Dateline: Hospital City (yet again)

The drive to Hospital City is a familiar one; because we are so well-acquainted with the route, the roads move swiftly beneath us and the cities and towns move by quickly. Further south, the cotton fields have been replanted; the soft, fuzzy green haze of the tender shoots sparkles bright against the rusty, dry autumn trees.

The day is all green, and gold and blue. The sky is a crystalline blue - edge to edge, horizon to horizon. The sun drapes itself over the landscape, embracing us in a soft, warm hug against the chilly air that will creep in as the darkness falls. It is a day made for driving; not too hot, not too cold. The air is clean, and clear, with just a hint here and there of the smells of autumn: leaves burning, the cidery smell of a grove of apple trees, the sharp tang of the piney woods.

The Twinkie sleeps, reads, plays her Gameboy DS. (Nintendogs - what else?) I don't even try the radio - nearly 12 years has taught me to bring my own music. Today, it is "Sparkling Smooth Jazz" found at SoundClick and loaded onto the MP3 player. It is the quintessential soundtrack for the day, light and crisp and bright.

This familiar drive is a contemplative time for me. My mind reels back through the last twelve years, and the nearly 130 times we have made the trip. There are changes since we first traveled these roads: The trees are taller, and the farmhouse with the red trim is gone, lost to a tornado that ripped through seven years ago. The road itself has shifted subtly as well - nearly half of the trip formerly was on narrow two-lane roads; today only about half of that remains two lanes wide, and even that has wide shoulders.

I think ahead as well. What will the future be like for Twinks? Will we have to continue to make this trip every six to eight weeks until she's eighteen? What will happen when she "graduates" from The Hospital when she's eighteen? Where will we ever find doctors as knowledgeable about her conditions?

We drive through the day, the sun dropping into the west all too quickly now. Shadows lengthen across the road, and the chill that was held at bay by the golden warmth of the autumn sun is coming on strong. As we get closer to Hospital City, The Twinkie slumbering behind me, I see Christmas lights on several houses glowing in the gathering twilight. Hospital City finally shines on the horizon, a welcome bright spot in the darkness. Across the city we travel, past the casinos that are wrapped in gaudy neon, past the shopping centers busy with Holiday customers trying to get ahead of the game, past the neighborhoods where the people of Hospital City live and work every day.

We are back again, at "our" little hotel. Back in the same room, eating the same dinner at the same steakhouse, greeting the same desk clerk. The routine, the familiarity, is comforting. It assures us that even though we are not home with The Wrench and The Kitties, we are home in another sense.

Tomorrow - new braces for The Twinkie, and the return trip home. And more time for me to think, another opportunity to mull over the future and the past.

Good night, Hospital City.

Life in the V.I.P. Lane

This time yesterday, we were knee-deep into the newest Harry Potter movie, enthralled by the magic-come-to-life unfolding on the screen before us.

We were in the V.I.P. box, living large.

The V.I.P. box at our local theatre is a wonderful thing: 12 seats facing the screen, and behind them a partition that hides a complete little kitchen that has it's own soda pop fountain. Free refills for the popcorn too, but you have to run down the stairs and around the corner to get it.

Twinks has been back in the chair for the last week or so. We'll go again to Hospital City on Monday to get her new braces on Tuesday. She has grown just about an inch in less than two weeks; she didn't just have growing pains, she had growing torture. Nothing helped. She outgrew her current set of braces so fast that she almost can't get them on; they actually now cause more pain than not wearing them.

But, we had this to look forward to. The movie, the V.I.P. box (which we have rented for our own "Premiere" event for every movie now) the dressing-up-in her Hogwarts robes. Twinks braved it through the pain for this. For this long-awaited movie event.

She hated the idea of using the chair at the theatre. She wanted to stalk in, her Time Turner gleaming, her wand flashing, her hair styled as Hermione, and her black robes billowing. Instead, she wheeled in. She rode the lift up the stairs in her chair, and then transferred to a seat. The Wrench, The Twinkie, and I. A handful of invited guests; we only numbered seven. And The Movie. After 25 minutes (!) of previews, reminders to turn off cell phones and take screaming kids to the lobby and did you buy your popcorn? and the digital sound showoff we finally got to The Movie.

