Ann Carol Goldberg

This presidential regime has made a statement. There is a golden glow everywhere. A curious fashion statement has been decreed by a rush executive order quickly signed (as soon after his inauguration as possible.) The fashion world will adopt the true color of 2017. Gold. Indeed the GOLD RUSH of 2017 is raging on. The color choice is decidedly not a surprise. We have seen gold leaf, gold nuggets, gold lame, gold dust, gold furniture, gold decor, gold domes, gold paint, gold spray, gold gold gold everywhere. Indeed in Trump tower, Mar Largo, Trump Hotels and everywhere that Mr Trump has laid his goldfinger hands–there is gold.

Now, The White House is going gold. The oval office is rid of the Crimson red drapes of the Obama years hanging behind the presidential desk, for the sake of gold. New bright golden drapes are now in place, most likely ordered for quick completion on the night of Nov 8th after the polls turned. The Trump mark has been made. Often, the white house decor changes quickly upon the residency of the new arrivals but done with forethought, style and pizzazz. Think of the changes made by Jacqueline Kennedy, Pat Nixon, Nancy Reagan, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Laura Bush, Michele Obama and so many other first ladies.

I am sure there are more changes to come or in progress at this moment. But the oval office, where so many world leaders, world celebrities meet with the president. where so many treaties, executive orders, letters of condolence, letters of congratulations are issued, where so many photographs are made recording history in progress. I m not against the color gold. But wonder at the wisdom of the choice of gold.

Being a long time photographer, my eyes were blasted with the golden glow reflected by these gold hanging draperies. The faces are washed in a gold glowing cast, the effect becomes more sculptural than depicting living and breathing subjects. The room is awash in a golden glow as well, the presidential desktop radiating a strange cast and the edges of the desk a frame of golden glow. The resulting images look more painted than real. I empathize with the White House photographers shooting in these reflected tones and colors. But so be it, the gold rush will run on and on. Hopefully, the global gold mines of infamous fame will not cause further torture and hardships for the overworked, underpaid gold miners unearthing the golden nuggets.

(an aside–being of the gray-haired club, I have self declared that I cannot wear gold. beige or brown toned clothing, jewelry and such but choose clothing in tones of white, black, gray, red, orange, jade, turquoise, blue or purple so as not to clash with the yellows and golds that are off my color wheel. we all have our own personal color wheels to live by if we so choose).

For more info on changes to the white house see
Vhttp://abcnews.go.com/Politics/wireStory/white-house-trump-oval-office-makeover-44940453

What a delight, having dinner at a casual Thai/Vietnamese restaurant on a quiet night between the two big winter holidays on Main Street in downtown LA. 

Staying for a few days in the heart of downtown offered My husband and I a great opportunity to get to know this city from the inside out–art galleries, museums,  restaurants and diners, touring the Walt Disney Symphony Hall, climbing the stairs to Bunker Hill therefore, learning about Angel’s Flight, the historic, now defunct landmark narrow gauge funicular that ran in the Bunker Hill district high above Downtown LA. 

Pershing Park another center point in the downtown area is a highlight as well. Who would expect to watch ice skaters trying to stay upright in Southern California, but there they were, doing their best on the ice glinting and glowing in the bright sunshine. The rink was constantly being swept to clear the melted mush from the surface. Children were using 3 foot high plastic penguins to help them negotiate sliding on the ice without a visit to the ER after a fall. 

I will never stop admiring the numerous varieties of trees, bushes, cacti and succulents that flourish in this area, seemingly surviving the many years of drought. I have good intentions of trying to identify some of the plantings and learning more about each variety.  (The good news; it has been raining, hopefully a beginning to fill the reservoirs and providing relief from the dry period of such a drought.)

There is more; we can not resist a farmers market. With the sun in our eyes, some warmth on our backs, we hauled fresh produce back to the apartment to enjoy for the days to come. As we walked, people were very friendly and open to hellos and waves as we past by, sometimes stopping to talk. Of course the state of the homeless in LA is a match for any city and hard to take. Back to our Thai/Vietnamese dinner. 

