Halloween Scrooge

We are not doing Halloween this year.

There, I've said it for all to see and now will have to follow through (I'm a brown-noser that way).

When our boys were young, Halloween was a big deal. There were Halloween parties at school, costume parties at the rec center and the annual neighborhood haunted house to visit. We'd put a flying witch on the door, carved pumpkins on the steps and ghosts in the front window. Costumes were different every year and usually made up from whatever was around (no pre-made store-bought stuff).

The number of trick or treaters has been slowly dwindling over the years. Twenty to thirty years ago, we'd get well over one hundred children coming to the door. Sometimes we'd run out of treats and have to recycle some of the candies from our boys when they got home. Ten years ago, we'd still get around eighty to one hundred. Last year, only twelve children came and half of them were neighbours and their friends from across the street. We ended up eating the leftover candies - not such a good thing for the waistline.

It's rather sad, but I understand why parents aren't taking or letting their children out for Halloween any more. In the last decade, there seem to be more reports of tainted treats, random attacks and vandalism (not in our neighborhood, mind you - except for teens smashing pumpkins at the end of the night) - enough to scare any parent of young children. I'm not sure these are so much real threats to the average neighborhood as they are sensationalized, isolated incidents. At any rate, the trend seems to be towards events at shopping centers and malls. Mom and dad dress the tykes up and take them to the nearest mall where the merchants hand out (supposedly) safe treats in a safe, fluorescent environment. Everyone stays clean, warm and dry. No more creepy shadows. No more spooky, strange houses. No more bumps in the night.

We've shelled out treats for Halloween ever since we moved into our first house almost thirty-five years ago. Well, no more. We can't compete with the malls and shopping centers and we don't need leftover candy.

So tonight, we're leaving the front porch light off, ordering take-out and watching the hockey game on TV.

Any ghosts or goblins that might happen to knock on our door will have to float on down the street because we're not answering.

Happiness is _ _ _

Over the past week, I've been thinking a lot about happiness, prompted by two of my regular cyber-haunts:

On Sunday Scribblings, the writing prompt, happy ending, provoked eighty-seven responses (at last count) -- some very touching and insightful, some questioning whether they even believed in happiness or happy endings.

On a discussion forum, someone posted an open-ended, "The meaning of happiness _______" fill-in-the blank question, giving rise to responses ranging from a simplistic "choose to be happy and you will be happy" to the very specific, "Freedom makes me happy".

This was my response:

Quote:
Noun: happiness
1. State of well-being characterized by emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy;
2. Emotions experienced when in a state of well-being

The longer I hang around, the more often I see myself in the above definitions. It's not a constant state – more like fleeting moments that stretch, meld, dissipate, then reappear when I least expect.

I feel the need to explore this a bit further.

In general, I consider myself a happy person. I wake up in a good mood. I go to bed in a good mood (usually). I have my moments of raging anger and deep sadness, but I've learned how to let these moments ebb and wash away – the memories still there, but no longer all-encompassing.

When I was younger, I tended to hold onto these highs and lows like some sort of red badge, proclaiming, "See how angry (sad) I am!" writ large, capitalized and bolded. There was a certain degree of self-indulgence and melodrama involved.

No more. Life, clichéd as it sounds, is too damn short.

According to the above definition, joy and contentment are on the same continuum of happiness; different degrees of the same thing. I'm certainly not in a constant state of blissed-out happiness, but I do feel those moments of joy more frequently as I age. By and large, my happiness consists of contentment – a sighing, I'm glad to be here at this time and place, I belong here feeling.

I'm pretty sure these moments were always there. I just didn't pay attention when I was younger. I was too busy and fixated on my problems to notice when they occurred. I took them for granted, letting them slip by, barely acknowledged, as I rushed pell-mell into the next project, crisis or life-altering decision.