It was long, but not long enough. There was so much that they couldn't cram it all in, but we missed huge chunks of the back story. It wasn't just "Reader's Digest Condensed Version", it was like someone decided to try and tell this rich, delicious story that lasts for days... in a fractured 60 seconds or less. The special effects were splendid; the actors (young and old) all gave great performances. But, for me, this movie lacked something, and 24 hours later, I still can't put my finger on what it is.

Maybe it was the absence of so many of the "minor" plot lines. Could it be because we didn't get to see Dobby, one of my favorite Magical Creatures? Was it because whole chunks of the story that become significant later were simply not there? No, perhaps it was because it lacked the sparkle in Twinks eyes.

That's it. For despite the V.I.P. box, and wearing her robes, and even her very special Time Turner, the fact remained that Twinkle just wasn't quite... Twinkle.

I get tired of raging against her pain. I sometimes look at "normal" kids and wish that Twinks could be like them. But for the most part, our little family has tried to accept our "differences" with as much good grace and dignity as we can muster on any given day.

Except yesterday, just for one day, I wish that The Twinkie could have had a happy day. A special day. I wish that she could have had a day off from the pain, so that she could really enjoy this movie.

The V.I.P. box is great. It's nice to watch the movie with that kind of privacy. To see the entire theatre spread out before you, with a completely unobstructed view of the screen. To have an unlimited supply of pop and popcorn. I just wish that it had the magical power to make one little girl feel better.

All I want for Christmas...

It's been hectic, bang-your-head-against-the wall nutso crazy around our house. Nothing special, no particular reason, just your everyday "too much to do, too little time" kind of stuff.

You know, LIFE.

So, if anyone out there is paying attention - for Christmas this year, I would like a new sense of humor, and an empty calendar for 72 hours. That's all. I don't want to be greedy, or anything.

Thanks in advance.

Lessons from Mom

I have mentioned my mother here before; she is one of my best friends in all the world, and I simply adore her. She is smart, witty, and beautiful; even having passed the 70-year mark, men still find her bewitching. She and The Wrench have a marvelous relationship - they bonded instantly when I brought him home for the first time 19 years ago, and they have been nearly inseparable since. She and Twinks have been welded together at the soul since the day Twinks was born: when they are together, they somehow complete each other in a way that I still don't fully understand nearly 12 years later.

Although I am (allegedly) grown up and an independent woman now, my mother has continued to teach me - to impart the information that is not written in any book, or offered in any lecture hall.

When The Wrench proposed, my mom told me to remember that I was not just going to marry this wonderful man, but his entire family, and his friends too.

When we lost our first two babies, she told me that it was OK to celebrate who they would have been, and to love them, and never forget them.

When my dad passed away, four years before The Twinkie was born, my mom taught me how to handle the overwhelming grief of losing your soulmate, your partner, your lover. She taught me how to plan a funeral; how to gracefully receive the mourners, how to continue living when the pain is almost more than you can bear.

Three years after daddy died, she met a man who promised to love her, and take care of her, and she married him... and then she taught me that life goes on. Not always as we thought it would be, hoped it would be, wanted it to be - but it goes on. And that it is never to late to find love. And that you should never forget where you have been - for that is what makes you who you are today.

When Twinkle was born, and the doctors told us that she would never be able to walk, my mom told us that everything would be fine, as long as The Wrench and I remembered that we were a team - Twinks team - and that only by playing together could we "win". She told me that I would now have to learn to pick my battles - that I can't slay every dragon, but if I choose carefully, and slay the *right* dragon, the others will become unimportant.

When she and her husband moved to the east coast, she taught me that love and friendship are not weakened by time or distance. That no matter how far away we are from one another, that our bond remains as strong as ever.

