Halloween. I have always loved it but, as the boys outgrew their need for my help with costumes and make-up, I lost interest.

This year, at the last minute, Beau was trying to throw together a costume. He had exactly 10 minutes because he and his girlfriend, Joy, had suddenly decided to attend a friend’s party 4-hours-drive away. (I know.  But this doesn’t even register a blip on your radar if you are 22 years old.)

I dug out Angus’ old cowboy boots from the back of his closet, while Beau scrounged and found a pair of too tight pants and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. I grabbed my long black raincoat and unzipped the liner as he went to the basement searching for an old cowboy hat to cover his shoulder-length hair. A quick hug and he was out the door. He finished off the costume, stopping by a store to buy a little pair of cowboy pistols in holsters. Voila!

I smiled as he pulled out onto the road and remembered a Halloween years ago. I was in fourth grade and my mom was a Room Mother. When I was kid we all had homemade costumes. told my mom I wanted to be an artist for the school Halloween party and away she went. She sewed and gathered until I was a hip artist wearing a smock, black tights and a French beret, carrying a paint-filled pallet and a paintbrush. This must’ve been the 1960’s version of an artist (according to mom) and I was very cool.

When it was party time we grabbed our bags full of costumes giggling as we went to change. A few minutes later my mom came in and told me to hand over my tights and my beret, “Someone has come without a costume” was all she said.

We gathered back in the classroom and I noticed the timid new kid had on my tights and beret and someone else’s tight black shirt. He had a nice black goatee painted on his chin – a Beatnik. So cool! And the fun and games began!

I don’t remember much about the kid; he was gone again before the end of the year. I didn’t give much thought to the kind of life a nine-year-old boy who didn’t even have a Halloween costume must have led.

I wonder, now, if he was well-loved...  I wonder if he remembers the nice lady who gave him a fun Halloween and a day of hope...  I wonder if anyone ever admits to having been a Beatnik...

The sky is deep azure with a
few brushed cotton clouds. The contrast of
orange-peel leaves glowing against the
blue is striking. The air is warm with a crisp
breeze, smells faintly of smoke. There are people
out walking, walking their dog, pushing a carriage,
power walking.

Breathing the fresh air as if
it were the last of it. Like a dying man
enjoying his last meal, they
breathe life in as they crunch through the
dancing leaves.

Golden, coral and chartreuse leaves rain
down onto the grass sprinkling a perfect
circle under the Maple tree. I hear a faint sound of
teens laughing in the park nearby as they shoot baskets
in the sunshine.

Children scooping up mounds of leaves
into a pile. There is no rake in sight. Their intent is
not to clean up the clutter. Their
leave pile is small but so are they. Each
runs and jumps, laughing and falling, the leaves
flying and spreading. They scrape them together
and jump again.

Kevin and Andrew take to the woods
to explore. They return rosy cheeked and
smiling. Andrew proudly hands me an
amber sycamore leaf bigger than a
dinner plate. I leave it on the coffee table as a
centerpiece and a reminder to enjoy life now
before winter sets in and
steals life away.

It was one of those perfect Autumn days. The was day sunny and warm but there was a crispness in the air and a cool breeze. The sun had already dropped below the horizon but the sky was filled with soft colors as we stood for the national anthem at Beau's soccer game. The American flag waved gently against the peach sky as the soccer announcer began to sing. "Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light?.." His strong, heavenly voice melted into the beautiful scene before us.

I was taking it all in, feeling grateful we are fortunate enough to have such a beautiful voice lead us. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of children laughing. Perhaps it was coming from the playground of the school across the road and behind us. It grew louder and I realized it was the sound of honking geese... and then they flew into view. They flew in their V-formation, singing along with us, across the sky and toward the flag, through the pastel sky, above the silhouetted trees. It was an image that will stay with me forever.... a perfectly God-painted moment.

The soccer boys later made jokes about how the Chiefs get Blue Angel fly-bys at their games and we Canada Geese.

Ours was better. ☺

For the Ones Who've Survived: I've resurrected this from the not so ancient past because I can't write anything better today than what I was feeling then. In honor of Memorial Day and the ones who came back but now have to live with it.

Dear Marine,
It's September here in Missouri, still hot but with a hint of Autumn in the air today. I walked out to get the mail this afternoon and couldn't resist the hammock in the shade of the peach tree on the trip back to the house. I laid across it, just for a few minutes, as I sorted through today's bills and flyers. There was a sweet thank you note from a friend who had left for college for the first time only 3 weeks ago. I recognized her big round letters and smiled before I even opened it, knowing that the small package I had sent had brought a tiny moment of joy into her exciting, new and homesick world. Then my thoughts turned to you, my faraway friend.

I remember the first time you went off to Iraq. You had no idea what to expect. I barely knew you then except through your mom. She was so upset when you enlisted but she also recognized that you had been having difficulty finding your place in life and prayed that the Marines would fill the hunger in you. You were so young and fresh and eager then.

I talked to your mom for a long time the other night. She didn't cry this time. You have just deployed for your third tour of Iraq. The fear inside her still fills her up for she, too, has lost her innocence. But she has had to learn to trust you and your instincts and your comrades... and God. There were times when I didn't think she would survive Iraq but she is a survivor. You get that from her.