One moment I do wish I'd treasured more at the time, but now recall with fond nostalgia, is shortly after I met my future husband. We were attending university and near the end of spring term, we'd slip away (sometimes skipping classes) to a secluded Japanese garden on campus. The cherry trees would be in bloom and we'd find a sunny spot on the sloping grass that overlooked the pond. We'd lay there for hours talking and talking - about what, I can't remember because it didn't matter. We were happy just being together in that setting at that time. That was happiness.

On further thought, perhaps the ability to recall this memory means that my subconscious analyzed and recorded it as "happiness". It just didn't surface as such at the time. Or more correctly, maybe I didn't appreciate it as happiness. I suppose that's the thing about youth – you're too busy with all the clutter and drama to see the fleeting bright spots when they occur.

Why is it that life is appreciated so much more in retrospect? I guess it's the nature of the beast. I'm just glad I'm at this point in my life. I have my memories as well as an appreciation of the present.

Now where was I? Oh yes – happiness. What I don't think you can do is go seeking happiness. -- I tried to make this point elsewhere, but it fell on deaf ears. -- I think happiness is in the moment (see last two paragraphs). If you're in a great quest to find happiness, you'll miss the boat, so to speak.

Another meme

Imelda at Greenish Lady tagged me for this meme:

Rules:
The rules of the game get posted at the beginning. Each player answers the questions about himself or herself. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

Ten years ago:
Thank heavens, I still have my 1998 calendar because my memory for these things get a bit fuzzy. Here goes.

May 1998:

• My husband had his one-year post-cancer surgery check-up. It was negative – much to our relief
  
• I was running around participating in my older son's Dry Grad events and fundraisers; and driving my younger son to and from orthodontic appointments (x4)
• I went to a performance of "Stars On Ice" starring:
  · Kurt Browning
  · Brian Orser
  · Steven Cousins
  · Ekaterina Gordeeva
  · Josee Chouinard
  · Shae-Lynn Bourne & Victor Kraatz
  · Isabelle Brasseur & Lloyd Eisler
  · Elena Bechke & Denis Petrov
  · Jayne Torvill & Christopher Dean
  (The previous couple of years I also saw Kristi Yamaguchi.)
  
  This might also have been the year my husband coerced our younger son to go with me (so he, himself, wouldn't have to attend).
  
  If so, J's most memorable words to me were, "There aren't any other guys here!"
  
  To which I replied, "Sure there are."
  
  "Yeah, but not my age!"
  
  Perceptive kid. The audience was made up of women, girls, husbands and boyfriends-in-tow. You could tell the latter because they were falling asleep by intermission.


• The family took me for a lovely Mother's Day brunch at the Pan Pacific Hotel, where we were one of the families interviewed by a Vancouver TV station for the evening news, much to the embarrassment of my younger son (he needn't have worried because we didn't make the final edit)
• I did my usual packing for dh's monthly business trip to Toronto

All rather humdrum stuff, but it reminds me how those school-age years whizzed by.

Five things on today's "to do" list:

1. Laundry (it's always on my to do list)
2. Lunch with hubby in Richmond
3. Stop at Chapters (bookstore) to look for a newly published book that contains some of my family's history
4. Go for walk along the waterfront in Steveston
5. Watch Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (part of my Indy marathon in preparation of the new movie due out this week)

Things I'd do if I was a billionaire:
I would pay off my sister-in-law's mortgage and make sure all my American in-laws have adequate health insurance. I'd make a list of the charities I support and set up ongoing trust funds for them; find myself a secluded South Pacific island hide-away for reading, writing and relaxation; travel to as many places as possible; stop working because I have to and work only at those things I want to work at.