And during these last six months, when we have so often not known what was going to happen next, or how we were going to survive emotionally, spiritually, or financially, she told us that if we can just keep going forward - the three of us together - that we will make it to the other side. That as long as we have each other to cling to, it doesn't matter how hard the storms of fate rage against us.

As I write this tonight, my mom has moved further away from me than ever before. She is living in south Florida now - in a place that I have never been. I have seen pictures, she has described it for me, but I find myself in the odd position of not really knowing *where* my mother is living. And yet, I still feel her strength, her power, her love for us. I know that because of what she has taught us, we can face the future together - anything that it holds - as a family, and survive.

Thank you, mom. Your "lessons" have been the greatest gift you could ever have given me.

I promise to remember them.

Peeping Thim...

For the last week, I have been "peeping" whenever possible. I peeped all the way to Hospital City and back.

I peeped with The Wrench last weekend, and if we are lucky, we are going to see if we can peep again this weekend before it's all over.

"leaf peeping" that is.

Autumn this year has been nothing short of spectacular. Our region has had the ideal conditions to create the best fall colors in a decade or more: a rainy summer, not too hot, with temperatures falling off slowly as the calendar advanced until now - now we have every color that Mother Nature ever created in the name of Autumn.

Soft, pale gold colors. Rich and delicious orange tints. Fire-engine red leaves. As the wind whispers and slips through the streets, showers of color fall from the trees, and it leave us drenched and dizzy with their colors.

The sky is a particularly flawless shade of November blue - a clear, soft baby blue at the horizon that arcs into the most perfect azure at the zenith. The sun is soft and warm; the nights are chilly, but not cold. This is the autumn that everyone should have; a textbook example of what November should be.

I'm going to go rake some leaves into a pile...
...and then jump right in.

Fraternally Yours...

Dateline: Yesterday. We are at the Hospital.

Technically, we are on the "Clinic" side of the building; the area where we spend most of our time here is comprised of exam rooms, x-ray, the cast room, Orthotics and prosthetics, and physical therapy next door. Medical records is over here. Counseling, next to Family & Patient Services. And, of course, the waiting rooms.

The whole place is bustling; there is a cheerful hum to the whole building. Kids are everywhere, laughing, playing, running, watching Disney movies on the big TV in the corner. Mostly moms today, although the occasional father or grandfather is present. The Shriners walk the waiting rooms, the hallways, and the common room like giant friendly bears - giving out hugs to children who run headlong into their open arms. Each of the Shriners has on that trademark fez; the letters sparkle, and the long silky black tassel sways as the owner walks. Most of the Shriners here are older, retired; almost all of them are grandfathers now, several are great-grandfathers. They sit next to me, and chat; we talk about Twinkle, about The Wrench, about their wives, their kids, their grandbabies. And, we talk about how badly this fraternity, this loyal, dedicated group of men needs new recruits.

They don't understand - why young men aren't joining, and why the men who have joined don't come to the meetings, don't march in the parades, don't drive the vans to the Hospitals. They are from an era where everyone was infused with A Greater Purpose. These are the men of Tom Brokaw's "Greatest Generation". And so, they don't understand. They lament the fact that their sons and grandsons can't be bothered to take the necessary steps to become a Mason, and then a Shriner. They ponder the notion that unless something changes, the Shriners will be nearly non-existent in a decade or two. They worry that there will be no one to raise money to keep these Hospitals going - let alone anyone to drive the children there and back again.

They want to know what they can do to convince these men, these good men that they know are out there, to join them.

I don't have any easy answers for them. They are curious about my "group", my generation. They want to know what how to make this fraternity more appealing to men of my age. They believe that they are missing something; that someone, somewhere has a magic key that will unlock the answer.

But it is difficult for them to understand. These are the men of my father's time; their word is their bond. They grew up trusting their government, their church, and their neighbors. By contrast, my peers and I are children of the revolution. We were born just as JFK took office, and our mothers were at home all day to do the vacuuming, while our fathers went to work in cars that sported huge fins, massive amounts of chrome, and good old American Iron under the hood. It was our older brothers and sisters, the ones who became hippies and flower children and who marched and protested - they were the ones that taught us not to trust. Not to believe in our government. Not to believe anything that anyone over the age of 35 said. Now that we have passed that mark ourselves, we seem to find it hard to place our faith too directly, too deeply.