It was delicious and the restaurant was not busy, so we were not pressed to leave because of crowds. As usual, I could not nearly finish my portion of the veggie curry and had it packed to go. I asked for napkins and spoons and forks to be included. I often hope someone on the streets will ask for help therefore, offering them the take out box. 

I had identified a women in a red shawl on the way to the restaurant and I had my eye out for her. But she did not appear. A tall, thin man, wrapped in a thin blanket, with hole infested gloves on his hands and thin soled shoes on his feet, sporting curly salt and pepper hair and beard and a smile sought our attention. I began to hand him my box engaged by his pearly blue soft but blazing eyes and his very warm smile. I held my gaze on his eyes for long moments, taken in by the affect. He thanked me 3 times. How I would like to know more about him and how he keeps his spirits seemingly up and glowing. But, we moved on to our warm home. 

It is so hard to be confronted by the unfortunate people of this world not knowing really how to react, afraid to give money or advice. but feeling an ache in our hearts for them. Some choose this life on the streets, some seek change. Through the years I have embraced suggestions for reacting to encounters, give them food, give them scarfs, hats, socks, shirts, raingear and a smile. But, it is a chore to carry so much stuff when out and about in the city. 

This man with the warm eyes is ingrained in my mind. 

Walt Disney Symphony Hall

12/19/2016; The electoral college has acted; 

How adept I have been in my lifetime in facing resistance. I have always believed myself to be easy going, open to new ideas, new thoughts and new tools, ready to accept change that make our lives easier;  Now, I look back and say, I have not been so so easy going after all. 

While I now have less of a problem accepting changes in ideological matters when presented with understanding and plenty of fore thought, it is in the realm of every day stuff that offers me the most difficulty overcoming resistance to change and the least important in the effect on my live. Perhaps it is the frugal nature I was raised with. But I am getting over it.

In explanation, How often I have resisted the acquisition of newly offered pieces of equipment meant to simplify life, such as a food processor, a microwave/convection oven, film cameras, digital cameras, personal computers, lap tops, a kindle, a tablet, cell phones–and on and on. I felt that what I had was doing just fine. Then, I faced the reality of having a washer/dryer on our motor home. Once again, I resisted. How can the rig withstand the electrical and sewer requirements of the washer/ dryer. I can turn that space into storage and continue the trips to the laundromat.

However, through the decades of changes, I have admitted with each new acquisition, that yes, I am happy with the new technology and hopelessly share our addiction to all kinds of the stuff of life and why did I always fight it in the first place.

What brings this sort of confession on today is the recent break down of our on-board washing machine and the days we rationed our clothing until the machine could be replaced. I am now a grateful user of our now working machinery, but aware of my fighting spirit resisting change. Lesson; without change, we would stagnate, fail to evolve, fail to learn, fail to discover. That would be a sad outcome.  Together, we all are facing daunting change. How to deal with acceptance is the question of the moment. 

The rapidly changing state of the current world around us constantly in the news and shared on our social media. We are changing in parallel to global change as well.   The world has entered a new phase, fast and furious. These are turnabout times, 180 degrees around, beyond expectations or anticipation but real and looming large. 

I am not feeling so easy about what is in store for us. Perhaps I can learn from my former propensity to resistance the need to be strong and thoughtful and not over react until each situation becomes clearly defined, if such a thing will happen under the new leadership. It seems we face daunting days ahead of us. Best to go forward with our eyes open and our chins held high. 

Las Cruces, NM has been a favorite stop from our first drive across the US via motor home some 15 years ago.  How lucky we are to have good friends living here, so devoted and knowledgeable about this outstanding region of New Mexico.  When in Las Cruces, we savor many high spots on our list of to do’s in the area: a bountiful farmers market, the rich music and art scene and meeting and hearing our dear friend Leora, (referred to as the rose in the desert by a talented and popular musician and conductor, a reference well deserved) broadcast over KRWG, the local NPR station.  We pursued our quest for pecan pie and pecans from Stahman’s Pecan Farm, our favorite source for Pecans.