Three bad habits:

1. Procrastination
2. Procrastination
3. Procrastination

Five places I've lived:

1. Vancouver, BC, Canada: where I was born
2. New Westminster, BC, Canada: The so-called the "Royal City" because it was named by Queen Victoria and was, at one time, under consideration to be the capital of British Columbia. (where I spent most of my childhood)
3. Burnaby, BC (after I was married)
4. Toronto, Ontario, Canada (where my first son was born)
5. South Delta, BC (a municipality south of Vancouver where I currently live)

Five jobs I've had:

1. Line worker on a conveyor belt, sorting vegetables in a canning factory
2. Dishwasher, prep person, then waitress in Chinese restaurant
3. Unit clerk on Gynaecology/Obstetrics ward
4. Grad nurse on Orthopaedic ward and Extended Care Unit
5. Community Health Care Nurse

Five people I'm tagging for this meme:
(oooh! Will they want to do it? Will they say "Oh No! Not another meme!"?)

Junebugg at Wasted Days and Wasted Nights
Joy at Joy's Updates - Straight from the Horse's Mouth
Donny at Rambleville (This is not the usual stuff on Donny's blog, so we shall see if he accepts)
Wenda at Daring to Write (She hasn't been blogging very much lately and I miss her writing. Maybe this will lure her out.)
Tamarika at Mining Nuggets (I've just started following Tamarika's blog and think she's had a varied and fascinating life. I want to know more)

Encylopedia of Me: Letters J through N

(Another Encylopedia of Me blog)

J is for

July -- the month I was married thirty-five years ago

It was two months after I graduated university and one month before I got my first full-time job as a public health nurse. At the time, I had no idea the depth and breadth of my ignorance. I thought I did, but I didn't.


K is for

Kindness -- One of the qualities I value most in others -- along with sincerity, honesty and strength without bravado


L is for

Lee - my maiden name (The word maiden sounds so anachronistic. Is there any such thing as a maiden anymore?). It's the name I use for my writing and for my online presence.

In Chinese writing, Lee looks like this:

or more traditionally,


L is also for Luna, my mother’s name (a loose phonetic translation from her Chinese name of Lahn Oy). Hence, she had the initials L.L. – just like many of the female characters in Superman (Lois Lane, Lana Lang, Linda Lee, Lori Lemaris, Lara Lor-van. . .). I know this because I used to read all my cousin Bob's Superman and Superboy comics.


M is for

Macadamia nuts -- Something I'd never tried before I went to Hawaii. Along with papayas and pineapples, macadamias are inextricably synonymous with Hawaii in my mind.


N is for

Nice -- the personality trait - not the city in France
I’m often accused of being too much of this (i.e. “you’re too nice” or “you shouldn’t be so nice”), as if niceness needs to be doled out in moderation.

This is not to be confused with sweetness, which I’ve also been accused of, but of which I heartily deny because too much sugar can cause tooth decay.



That's all for now.

60s Nostalgia

After reading The Boomer Chronicles and her blog about 60s memories, I rummaged around to find some old ticket stubs.

This is what I was doing in August of 1964:



Addendum:
In case you can't see it clearly, the concert ticket was $4.75 and the movie ticket was $1.25. Of the two, I only had to pay for the movie ticket.

At the time, I was waiting tables at my uncle's restaurant. One of the regulars was a local concert promoter. He gave me two tickets to the Beatles concert as a tip. I was ecstatic!

Two more sleeps 'til Christmas

Menu Choices
Well, I'm ditching the Kahlua Mousse idea for dessert. It's delicious, but too much work. I'm going with simple and easy.

While leafing through my old binder of recipes, I came across a dessert from one of my aunts that I haven't used in years. It's refreshing and light-tasting -- good following a heavy meal -- and very easy to make:

Fruit-in-Snow

2 envelopes unflavoured gelatin
1/2 cup cold water
2 cups milk, scalded
1/2 cup sugar
2 cups light cream
1 T Almond extract (vanilla, if you don't like almond)
4 cups diced, prepared mixed fruits (or canned, well-drained)

Soften gelatin in cold water. Add hot milk and sugar. Stir until gelatin and sugar are completely dissolved. Add cream and flavouring. Pour into pan to depth of about 3/4". Refrigerate until set. Cut into 3/4 inch cubes. Gently mix with fruit.

