Happy Halloween by Bea Tifton

We don't really do much for Halloween. It's just my mother and I and the neighborhood kids don't go door to door anymore. We don't have a lot of kids in our neighborhood, anyway. But we do put a pumpkin sign out and a few fall things. We order pizza, watch Practical Magic and Ghostbusters, and call it a night. But it wasn't always that way. 

When I was growing up, I loved Halloween. Not the scary haunted houses, but the kitschy stuff.  We were allowed to wear our costumes to school that  day and most elementary schools had Halloween carnivals. My mother would let me run around the carnival with my friends in the crisp fall air. 

And we trick or treated. We went house to house in our costumes, first chaperoned by my mother or father and then as a rite of passage, we were allowed to go alone. People gave generously, some even distributing caramel apples or popcorn balls. We were only allowed to eat those if the people were family friends. In fact, usually my father would buy our candy from us and we were allowed to buy candy straight from the store with the money. So not completely worry free even in the 70s and 80s. But, it was the experience and the excitement that made the night. 

I know that  people don't like to open their doors now. And it's not really safe to go door to door, anyway. Now if I had kids I would probably do what my father did even if it was a bit of a buzzkill. And most schools don't let kids wear their costumes or have school Halloween parties. When I was a teacher and a school librarian, we weren't allowed to decorate for Halloween. We could only use fall and "harvest" things. And no Halloween parties. (I would usually just happen to make "dirt pudding" that day for my students.) Some schools would have a "Storybook Character Parade" and maintained various degrees of strictness as to whether Batman is a storybook character. When I was a librarian, kids would come to me frantically asking me to give them a book for their costumes. Graphic novels came in handy for superheroes. And some schools have Harvest Festivals, but most have "Trunk or Treat" where cars line up in the school parking lot and the teachers and volunteer parents distribute candy or have simple games. It's safer, but I'm glad we got to go door to door. 

I feel like we've lost something. That sense of community. That sense of mystery and anticipation. That sense of fun and freedom. Private homes spend more on Halloween decorations than ever before and many spend much more than on Christmas decorations. But the actual celebration has changed so much. Still, at least kids get to do something. It would be a shame if Halloween completely went away. 

Do you still get Trick or Treaters? 

 

Photo Credits from Pixels.com

Monstera Production "Jack O' Lantern with Black Hat"

Charles Parker "Unrecognizable Kids in Halloween Costumes Knocking on House Door"

Thirdman "Jack O' Lantern on a Wooden Bench"

FiberFest 2025: Lots of Wool and a Wee Bit of Burnout~Sherri Easley

 

Well, friends,  FiberFest was a hit, and I’m still somewhere between elated and exhausted. Over a hundred vendors (mostly with products of the woolly persuasion) and more than 5,000 fiber-loving humans packed the Irving Convention Center for three glorious, chaotic days.

My trusty sidekick this year was my 9-year-old granddaughter, Dylan, who not only helped in the booth but did it all while dressed in full Celtic attire, because if you’re going to sell handmade Celtic goods, you may as well do it like a wee Scottish lass

The good news? I sold most of what I had.    

The bad news? …I sold most of what I had.

Which means I’m back in the sewing room (a.k.a. my house) trying to rebuild inventory before the next show at the end of November.

It’s a great problem to have, but also slightly ironic that success just means more late nights covered in Harris Tweed lint and thread clippings in a house full of organized piles.

Unlike last year, I managed not to faceplant in the parking garage on day one. Progress, right? That’s a story for another day, but let’s just say gravity and concrete were not my friends in 2024, but this year, I didn’t have to fulfill my obligation as a vendor with an undiagnosed broken arm and chipped orbital lobe.

I’m at a funny crossroad these days. I have too much fabric and too many notions to quit, but not quite enough energy to keep up the current pace. Retirement in January is on the horizon, and I’m hoping that stepping back from the 9-to-5 grind will help restore my creative spark (and maybe my sanity). More sewing, more writing… we shall see.

I’m also working on a new website, which should make selling easier for those who can’t make it to shows. As an introvert, I love the making part, but the endless small talk with thousands of strangers? That’s a special kind of marathon.

A special shout-out to my niece, Susan, in the photos, who somehow sells out by day two every single year (clearly, she’s discovered the secret formula in her to-die-for cookies), and to Dylan for being the most charming Celtic sales associate a grandmother could ask for.

Here are a few photos from the booth—notice how I’ve once again managed to evade the camera. It’s a gift. Or a curse. Depends on the lighting. Somewhere between untangling yarn and re-stocking my wares, I had an epiphany: I need to get professional photos taken. Of me. Not the bags. Not the booth. Me.

Because let’s face it—I’ll never be any younger than I am today, and if I’m going to show up on a new website or on a book sleeve, it might as well be with a halfway decent headshot where I don’t look like I just wrestled a bolt of waxed canvas or crawled out of bed.

Until next time, I’ll be in my sewing corner with a mug of tea, a pile of fabric, and enough thread  and notions to make it to November 2050

Stay woolly
Sherri

www.facebook.com/ButtonNBooBoo

My niece, Susan, from Kanga's Cookies. 

 

IF ONLY...

 By Caroline Clemmons

My mom was ac wonderful mother who kept her family foremost in her mind and heart. But, as much as I loved her, I know she wasn’t perfect. Who is?

 Many of her sentences opened with the same phrase—if only. My father used to tease her with, “Mae, if it was raining money, you’d complain about the small change.” She usually responded with an annoyed huff. This phrase is part of our family memories that we recall with humor.

 Lately though, I’ve caught myself saying “If only….” about things I wish I’d done. If only I’d told my Dad how much I admired him. If only I’d told that Virginia what a rat she was. If only I’d done more to help my mom. If only I’d saved more money. Sigh. I have hundreds of “if onlys” clogging my mind.

 Probably the recent passing of my dear husband launched me on this train of thought that has me examining the past. I know it’s not productive. More than likely it’s not healthy.

 Our minister gave a memorable sermon titled “Nostalgia” in which he addressed the healthy and unhealthy ways of examining the past. His sermon  stepped on my toes, but it’s still my favorite of his always meaningful sermons. For one thing, the past can’t be changed. Don’t look back longingly, wishing you could return to another time. Instead, honor the past while making the most of today.

 If only I can do that.