 Pecan trees from Stahman’s past

During last year’s visit, we drove to the farm for our pie and pecans only to be greeted by a locked door and a sign that the retail shop is closed. Not a good sign for sure. Remembering the closure, we visited another previous source; Julienne’s Jewelry Shop located on Calle De Guadalupe in Old town Mesilla, where we have been able to purchase Stahman’s goods in the past when time did not permit a drive to the farm. The shop staff informed us that Stahman’s is now completely closed having been purchased by a Chinese run company. She has heard that all of the pecans will be exported leaving no pecans for local use from Stahman’s trees. 

Luckily, Julienne has found a new source for locally grown pecans and pies and we indeed purchased some of each to share with our dear friends. Annually and without fail, we have visited this shop and other businesses and restaurants in Old Town Mesilla.  This pecan pie was very good, not the overly sweet filling of other versions of the pie but pleasant and flavorful.  If you visit Las Cruces, do stop at Julienne’s.  Warning!  You will be enticed by the wonderful clothing, shoes, boots, and jewelry awaiting purchase as well as various pecan treats and locally made coffees. Then, drift around the square to visit a marvelous bookstore, a salsa shop or two, chocolate shop, ice cream store, gift shops and several Mexican restaurants to savor. The locals are friendly and warm sporting golden smiles.  

For all of you history buffs, back to Stahman’s Pecan Farm and its history. My friend Leora told me that years ago, when her now 20 something children were young, they enjoyed many memorable school field trips to the farm. The farm workers formed a community, living on the farm land in staff housing and enjoying a thriving community life style; The school visits were very special and welcomed by the staff and highly anticipated by the children. This strong farming community thrived for decades (1950 to the 1990’s) and then the land surrounding began to be swept up by developers and farm workers chose to move into houses of their choice, drastically changing the nature of Farm communal life. Those days are now completely lost with the sale of the farm. 

The farm’s legacy luckily lives on and has been documented through many research projects and precious oral history projects supported by the University of the State of New Mexico, Las Cruces campus. I have provided 2 of the many links below for those who enjoy delving into history.  It is hoped that the local pecans sold overseas will be well revered and Las Cruces will continue to be source of supplies for local pecan lovers as well. We must have faith that while life is full of changes, they will be for the better. 

And now, for another piece of pecan pie.

A quote from one of the articles preserving the history of the ranch; They’re the stories of the workers of Stahmann Farms and the communities hidden behind the iconic pecan trees. Those communities existed from the 1950s until 1990, and once boasted their own clinic, gas station, company store, hen house and airstrip, which was mainly used by the farms’ owners. 
Visit the following URL for the history of the farm

Another link to more historical insight into farm life and community on Stahman’s farm visit, http://www.lcsun-news.com/story/news/education/nmsu/2016/09/11/nmsu-researchers-tell-stories-stahmann-farms/90231176/

Life has been a whirlwind. We are underway in our motor home and very happy campers. so just some thoughts to share, and the incredible people encounters we have had along the way. 
Our motorhome has been under repair for several weeks. We have been “stuck” in Rochester, our home town for an extended period of time; following our usual schedule when we are underway in mid October. This year we stayed through the first week in December. Thanksgiving week was a treat as we drove in our Jeep to our son’s farm in Virginia and had a memorable 9 days including Thanksgiving, a luxurious small family day with our wonderful family, son Dan, Daughter in law Malena, over the top grandsons Alexander (a brilliant 17) and our multi talented grandson Corey (14); What a day, what a meal what a loving family. 

Paul’s new friend at the National Gallery of Art

After those beautiful days on the farm we drove to DC and enjoyed the National Gallery of Art, tearing ourselves out of the contemporary collection to take the Metro to our nephew’s house in Alexandria. Steven and Daisy and baby Oliver entertained us royally and fed us a tasty and memorable dinner. The next day we met RV Friends visiting their family in DC. That led to a midday visit to the American Indian Museum. Metro back to the Alexandria house then our first Uber ride to a lovely Greek restaurant and reunion with Paul’s cousin and her significant other. Both a joy and so glad to see them.