And so we grew up without a moral compass. Without direction, without meaning, without really being able to commit to much of anything. We are the cowering bunch of ninnies in the corner - trapped between June Cleaver and the bra-burners. We wanted our world to be like "Father Knows Best", and instead got the riots in Watts. We are the generation that fell through the cracks; neither Ozzie and Harriet, nor Sonny and Cher. Not even Ozzy and Sharon.

We were babies and toddlers when Camelot died; we were kids and pre-teens when Nixon resigned. We watched, not fully comprehending as Watergate and Vietnam unfolded on our parents console television sets. We left home for college just as disco became the "in" thing, and as we swayed under the multi-colored pulsing lights, we wondered just what it meant to be a "real" grownup.

It's not that we didn't have good role models. They just got lost in all the noise of the '60s, and we couldn't find them.

But these "lifelong" commitments to a group, a cause, a brotherhood - they seem to be out of reach for so many of us. It isn't that we don't' want to. We want the stability, we crave the deep friendships. But we grew up believing that we weren't supposed to do this - we were supposed to rail against everything our parent's stood for.

No one told us that we should stop, and start acting like adults.

And, if we don't act like adults, how can we ever expect our own children to grow up and take responsibility for anything?

And therein lies the root of the problem. My generation is so busy avoiding adulthood that we have failed to insure a future for our children, in many ways. Because we still want to be children ourselves, we let the responsibility for the things we take for granted fall to others. As our parents generation ages, the number of those willing to volunteer, to give of themselves, to act selflessly seems to be dwindling at an alarming rate.

Answers? I wish I had them for these men who have devoted themselves to this incredible philanthropy. I can only hope and pray that the men of my generation wake up and "get it" before it's too late. Before the Hospitals have to close because no one wants to march in the parades, and the vans come in off of the roads, because there are no Shriners left to drive them. Twinks will be long gone from the Hospital system by the time that happens, but I worry about the thousands of children not yet born.

Sometimes it's not just a Generation "Gap". Sometimes it's a wide, yawning chasm.

Home again, home again...

What a day.

Another go-round in The Clinic. You know you have been spending too much time at The Hospital when everyone knows you by name - and they have more than a thousand other patients...

We didn't get to see The Doctor; instead we saw his NP, Cathy. We get along well with Cathy, and Twinks responds well to her. We saw all of our favorite nurses as well; before it was all over we were everywhere but X-ray today.

Cathy went back over everything again. Why The Twinkies' feet hurt. Why they won't ever be "normal". What will happen if she has the surgery - and what will happen if she doesn't. Why they don't want her to be in a wheelchair - but they understand if she needs it.

All in all, Cathy spent just a bit more than 30 minutes with us, patiently answering questions, going over things again so that Twinks understood everything. With all of the bad news, there was a tiny bit of good news: the Hospital will be doing an "Outreach" clinic in our Greater Metro Area next spring, so that will mean one less trip to the Hospital. Outreach appointments are rare; we are lucky if we get an Outreach Clinic here every other year.

Then it was over to O & P - the braces that we went to get just eight weeks ago already have to be replaced. Twinks has had a growth spurt, and so one of the reasons why she started hurting again is that the braces no longer fit as they should. Big J introduces us to New David - the newest member of the O & P staff. New David survived Hurricane Katrina, and then decided he was never going back to The Big Easy again. He and his family moved to Hospital City, and New David is very happy to be working and living there. Big J did the casts that will create the molds; New David will make the molds, and then drape the plastic over them, shaping and creating the braces that will hold Twinks feet so that they don't hurt when she walks. Big J will do the final fittings; he will take the "raw" braces and truly customize them for our Twinkie Girl.