As I lay in the hammock with that hint of late summer in the air...a few lone cicadas buzzing their constant circular song with a gentle breeze rustling the pages in my lap, I remember that you are over there. I send up a silent prayer, as I do every time you cross my mind, and wonder how you are faring. Your mom told me how, when you phoned last week, you told her about the new guys who jumped at the sound of mortars each time and were astounded at you guys who never even flinched. She chuckled.

Once upon a time the mortars frightened you something awful but you learned that most of them don't hit anyone. One time one hit right near you and your buddy and you never even blinked, you'd become so accustomed to them and perhaps to death, too, by then. But then you realized after that... your hands were shaking. Yes, Marine, you are still alive, amazingly and gratefully, still alive.

So, you are probably one of the old men in your unit this time, at 22 isn't it? Respected for your battle scars perhaps, even though they can't be seen. Are you able to sleep yet, friend? Do the nightmares still come? Can you put them aside and rest? Can you be a leader and a role model to these young men that look up to you and teach them the battle skills that they will need to survive the horror they will see out there?

The weight is heavy. I know that most of your buddies didn't survive the 2nd tour. I know that some of those that did are out now and that it was hard for you to see them escape, even as you rejoiced for them. I know that the memories haunt you. But I also know how strong you have become and how beautiful you still are. When you get through this next journey you will have learned some things that some people, most people, never know.

You will know how to rejoice in every day and in every person around you for you know how fragile life is. You won't take anything or anyone for granted the way the rest of us often do. You will have learned that human beings are capable of things that we can't imagine, both great and horrible. You will know that one can survive anything as long as there is hope. You will learn to hope again. You will learn to push aside the most awful of things your memory tries to show you but you will retain it in the back of your mind to make you into a kinder more aware person. You will have learned to trust God in all things and give your burdens to him.

It was a beautiful day here. My prayer for you today is that you find a small piece of beauty out there and share it with someone else.

Go with God.

My mowing days pretty much ended when CJ became old enough to take over that job. By then he had 3 younger brothers and I had no time for that chore. Now the big ol' zero turning radius riding mower (man toy) we have is so complicated I don't even have a clue how to run it. It doesn't even have a steering wheel!

Most of our property is wooded or the field but just about every bit of the grassed area is shaded by the many trees we have. I have told Angus that I hope by the time we are elderly we will have so many trees that it appears we live in the middle of a forest. He usually replies with a grumbly "humph" because he and the boys are the ones that have to mow around all those scores of trees. They've killed plenty of them by stripping a circle of bark from the base of the tree as they mow around it but eventually I just plant another one in its place.

So...one day we will be living in the woods and no one will have to mow but for now we rake wherever the leaves lay thick, just to keep them from killing the grass beneath. Yesterday I sent the boys out to do that chore. I had raked a few days earlier so there were a dozen big piles already that needed to be moved to the compost pile.

They grumbled a bit and stalled some ("where are the rakes") but went on out to finish the work. Twenty minutes later I looked out the window to check their progress... just in time to see my 23 year old son flip himself into a pile of leaves. I watched as he and my 17 year old son took a few more jumps before they went back to raking the rest of the yard.

They worked together wonderfully and had obviously worked out a routine. They had found a tarp and drug it around to the many piles of leaves that by now were dotted all over the yard. They raked a pile onto the tarp then drug it to the next one until it was heaped high with the leaves. They dragged the heavy load to my big compost pile and then flipped it all into the pile. Making sure to jump on it a few times "to pack it down" they later told me. ...Right.

It was such a beautiful sight for a mother to see her nearly-grown sons working together, playing together and making the best of life. When they were younger I sometimes wondered if they will ever get along, if they will ever be responsible, if they will ever "act their age". They have always gotten along pretty well but they didn't always enjoy each other's company. Now they do.

So, young parents, Take Heart! All the hard work involved in making the kids do chores when it is easier to do it yourself will eventually pay off. Some day the kids will like each other. They will eventually become the fine young adults that you prayed they would... well, maybe not that perfect but they will come into their own. Have hope... and keep praying.

PS~ I also got to witness a rake handle sword fight and a cell phone thrown into a pile of leaves as a find-the-needle-in-the-haystack and a little brother chase a big brother around a tree. I am still waiting for the "act your age" thing to kick in. ☻

The glow from the rising sun reflecting on the bright orange and yellow Maple leaves actually hurts my eyes in the mornings these days. It is kind of shocking but in a wonderful way. The walls opposite the windows have look as if they are painted a pale orange but they are just tan. One wouldn't think it possible but, honestly, the colors are so vibrant and the light so strong that it literally hurts my eyes to look at them! ...and yet I cannot stop myself from gazing at them. There are so many different colors ranging from plain old green to brick red with everything brilliant in between; lime green, mustard yellow, lemon yellow, melon, salmon, chartreuse, red, magenta...and more...so many more colors. My artistic mind wants a name for every blend of green/yellow, yellow/orange I don't have the color-vocabulary to define them. The contrast with the near-black branches adds to the beauty. It is breathtaking.

Suddenly it occurs to me that ..God is an artist! a creator of beauty for pure enjoyment, his and mine. He has given me this lovely creation outside my bedroom window. I start my autumn days knowing God is real and he is here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God painted last fall, too, but I didn't notice it 'til night. Sometimes it's not with my eyes that I see his creations. Does God give us these gifts of beauty because we need them or do we just notice them when we need them? Either way, I praise the God that created life and love and hope. amen.