The next day, a long ride home bolstered by a lovely breakfast at the Del Ray Cafe. What a delightful Alexandria cafe where I had a treat–a vegetarian Eggs Benedict. Yum. We arrived in Rochester and had a day to transition to Motor home/nomad heads and filled the Jeep, drove to Colton RV in N. Tonawanda to transfer to our rig. What expertise and a joy Colton RV, Staff members John and Jesse are. They seem to have done successful surgery and our rig looks better than new. 

Luckily, Paul and I are spontaneous types; we adapt instantly and suddenly found ourselves driving down the road ahead of expectations, Jeep in tow and heading westward. (After an intense visit to Wegmans to stock up the empty larder on board.) How happy we were to BE ON THE ROAD AGAIN. 

Jackson Pollack at the National Gallery of Art

The next few days we enjoyed the feeling of traveling with no definite plans, no reservations and the world at our fingertips, finding sites to see, places to camp overnight and suddenly being near people whom we have known for years or an encounter as we check out of a store, campground or other spot. The 20 something clerk at Wegmans and her boyfriend love to hike and travel and her parents are long time motor homers, so we shared her stories and her anticipation of a trip to Colorado with her boyfriend. Our childhood friends; My best friend from age 18 months onward and her husband in Cleveland. 

We drove our rig to a Walmart near their town. They picked us up and off we went to a restaurant for breakfast and an intense 2 hours of catching up. They drove us back to the Walmart where we did some errands. Murphy was there with us, you all know Murphy–if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. We were locked out of our rig, the latch would not release. A call to Coachnet, our roadside service brought Gary a locksmith who had us in the rig within 10 minutes and with a new trick. Unlatch the top lock first then the bottom and you’re home free.

Off to the Columbus, OH area where we called another couple, the husband, Paul and I shared our young years in Rochester through high school. They came to our campground and we had a glorious 90 minute visit. What a joy to catch up. As I write we are in Walnut Ridge, AR, east of Little Rock. On our way we have encountered a couple who own the campground (Indian Creek OH in Geneva.) They live in and work out of a glorious old home built in 1856. She has lived in that house all of her life. The organ in their living room was built in 1868, a year before our apartment building in Rochester, Warner Loft, was built. They are full of life and share a great sense of humor.

There is so much more, but we are enamored of our life on the road, the encounters along the way and the unexpected next curve in the road. We just wish every turn could be spectacular but we know life happens and there are good and hard times for all of us and our friends. This is not my usual highly edited message, just musings and wishes for a wonderful life for all, lived to the fullest and leaving wonderful memories for our family and friends to cherish for years.

Time has passed quickly since our American Thanksgiving holiday. All of the hullabaloo has settled down, there is now time to reflect. At our family’s table this year we touched lightly on the question of gratitude, directing most of our table talk to catching up with each other and assessing the future as they see it at home, in the country and world wide.

During my quiet moments since then, I found myself reflecting on the many years of family celebrations and our children and grandchildren as they grew and developed.  How clearly I remember their responses to the query, what are you thankful on this day?  The answers in their very early years mentioned material goods, family members, the love of family, pets, and friends. certainly descent responses for young toddlers. As they grew up the responses around the table became more mature, farther reaching and confident.  I wondered what current trends around other tables would be in these days of fast-paced schedules, the world at our finger tips and easy access to internet connected devices.  I was not disappointed. The answers indicate growing awareness of children concerning world events, the issues surrounding environmental concerns, leadership and governance world wide. 

With Google under my finger tips, I searched for “what children are thankful for on Thanksgiving?” The result?…About 2,780,000 results (0.67 seconds.)  I found that by dipping into comments of those of younger ages, 2-12  reflected updated changes in their gratitude, wishes and desires. 
Some examples;

  Jack is age 5

The need to center on material not related to the angst of the current political climate, I sat down with some of the magazines on the my to read pile.  Near the top of the pile, I picked up Family Motor Coaching, Nov, 2016.  It is one of the magazines that helps us RVers keep up with news shared by wheel ready vagabonds traveling down the road.