The problem is, the new braces won't be ready this time until after Thanksgiving. The braces that Twinks has now are too small - and because they were molded so perfectly to her feet, there is little "adjusting" that can be done. Big J did as much as he could today, but the fact remains: Twinks is just going to have to stay off of her feet as much as possible until the new braces are ready. New David pledges to do his best; if he can get them done sooner, O & P will call us.

Now we wait, and hope that New David can get Twinks new-and-improved braces ready in record time. In a fit of optimism, I am leaving the suitcase out...

"You need to come back to the Hospital". Again.

Surprised? Me too.

In my mind, it started with Halloween, although The Twinkie finally admitted that it had begun before then. Halloween just happened to be the night that she couldn't hold it in anymore.

Twinks had begun to hurt again. She didn't want to tell us; flush with excitement from her triumphant return to school (more about that later) she wanted to *keep going*. She was afraid that if we knew she was hurting that we would pull her out of school, or pull out the wheelchair.

Instead, we called The Hospital, and across the miles came those words that I know so well, and dread so much:

"You need to come back to The Hospital".

Damn.

I had this crazy dream - this hope - that we could go until our next scheduled appointment, which was for Valentines Day 2006. Not a terribly *romantic* way to spend the day, but The Wrench would be working that evening anyway, so it isn't like we had to cancel plans. Nineteen years of marriage to this man has taught me that he would find a way to make the day special for me, no matter how many miles separated us; and I had already begun my stealthy little plan to surprise him in my absence. So the focus of that day was to be The Twinkie. She is our all; she is a little bit Wrench, a little bit Thim. She is what adds the sweetness to any day for her Daddy and I - a child so loving, so tenderhearted and so precious that she makes Cupid look like a slacker. It was never a question between the The Wrench and I about "what would we do" about Valentine's Day. We can reschedule any holiday. We can't replace our daughter.

She lost two days of school this past week because she was hurting so badly. Tomorrow morning, we'll go back to The Hospital, and begin anew the search for a way to make the pain go away.

So here we are again. Our favorite hotel; the usual room, our routine varies little. It's been 8 weeks today since we were here last - six of those were wonderfully, gloriously pain-free for our Twinkie.

Here's hoping that in the morning, we'll find a bit of magic, a little luck, and that the Doctor and Big J in O & P will work another minor miracle. Maybe we'll get another six weeks - and if that's how we have to do this, then we will. Six weeks at a time.

In the meantime, I have to try and sleep; 5:30 am comes all too soon.

Autumn in The OFG

As the summer began the inevitable slow spiral into autumn, we have seen our activities increase with The OFG (aka the "Organization For Girls") and I now find myself surrounded mostly by... women.

:::sigh:::

Just once, I would like to belong to an organization that was filled with hunky, shirtless men. However, since the chances of that happening are actually *slimmer* than pigs sprouting wings and flying, I shall have to content myself with The OFG.

The OFG really is a great group - I would highly recommend it for any girl. Aside from the obvious lack of scantily-clad, sun-bronzed male specimens (which would probably prevent us womenfolk from getting any serious work done) we typically have a lot of fun. The Wrench and I especially like the fact that parents are encouraged to participate, and Mothers are especially held in high regard within the Organization. Oh, the dads show up now and again; mostly for the Big Events, and when there is food. The rest of the time, it seems to be mostly... girls and women.

So, tomorrow afternoon, after church, after lunch, we will gather up all of the regalia and notebooks and so forth, and again we will sally forth to The OFG meeting.

Our little part of the national OFG scene is pretty small - we are going to be spending a lot of energy this next year recruiting girls to join locally. That's OK, though, because in the meantime it means that Twinks will be able to rise through the ranks pretty quickly. She has already completed her Proficiency Work, and that enables her to move up the "line" towards being The Head Girl of The OFG.

One of the great things about The OFG is that it is never "static". The founder must have been a genius - she knew that the girls would tire of waiting too long for their turn at the top spot, and so she created an organization where everything gets shuffled around every six months. So, instead of having yearly elections, like most fraternal organizations do, we have them in December and June. Twice yearly. Which is a big pain in the keyster for the parents, but great for the girls, as they feel like they can actually *see* some progress towards their goal of becoming The Head Girl.

