THE BEST KIND OF CHRISTMAS

By

Gerry Niskern

I had two Christmas celebrations as a child. My sister and I woke up on December 25^th to the smell of pine. Santa had brought presents and a beautiful sparkling tree too. What more could a kid ask for; but to be honest, I don’t remember what we had to eat.

But on January 6^th, at my grandma Gunto’s house, we had our favorite Christmas. We looked forward to Grandma’s Orthodox celebration because we were with our many cousins. Mom came from a family of l3, so there were a lot of them. There were no presents exchanged, just the joy of the whole family being together.

My grandma’s living room was cleared of furniture and long tables and chairs were set up. The tables were groaning with food. After a prayer by one of the grownups in my Grandmothers native language, my little Austrian grandma would always say, “Now Geddy, you say in English”. She could never pronounce Gerry. I don’t know why she always chose me, out of all the kids, to say the blessing. I was painfully shy so I guess she thought it would be good for me!

We had Hulupkis. They were boiled cabbage leaves filled with browned ground beef and spices and rice. The cabbage was then folded like an envelope, rolled up and placed in a large kettle and covered with the savory brown gravy made from the browned beef. They were delicious.

There was Perogies too; my favorite. After making the dough, it was rolled out and cut into 3 inch squares. Then a mixture of mashed potatoes and chunks of yellow cheese was spooned out onto a square and folded over into a triangle and the edges pinched with a fork. The pockets were then dropped into boiling water for a few minutes to cook like a noodle. Then they were lifted out and plopped into a large skillet sizzling with chopped onion browning in butter.

There was always a bowl of stewed apricots, and fruit pies from the summer’s canning; cherry, peach and berry. The only cookies were plain round sugar cookies with a spoonful of jam in the middle and another round of cookie on top, with a hole in the middle for the jam to bubble thru.

The most important dish of the evening was a platter of round cooked noodle balls covered with honey and poppy seed.  Everyone had to eat one in order to have good health in the coming year. I dreaded that tradition, but I was always required to choke one down!

The evening was concluded with polka dancing with the music provided by my Uncle Paul from Italy. His sparkling blue accordion shimmered as everyone, young and old danced. My grandma’s house vibrated with fun. Then, of course, my Uncle Walter, from Russia, gave a command performance dancing the Mazurka. He crouched low, with arms across his chest and his boots kicking high into the air. Everyone tried to imitate him, but no one else was strong enough.

I ended up on someone’s lap in the living room in front of the fireplace watching the coal fire hiss and spew out plumes of yellow, red and purple flames. I was always surprised to find my self in my own bed the next day!

MY FIRST GIG AS A CHRISTMAS SUPERSTAR

The scraggly line inched slowly forward as the first grade girls scuffled and stretched on their toes to be the tallest in our class, but I won hand’s down. That time was my one and only life time compensation for being the biggest girl in every class I was in throughout school.

As I bent over the baby (really my Dionne Quintuplet doll named Annette) my long brown hair hung down around my shoulders. At the request of my teacher, I was allowed to take my tight braids out and brush out my long hair, something I was never allowed to do at home. She obviously didn’t think that Mary would have had long braids. Thank you, Mary Jane Crowe!

Joseph was there too, I’m sorry to report. If wouldn’t have minded sharing the spotlight with the baby’s father, but not red haired Dickie Henderson, of all people! He was the “bad” boy of the class. How humiliating! I kept asking myself, ‘Why did teacher choose him?’

Looking back, years later, I realized she chose him because he would be a mischief maker among the shepherds, but as Joseph, he was right up there in front and had to behave himself. I would have enjoyed my starring role as the mother Mary, if he hadn’t kept winking at me.

There was a great light glowing from the manger (courtesy of the large spot light that my first grade teacher had placed underneath). I did my best to ignore Joseph as I knelt on the rough stage in prayer by the baby lying on the sweet smelling straw, with my glorious long hair.

mas Tree Up Yet?

By

Gerry Niskern

When I was a child, the Christmas tree magically appeared in our living room each Christmas morning. It stood in glorious splendor in the corner complete with twinkling lights, shiny ornaments and tons of icicles.

The minute I opened my eyes, sometime around dawn, and sniffed, I knew it was there. The pungent pine aroma filled the chilly air. My sister and I raced barefooted down icy cold stairs. Sure enough, Santa Claus had come down our chimney with presents and…. a tree.

“How did my parents do that?,” I used to mutter every year as I dragged down the boxes of ornaments, untangled the lights and start trimming the tree. The last few years I’ve vowed to give it all away after the holiday season is over. I’ll just pick up one of those tiny trees to arrange on a table.