As usual with seniors like myself, I am very tuned into the issues of mobility, getting around on two feet or adopting the means to help us move about; At times, I have joined the ranks of those needing canes, walkers, wheelchairs or scooters. (I am a lucky one at this time, regaining my agility and ability to move well, unsupported). Therefore, one article in particular caught my attention as published in Family Motor Coach Magazine, Nov. 2016 and written by John Johnston, Associate Editor of the magazine.  It is entitled, FROM TRAGEDY TO TRIUMPH.
The hero of the story is an RVer whose story is of yet another strong willed soul learning to conquer and overcome adverse events in his life.  I paraphrase from this dramatic article hoping this will be helpful both to humans and pets of those animal lovers among us. 

In the 70’s at 20 years of age while working in a fertilizer plant, Ronnie heroically stepped between 2 railroad cars setting a brake, thusly preventing a major injury to a foreman. Knocked down by the blow, a wheel ran over one of Ronnie’s legs, leaving him in grave peril. He amazingly saved his own life, but not one of his legs. After enduring leg surgery and amputation, he walked out of the hospital with the support of a cane and worked many jobs, eventually teaming up with his dad driving tractor trailers across the country, until a trucking strike changed his life and led him to an amazing career. Sporting a new prosthesis with the support of the state of Florida’s vocational rehab program, he tested off the charts showing a tremendous ability in mechanical skills.

On he went from the bottom up in the prosthetics industry. He married after meeting a lovely woman on the dance floor and together they celebrate a long landmark career in prosthetic design. He became an inventor as well, developing a skin like cosmetic product for prostheses and with his wife started a successful business; Prosthetics Research Specialists Inc.  They began their new life style in a tent slowly advancing to a motor home and beyond. 

But that is not all. A friend shared with him a “sad story of her horse who had ruined a knee after stepping in a hole. Euthanizing was out of the realm of acceptable. Could Ronnie make a knee brace for the animal? Again, the inventor, innovator and thorough researcher was successful in making such a brace and now runs another incredible business having helped a large variety (!) of species get back on their feet.  For the sake of my promise for brevity in this blog, I just wanted to share this amazing couples’ story and amazing career, (perhaps as a modern day Noah of biblical fame, saving human and wildlife from peril) laced with courage, determination and the skills needed to regain the ability to be independent and active. I hope so much to meet these RVers somewhere down the road. 

This past week in the Jewish world, we read the story of Noah. You know, the miraculous ark that carried a multitude of wildlife, perhaps the most wild, the humans on board–Noah and family. It would not surprise me, if indeed a higher power becoming oppressed and obsessed to the breaking point by the news of the last few years, would issue a new divine decree appointing a modern day Noah to repeat the shipbuilding task to float on the waters of the flooded earth. The story is familiar to many people world round. The text continues to say But G-d chose to shut the door, not leaving the action to Noah. 

Would the story of the destruction of mankind in our age repeat the outcome, as Noah and family and the multitudes of wildlife disembark together after flood?  Only this time, would the divine being shut the door shutting the modern Noah and fam out to be destroyed, leaving the new world in the hands of the wild things that will survive, devoid of humans and the strife we bring on earth.

Our country is demoralized, friendships lost over political upheavals, people fearing for the future. Our image is globally diminishing as fear of the evolution of financial, social, environmental, security and safety issues overwhelm us as we witness the growth of the worldly degradation of humanity. Distrust rears its ugly head around the world.  It has cost us all as people from around the globe endlessly question and ridicule our national sanity, in the face of great campaign costs, financially and emotionally, but more costly is the tarnished glory of democracy and the destruction of the ability to progress in governing and working toward improving our lives. 

When the door of the modern ark opens once again, will the creatures disembark upon a world of peace and sanity, devoid of human life or will the Garden of Eden’s serpent rear it’s powerful head once again? 

