the way down a tree to chase after him in her delicate condition. One day, I went outside to visit Wilbur and he had big news. He had a new baby sister, named Bagel. Yes, Bagel...who, very advanced for her newborn status, yelled down to me, "Hi, Lindsey!"

One morning, I woke up, and didn't think about Wilbur or Bagel the entire day. I went outside to play and never managed to venture next door to sit beneath the tree. I was entirely too busy. I had so very many things to do. The same thing happened the next day, and the day after that. Some time later, I found myself wondering about my pachyderm pals. I raced outside to their house and found a tree. Just a tree. I sat down on the sidewalk, closed my eyes, and waited. Nothing.  I opened my eyes to find...a tree. Just then, I heard my mom call my name. "Dinner time", I thought to myself, hoping we were having mashed potatoes. I got up and headed inside. "Goodbye, Wilbur", I whispered looking back one last time...hoping...but finding...just a plain old tree.

Wilbur and Bagel's former home is no longer standing, having fallen victim of some kind of fatal tree sickness long ago. As I stand on my front porch, looking down my short street at the place it once stood, I can once again feel the bumpy surface of the sidewalk pressing against my legs as I sat, Indian-style underneath that tree, talking to my friend. I haven't heard from Wilbur or Bagel since the day I woke up, no longer needing their imaginary companionship, but I think about them every now and then. I hope they're doing well and doing their part to fuel some other child's budding creativity.

All Kinds of Weather, We Stick Together...

Tomorrow, my sister Dana will hopefully learn the sex of her unborn child. We are all very excited to find out if it is a girl or a boy. I remember all too well the excited smile she could never manage to wipe from her face on Christmas mornings, in anticipation of finally being allowed to enter the living room to see our gifts. I imagine she is sporting a similar expression today. I'll occasionally catch myself by surprise at how well I recognize the intricacies of my sister's personalities, without really remembering at what point they attached to my memory. It's comforting to know, that even though Dana lives in Virginia, I can still feel her here in Indiana.

I am the oldest of three girls. The dynamic between sisters can be quite extraordinary. Together, we are a brain, a princess, and a bad-ass. Perfect components for a crime-fighting team. About a month ago, the princess traveled from her palace in Virginia to visit for a few days. As I sat in my parent's living room with her highness, and the bad-ass, the day before her departure to return to Virginia, I thought back to the days we were young and carefree. Back then, we couldn't imagine what it would be like to live apart, yet we wished for it everyday. They were the days before geography and life in general split us apart. Back to when we would wait anxiously Christmas morning for dad to wake up, and make coffee, before we could open our presents. Dana always wore her aforementioned smile in anticipation of what was to come, while Bailey would be just as hard to wake up as dad. She knew the presents would still be there no matter what time she got up. She's very laid-back in that way. It's part of what I feel makes her an incredible mother. She doesn't panic over every little thing, she calmly deals with the situations that present themselves. It is as though she has been a mother for years, rather than just 7.5 months. 

We became us, the Stuffel Sisters, on July 7, 1987, the day Bailey was born. Dana and I had been best friends for 4 years at that point, but I remember being very excited to have a brand new sister. In fact, the night before Bailey was born, I was spending the night with a friend, when I started crying and asking if I could go home. I was certain my mom was going to have the baby that night. My friend's father drove me home in the wee hours of the morning. Once there, I proceeded to drag my sleeping bag into my parent's room and camp out on their floor, only to be awakened at sunrise by my dad telling me they were going to have a baby. I still remember how I felt in the chilly hospital, wearing a little gown and being led into the nursery to hold my baby sister for the first time. I remember Dana's excited little giggle and her sun-bleached hair bouncing, as she eagerly awaited her turn to hold her.

We have been through a lot together. Dana and I managed to come out of Bailey's "Full House" obsession relatively unscathed. I still catch myself flipping through the channels only to stop on an episode I have seen hundreds of times, finding myself still able to recite it word-for-word. We only had one television and that television played "Michelle" (as Bailey called it) constantly. My "Newsies" epidemic was tough, but we made it through. Dana's "all zebra print all the time" phase seemed to last decades, but likely only really lasted a few months. When it's all said and done, when the smoke has cleared, and the irritating enthusiasm of passing trends fade, we are who we always were, sisters.

We may disagree about boys, and we may like different foods and have different decorating styles, but, you can bet that when "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" comes on, we'll put our arms around each other and sing. When mom is making Thanksgiving dinner, or Christmas brunch, we'll be sitting on the couch watching a movie. When someone isn't treating one of us right, the other two will be right there defending, whether or not the one being defended actually deserves it.

Now, we're women. Bailey is a mom, and Dana is preparing to be. They both have begun their own families, and I am so proud of both of them.  I have gotten used to Dana living far away, though I would prefer to have her closer, especially since she is going to be having a baby soon. We all have our own lives, yet we make room for each other in them. I know, that when I'm old and crazy, like Aunt Glady in "Home For the Holidays", they'll still set a place for me at their Thanksgiving table.

"and I thank the Lord, there's people out there like you, I thank the Lord there's people out there like you..."