Twinks is really excited. She loves everything about The OFG - especially the fact that every girl in the organization gets the same chance to be The Head Girl, if she works hard and is a good member. I'm really excited, because we will share this with her; all too soon she will be doing things that she *doesn't* want mommy and daddy around for... Plus, I get to hang out with all of my new OFG Mommy Friends. You know, the women.

The daddies, of course, will be watching football.

And the Shirtless Hunks? Just because I'm a Mommy doesn't mean I don't have a rich fantasy life... ;)

Yippy Skippy! It's time to clean the house!

One of the reasons that I love autumn is because it is time for The Big Big Cleaning.

When I was a child, my grandmothers, my mother, the neighbor ladies, everyone I knew - they all did The Big Big Cleaning twice yearly. I have very clear memories of my grandmother and my mother, both wearing shirtwaist dresses and low heels, standing on dining room chairs while taking down the "summer curtains" to put up the "winter drapes".

My mom (who is still a beautiful woman by anyone's standards) was far more Laura Petri than June Cleaver; she is gorgeous and funny, and had a goofy best friend (Lois, who died of cancer way too young). She also has a knack for doing the kinds of things that would leave my dad scratching his head, and trying to figure out how to fix the results of her latest "adventure".

But as zany as she was (and still is), my mom has always been deadly serious about Keeping The House Clean.

This meant that in addition to the *regular* house cleaning chores that my brother and I had to do as children, twice a year we could count on at least a weekend's worth (maybe more) of *extra* housecleaning fun! Wowee Zowee! We were the luckiest kids in the world!

Now I'm the one who tortures my child with pulling down the curtains so that they can be cleaned, and moving ALL of the furniture around to clean underneath, and touching up the paint, and scrubbing the woodwork, and polishing the windows. Twice a year. Spring and fall.

And I love it. There is something about throwing the windows open on a cool, clear, crisp day to let the blue sky and the lemony-sunshine stream through the house while you chase the dustbunnies out. It's like a last hurrah before you close everything up tight for the winter, a last chance for the house to breathe in the fresh, sweet, apple-cidery air.

It's also something that brings me closer to the women who raised me. My grandmothers, who would tie on an apron like I tie on my Reeboks. My mother, who taught me that it isn't "dirty work", it's taking care of those you love. The neighbor ladies, who would chatter back and forth across the alleyways and the fences as they hung out the wash, or weeded the gardens, always with a watchful eye for all of the children on our block.

So as the cleaning commences, I always find myself a bit nostalgic. We no longer use "kitchen wax" to polish the counters, and I haven't had to scrub the front stoop since I was a teenager. The fridge is self-defrosting, the oven is self-cleaning and the super high-efficiency filters in the central heat and air remove much of the dust before it ever has a chance to settle on the furniture. But I still take down the curtains, I still polish the windows, I still scrub down the bathrooms just like my mother, and her mother before her.

And in my cleanliness, with the sweet, cool autumn air streaming through the house, I will be a little bit closer to these women I still love and admire so much.

Oh, the mail is a wonderful thing...

BOX!BOX!BOX!

It's October 12th - Twinks comes running in to the office; she is clearly excited because the mail has come, and in it is a package from a friend of ours.

She sits, not so patiently, on the floor - waiting for me to open the box. She is excited because she knows that the box is for her, but she has no idea what is inside.

The contents do not dissapoint; our friend clearly knows the way to a Twinkies' heart. Books to read, a spiffy-cool booklight to read them with, Harry Potter goodies galore, and then... at the bottom of the box...

Nintendogs. Now she has two of the three games. Lordy, she is one happy little girlie-geek today!

The mail is a wonderful thing. And our friend - well, our friend is one of those rare, special people who has a heart like Santa; full of the love and joy of giving to others.

Someday, I hope that we can somehow repay his kindness, his thoughtfulness. I hope that we can bring the same joy and excitement to his children, or to someone he loves.