Most people, when making restaurant reservations may request a table by the window or on the deck, perhaps in a quieter location or concerning building accessibility or inquire about options for special diet needs. I have added another query asking about the availability of cushioned chairs. More than half of the restaurants in my experience have hard wood or other solid surface chairs and no loose cushions available for ease of bottom or back comfort. 

Do I have company out there?  Many folks that I have questioned in a very informal pole, have reported difficulty with hard seats because of back pain, leg pain, and sore sit bones after an hour or two of dining. Luckily, I have encountered a positive response when asking if soft or cushioned seats can be substituted for the hard and tortuous chairs. Those who don’t have any usually say, “that is a good idea, we should do that.” But do they?

Maybe this stack would work!

It is not a surprise that designing a restaurant is indeed a well thought out “science;” about lighting, table placement and spacing and so many other details.  Perhaps hard surface seating is desirable to make sure each table top is well and fully utilized when crowds are expected. 
When I remember, I carry a cushion or sit on a jacket or sweater otherwise carried to fend off the cold air conditioning that is so intense in public spaces. Hmmm, a subject for another day. Hopefully, this is a short intermission from this insane period in our political lives, a bit of levity. Feedback welcome. Happy dining. 

Based on a story from when I was 5 or 6 years old 

It was early morning. Red roses and golden sunshine enveloped me. The rose wallpaper covered the walls lit by the sun that glittered in through the windows. I lay in my bed, sweating with fever, suffering from the flu. From my viewpoint in the bed I could see the trees blowing in the breeze as if bragging at the peak of their fall color.  They were translucent from the light and dazzling to my tearing eyes. I could hear my mother in the kitchen, humming to herself and I smelled the soup cooking on the stove. I lay quietly “suffering” in bed wishing I was outside jumping with my friends in the leaves piled on the curb or roller skating on the newly paved tree lined street.

The rose bedroom was my favorite in this early 1900’s style, two story house on Edgerton Street sporting a house-wide front porch leading to an entranceway with two doors to pass through into the parlor. Our upright piano sat in the parlor across from the staircase with a wooden railing, one of two staircases in the house. The back stairs were enclosed and fetching as a beloved play place for my fluid childhood imagination. The rose bedroom was large and bright, a corner room mostly reserved for guests or occasional renters in our home. The renters are another wonderful story. 

Of course when the rose room was occupied I had to move into another room; either the small back room not much larger than 5′ x  7′, or when my beloved older brother was away, (college or army) into his front room. My brother, a born electrical engineer, devised light switches mounted on the bed rail to engage or close the ceiling light so popular in that era, a fan to blow in hot weather and music system of some sort. These were bonuses easing my having to share the rose room with others. 

I also missed my dad, a Violist with the Philharmonic, the troup now on a 2 week tour in the Northeast. They still traveled by train, the favorite mode of the (mostly) men players before airline travel became available for touring. Dad was due home soon. As usual, I tried to color or play with my Alexander doll, but readily fell asleep, waking to find a PBJ or peanut butter and banana sandwich and glass of milk next to my sunlit bed. They were left untouched, not having an appetite. Perhaps it was the medicine I had to take that made me even sleepier and led to some vivid dreams.  I was in such a revery that when my dad walked quietly into my room, darkened by the deep night. I saw him in a blur, relished his hugs and kisses and promises to spend time with me the next morning before his next rehearsal. 

As he left my room, my head fuzzy with sleep, I noticed a package on the night table but was too tired to open it until dawn came and I awakened with the sunlight glinting in my eyes. I reached for the package, wrapped in newsprint with orange grosgrain ribbons. I ripped it open to discover a wonderful wax witch candle. 

It was a day before Halloween (and my dad’s birthday.) My eyes must have glowed with delight. The witch stood as close to my bed as possible and I held her on and off for most of the day making up stories and talking to her excitedly with my raspy voice. I knew that dad had missed me during the tour.

