Of American Halloween my mom says, “Esto no da miedo. Si quieres miedo te llevo a mi pueblo. Conoceras lo que da miedo.”
She means that scary looking dolls and paying to get into a Scary Farm to be chased by people you know will be jumping out of walls isn’t the same as really not being able to explain what you’re seeing.
Some of my family’s stories of the paranormal:
–The burning ember of a cigarette that appeared in the spot in the orchard where my maternal grandfather smoked for years, long after he had died
–The ball of fire that bounced along the arroyo on the ranch where my uncle worked, spooking my uncle and his horse
–The window in a distant aunt’s house that appears to move inches from its physical location
My mom hated my Halloween costume until she saw that others liked it. That’s why she has me doing a walk around the neighborhood to show it off right now.
Finally, the catalog companies are getting that I don’t want their catalogs.
Today, I received one that said, “Could this be …. your last catalog? Yes!! Unless you order soon! Sorry, but rising paper and postage costs mean that we can only mail catalogs FREE to readers who buy.”
Yay!! I have every incentive now not to buy. Now if only the other 10 catalogs said the same.
I was at a fundraiser with some friends this weekend and we invited a new couple to sit with us. As the evening went on and my friends and I settled into our customary roles and told the raucous stories we always share when together, the young woman who had just met us declared, “Where have you women been all my life? You are just fabulous!”
Her reaction confirmed what I’ve always known, that I’ve been lucky enough to find the world’s best group of friends.
The menu said, “Guacamole smashed to order.”
I guess my response should have been “until it no longer resembles an avocado.”
“Can I get something less spicy—like cream cheese?”
Mom: Well, yesterday I mistook furniture polish for hairspray.
Mom: No one noticed, so I guess it worked.