Until then...

Thank you, dear friend.

Come back, Halloween...

Halloween, at the beginning of the end.

It was a perfect, classic Halloween night. The dry leaves cackled softly to one another as they swept 'round the feet of the littlest ghosties and goblins. Parents pierced the darkness with trusty flashlights, and then stood proud but alert on the sidewalks as their children reveled in the one night when it is allowed to take candy from a stranger.

Low clouds tumbled across the sky, pushed by a wind that my Aunt Grace used to call "witch's breath"... wild, gusty, unpredictable, and with just enough bite - just enough ice to remind you that somewhere not far away Winter is waiting.

Our porch was decorated appropriately; our lights were on, and the candy was by the door.

Twinks was ready; she was vibrating with the eagerness of every child who has ever Trick-or-Treated. She stood at the door, the very image of Hermione Grainger; her black Hogwarts robes swirling in the wind, her hair (carefully styled to resemble Emma Watson as much as possible) swept around her face, her wand clutched firmly in her hand... and her precious Time Turner 'round her neck.

She was waiting for Grandpa and Aunt Laurie to come and take her Trick-or-Treating.

Daddy had to be at work; second shift means he misses Halloween most years. I traditionally stay home and hand out candy; I have only taken Twinks out myself once in her eleven years - her first year. She was a roly-poly little pumpkin baby. I carried her to a handful of our neighbors houses, and then we went home and gave out candy with her still dressed in her little pumpkin suit.

This year, maybe next year, will likely be the last for Twinkle. Not just because she is getting to be "too old" to go out; nor is it because Grandpa moves slower these days between houses, and is ready to hurry back for a big steaming mug of hot coffee far before she is ready to call it quits. It isn't even because of how badly she was hurting by the time she got home.

For several years now, we have been watching the slow and inexorable death of Halloween in our neighborhood. Our rapidly growing little corner of The Greater Metro Area has long been regarded as a safe haven for middle class families. With the demographics of our little city shifting towards upper-class wannabees, and a proliferation of McMansions, we are now dominated by "Mega Churches", all of which have rushed to fill a void that seemingly never existed before they arrived. Maybe the void was there, and I was too "unenlightened" to know the difference...

The Mega Churches have something going on nearly every day of the year; many are open and bustling with activity from 6:00 am until 10:00 pm daily. Daycare, private church-based schools, teen centers, tween centers, fitness centers, senior daycare, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, anything that brings the cars, the people, the money.

For these Mega Churches have learned - if you can get them in the doors on any day but Sunday, let them see how friendly we are - how nice the place is - then they might come back on Sunday, with a nice donation for the plate. Take care of their kids before school and after school, pick up their elderly parents and take them to the store, give their teens a "safe" place to hang after school - and the target, the intended audience will show up.

This year we had a record low number of kids out and about in the neighborhood; most were at carefully planned "Fall Festivals" or "Harvest Celebrations" that scrupulously avoided even the mention of the word Halloween. They went dressed in costumes; but only in outfits that honored "book characters" or that were "historical figures". They went to these parties, not to bob for apples (health risk) or play pin the tail on the donkey (PETA) but to go from "station" to "station" doing inane activities that earned each child a hearty "Great job!" and a piece of candy as a reward. Goody bags as you go out the door; begging strangers for candy is passe'.

Twinks may be of the last generation to know that tingly thrill of venturing forth into the darkness dressed up as Someone (or Something) Else. Within another year or so, I fear that there will be no children running up and down the sidewalks dressed as froggies and fairy princesses; no teen-aged boys with pillow cases filched from their mothers cupboards hoping for just one more year of sugary goodness, no more of Twinks friends standing on our porch, hollering "It's me! It's me! Where's Twinks?!!!" while I marvel at their costumes, and pretend not to recognize them.

When Twinks was three years old, we gave out 25 pounds of candy every year at Halloween. Yes - 25 pounds.

This year, we gave out less than two pounds.

Our little city has tripled in size.

You do the math.