Through the window that mother had opened to freshen my room, I could hear the voices of my schoolmates skipping their way to school just 3 houses away. Was it the breeze I wondered as the wax witch seemed to quiver and to grow, sweeping with her broom and gesturing to me to climb aboard the broomstick.  I held on with all my might as we swept through the open window and flew above the tree tops, my eyes probably wide with wonder. I picked out my friends walking to school, rooftops of their neighboring houses and the volleyball and softball games crammed into the time until the starting school bell would resound in the clear air. How I wanted to call to those on the ground with a “look at me.” But we were too high to be heard.

Still holding fast to the broomstick, the upward draft pulled us higher and higher and further away from home. The clouds shimmered below us and the sky was the bluest I have ever seen. “Look there, it is Halloween Island,” the witch said quietly. We landed on a cloud full of wild looking creatures–chattering monkeys, big bats, slithering snakes, fiery dragons, blue and green monsters with ugly faces or many arms, some grabbing at me or pulling on my rose 
colored nightgown, my beloved ballet slippers or my curly long hair. I held on even tighter, feeling my eyes wide open with fear. The wax witch smiled and giggled as we swooped this way and that way to avoid the danger. A winged dragon with fiery breath that singed my eyes, pulled roughly at my foot wrenching me free from my grip on the broomstick. I could not hold on and the dragon ran with me to a forest. “Help. help I yelled,” trying to kick myself free, help wax witch help meeeee!” 

The dragons breath was hot, about to catch my hair on fire.  We moved deeper into the dark and dank forest. “Help, help” I cried again and again, terrified. The dragon stopped short. Three giant chattering monkeys grabbed me from the dragons burning arms and ran out of the forest. My wax witch swooped down and I grabbed the broomstick and held on until my hands ached.  Shaking and scared, I let out a big, shaky sigh. The witch gave me a hug with one arm and said, “My friends came to the rescue and I bet that shook you up a bit. What a good sport you are and you look unharmed except for missing a slipper.” I gasped, but was happy to be flying again. 

My friend announced, “Let’s visit my home sky island to see the excitement for Halloween.” We flew for a long time until literally out of the blue there appeared a colorful and waxy town with shiny houses, trees and flowers and other wax witches welcoming us to their home town. I heard cackles and chants, saw witches both ugly, scary, jeering and frightening, but some friendly and smiling like my friend. “Come, let’s have a treat.”  

We were met by ghostly characters appearing in and out of the mist, glaring or shimmering in and out of view and disappearing, frightening me until I could see the delight in their eyes and hear giggles in their throats. Fried donuts, corn candy, bowls of floating apples, cobwebs, jack o’lanterns, glasses of cider, broomsticks, witches hats and masks of all sorts floated around me for the taking. The fried donuts were delicious, the cider warm and the apples crunchy. I felt wide awake and happy. 

Lightening flashed followed by a long lasting clap of thunder. It grew very dark. I felt cold and shivered, I felt hot and sweaty. We swooped in the air once again until all was quiet but the thunder sounding in the distance. My eyes popped open, strange, I lay shivering in my bed. My wax witch was on the table as if we had not flown away. But, her wick was lit and shimmering before my unbelieving eyes. 


I watched the flame, mesmerized and full of wonder, perhaps hypnotized by the mysteriously lit candle light.  Dawn light was streaming through the window as I awoke. 

I reached for the waxy friend next to my bed. She was now a lump of melted wax, orange and black and sitting on the little broomstick that had been in her arms. Her witches hat perched burned and ruined on top of the melted pile of wax. I must have cried out because my dad came into my room alarmed and worried. He saw the melted gift, wondering how the candle was lit and why one ballet slipper missing.  I reveled in his warming and welcome hugs.  

Mom walked in adding her soft hugs and kisses and expressed sorrow for the melted witch. They sat and listened with glee to my tales of flying and the witchy adventures. “It could only have been magic” they both concluded and were delighted that I was feeling better, back to behaving more like their little girl. 

I dreamed I was flying for more many nights to come.