Add a few maraschino cherries and it looks quite festive.

As for the sweet potatoes versus yams decision, I've decided to go with a Sweet Potato Casserole with chopped walnuts and crushed pineapple.


Anticipation

. . . is always such a big part of Christmas. This can be both good and bad. I used to get quite frantic over the preparations, making list after list of things to do, what to buy, and worry that I'd forget something. I enjoyed myself, but in a high octane, adrenaline-fueled rush sort of way. It was always a relief when everything was done, the guests gone and I could put up my feet. Over the years, I've mellowed out quite a bit. I still make lists and do the same things, but I'm much more relaxed and able to enjoy each moment with a bit more clarity.

I'm looking forward to picking up my son at the airport tonight. He's promised lots of pictures and stories, so I anticipate a late, late night.

If I don't get back here to post before Christmas, here's wishing everyone a wonderful, happy and safe holiday season.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The "R" Word

This blog has been percolating in my brain for awhile now. It finally bubbled over when I read this post on Fat Red Ant's 44x365.

I wasn't sure I'd ever address the issue of racism on my blog. Some of you who've known me from other places on the net may (or may not) know I'm not white.

One of the reasons I like the internet is that I'm perceived by my words and ideas first and foremost – not by the colour of my skin. My writing and recollections sometimes have clear allusions to my ancestry and sometimes, they don't. I don't make a big deal about it, nor do I avoid it. It all depends on what I'm trying to convey.

Anyways, back to FRA's post. It clearly illustrates to me how far we (I'm speaking of the global we) need to go before racism is eradicated. It's hard for people, no matter how caring, liberal-minded and accepting to understand the deep pain and frustration felt by those of colour. I've come to hate that term, "people of colour" – but I guess there's no other term that fits.

I know there are lots of people like FRA who look beyond colour, but there are just as many like her boyfriend. The thing is, if you were to speak to someone like her boyfriend, chances are they'd be the first to say they aren't racist. I've heard all the denials and arguments: I'm not racist, but . . . . My co-worker is (black, yellow, green, purple) – we get along fine, but . . . .

See, you seldom hear racial epithets in polite conversation anymore, unless it's within the confines of a monochromatic gathering. And here, I'm not talking about whites only. Non-whites are just as guilty of racism. The problem with racism these days is that, more often than not – other than at skinhead rallies or drunken brawls - it's hidden, discreet, but nonetheless insidious.

For those of you who think, like FRA did, that it's all in our heads – that we're imagining slights that don't exist – may I offer just a smattering of some personal experiences:

• Standing at a crosswalk with my two young children, waiting for the light to change, a man walks up to me; looks me up and down; and says, "Why don't you people leave. Go home where you belong." - I'm quite certain he didn't mean home to our house, two blocks away.


• I'm in a hurry, rushing to an appointment and bump into a woman. I apologise. She just glares at me and says, "Watch out! You're not back home, you know." - because she's never bumped into anyone by accident.


• I'm standing at a counter, waiting patiently for service. The counter person has seen me, nods acknowledgement – he's with another customer at the moment. A couple comes into the store. The counter guy finishes with the first customer, then turns to serve the newly arrived people first. – What? Have I become invisible? Isn't my money as good as theirs?


• At a sporting event: I'm beaming with pride because the guy in front of me is admiring the play of my son. His friend asks him who he's talking about and the guy answers, "The Chink. Over there . . . "


• And the one memory literally seared on my brain and psyche when I was seven years old: - having rocks thrown at me and being chased home by a bunch of Chink-calling ten, eleven year-old boys; the feeling of humiliation; the feeling there was something wrong with me that they'd hate me so much without even knowing me.
  
  Yes, it was a long time ago, but I often wonder where these boys and their parents are now. Are they still the bigots they were then? Have they changed? Or have they just gone underground?

You know what? I think, overall, we've come a long way from rock-throwing and outright segregation – but there's a lot further to go.

I just had to get that off my chest.