I remember the our first Christmas after we became  parents. We set out to buy our baby daughter her first tree. The Dairy Queen owner on West Van Buren always filled his empty parking lot with fresh evergreens. All the young couples in our crowd were on a tight budget and our friends warned us, “Be firm, don’t pay the price on the tag.”

Imagine our shock when we approached the vendor with our chosen tree and asked if that was the best he could do. “If it’s for that tiny baby girl, there’s no charge… and Merry Christmas to both of you.”

The next year we took our toddler to see the huge tree in downtown Phoenix like the ones we had always enjoyed as kids. The city workers placed the magnificent fir on top a large box-like platform in the middle of the intersection of Washington and Central Avenues. The trolleys that traveled Washington passed by on either side.

We have had all shapes and sizes of trees while our kids were growing up.  One year we bought all unbreakable ornaments when our son was an aspiring, two years old  Mickey Mantle. When our daughter went to first grade, she brought home a paper angel with shiny blue wings. The holy lady was too large to hang on the tree; the young artist laid her on one of the branches.

As the years passed, her younger brothers brought home their own works of art. Our older son brought a clothes pin wise man, complete with cotton beard and a ric-rac desert headdress. Most astonishing of all was the bright green snowman.  He was made of numerous round parts all taped together in a long string. I was just about to compliment my youngest son on the cute caterpillar, when he said, “ Mom, how do you like my snowman?” and he laid him it across the branches of the Christmas tree.

The more willing helpers I had, the slower the job of decorating the tree became each year. We reminisced as we stopped to examine each work of art and look for names and grades on the back.

When the grandkids came along, I started hanging my Christmas cookies from the boughs. Of course, that brought lots of willing helpers.  After a few years,  we purchased  an artificial tree. And our color scheme gradually changed from red and green to mauve and silver to purple and teal and then gold and blue. However, somewhere along the way, the willing tree trimmers grew up  and  became busy with other activities during the Yuletide season.

Believe me, I really planned to go with the little tree some day.  The problem  is, we never know when there will be another grandbaby or great-grandbaby bringing us his own unique works of art.

The more I think about it, maybe we had better keep the old tree a few more years. Who knows? Someday we might get a red snowman.

Who’s Surprised Now?

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you started your Christmas shopping? Do you have some foolproof hiding places? You better have stashed the early purchases in a good spot.

My sister and I always enjoyed our dad telling about the toy he received that was already worn out. It seems there had never been any money for Christmas gifts in his family of eight children. When his older sister went to work she was determined things would be different for her two youngest brothers. She bought two little toy motorcycles, wrapped them in red paper and hid them under her bed. Our dad and his brother spied them  while she was at work. They couldn’t resist. They pulled back the red paper to peek at the contents. Then they really couldn’t contain themselves. Each little boy had a motorcycle that you could wind up and it would run all over. They played with the cycles and then wrapped them up again and put them back under the bed. The next day, the temptation was too great. The boys sneaked into her room and played with the wonderful new toys again,  and every day thereafter, until Christmas.   Their excited sister gave them their gifts on Christmas morning, and as they unwrapped them, parts of the worn out little motorcycles fell out of the paper!

Our own children loved to hear their daddy tell about one December when he discovered  a brand new basketball in his parent’s  attic. He spent the next Saturday before Christmas along with a couple of his friends, building a backboard on their carport. They worked all day in the rain, but it was going to be worth it. That night, while his family was seated at the dinner table, a neighbor lady came over to retrieve her Christmas purchases, including the basketball, from their attic. She thanked his mom for hiding them for her!

A friend of mine told me about how her mother always stashed the kids  Christmas toys in a cubbyhole behind their bookcase. Her mother was surprised when she didn’t’ want to go along on the Saturday grocery shopping trip; especially since she was always given a nickel to buy big red balloon. My friend had other plans that day. As soon as her parents left she pulled the bookcase out and looked to see what was hidden there.  Inside a long box was the Betsey Wetsey doll she had longed for.  The temptation was too great. That little baby doll had to be given a bottle immediately.  In fact, she was fed every Saturday up until the day her mother pulled the soaking wet box out, intending to wrap it for Christmas. Betsey couldn’t hold it that long!

One of my fondest memories is of the first Christmas we were married. I had shopped carefully for a sharp McGregor jacket for my groom. Then one day, right before Christmas, he came home with a large box, carried it into the bedroom and closed the door. The house resounded with sounds of clanging and banging as he wrapped his gift for me. All I could think was, ‘those sounds could only be a vacuum cleaner”.  How could he, and on our first Christmas?  What did he think I was, a housewife?

Talk about surprises!  On Christmas morning I unwrapped a Featherweight Singer sewing machine. I loved it

Instant Genealogy

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s that time of the year again; the holidays. Families will be criss crossing the country, going back home.

The truth is, there is something everyone will look forward to more than Grandma’s cooking.  That’s the sharing of family stories.

I recall as a toddler, standing around my Austrian grandma’s kitchen and listening to her chuckles and chatter with cousins visiting from Europe. They were having a good time reminiscing.  I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, except for my grandma’s one and only  English phrase,  “Damn right!”

Years later, I was a teenager when relatives visited my parents out here in Arizona. My first reaction was, “I don’t have time for these people. I don’t really know them anyway.” But before I knew it, I was hanging around the dining room table late into the evening laughing at the stories being recalled. I was amazed to learn that my very proper daddy had burned down the family garage when he was four years old…and he couldn’t tell his mother what he’d done because he still couldn’t talk.  After all, my aunt explained, “he was the baby of our family and he didn’t have to talk.”

Years later, after my husband’s parents were gone,  some cousins stopped at our house to visit. Our kids learned a thing or two about their dad’s childhood.  They couldn’t believe that when their daddy was about five years old he was allowed to go badger hunting with his older cousins and their pack of greyhounds in west Texas. According to the story, “he was talked into sitting on top of one badger hole and another little cousin was told to sit on another hole. That strategy was supposed to slow the badger down when it came out, and the older boys could shoot it. There was one problem. The badger just about scratched the gullible five year old to pieces trying to get away.”

Our nephews, who were always being lectured by their dad about the dangers of smoking, loved the story about their daddy caught sitting behind a chair puffing on his uncle’s cigar every chance he got, when he was only two years old

As the years go by, everyone, if we’re lucky, will have more and more of these family interludes in our life.  All these stories affirm that we are indeed a family connected and the laughter is the catalyst that holds the clan together. The kids take it all in and come to realize that when they were growing up, mom and dad weren’t perfect, in fact, even a little naughty sometimes. That’s good for everyone. It kind of levels the playing field a little, doesn’t it?

Instant Genealogy

By

Gerry Niskern

It’s that time of the year again; the holidays. Families will be criss crossing the country, going back home.

The truth is, there is something everyone will look forward to more than Grandma’s cooking.  That’s the sharing of family stories.

I recall as a toddler, standing around my Austrian grandma’s kitchen and listening to her chuckles and chatter with cousins visiting from Europe. They were having a good time reminiscing.  I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, except for my grandma’s one and only  English phrase,  “Damn right!”

Years later, I was a teenager when relatives visited my parents out here in Arizona. My first reaction was, “I don’t have time for these people. I don’t really know them anyway.” But before I knew it, I was hanging around the dining room table late into the evening laughing at the stories being recalled. I was amazed to learn that my very proper daddy had burned down the family garage when he was four years old…and he couldn’t tell his mother what he’d done because he still couldn’t talk.  After all, my aunt explained, “he was the baby of our family and he didn’t have to talk.”

Years later, after my husband’s parents were gone,  some cousins stopped at our house to visit. Our kids learned a thing or two about their dad’s childhood.  They couldn’t believe that when their daddy was about five years old he was allowed to go badger hunting with his older cousins and their pack of greyhounds in west Texas. According to the story, “he was talked into sitting on top of one badger hole and another little cousin was told to sit on another hole. That strategy was supposed to slow the badger down when it came out, and the older boys could shoot it. There was one problem. The badger just about scratched the gullible five year old to pieces trying to get away.”

Our nephews, who were always being lectured by their dad about the dangers of smoking, loved the story about their daddy caught sitting behind a chair puffing on his uncle’s cigar every chance he got, when he was only two years old

As the years go by, everyone, if we’re lucky, will have more and more of these family interludes in our life.  All these stories affirm that we are indeed a family connected and the laughter is the catalyst that holds the clan together. The kids take it all in and come to realize that when they were growing up, mom and dad weren’t perfect, in fact, even a little naughty sometimes. That’s good for everyone. It kind of levels the playing field a little, doesn’t it?

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Is Santa Becoming Obsolete?”

Cyberspace Christmas is here. Santa’s days are numbered. I hope the old boy has a good retirement plan and given his rotund image, adequate health insurance. Now a kid can go to some of the toy stores here in the valley and put his name on the children’s registry.

The child is given an electronic scanner and allowed to go through the store and scan any toy that strikes his fancy. Each item is then on a list that can be accessed on the Internet under the child’s name. What if grandma doesn’t have a computer to go online.  Too Bad. The poor lady will just have to wait in line at the toy store to get a printout of his list.

Gone are the days where the little tyke had to sit on the old boy’s lap and ask for a special toy. No more embarrassment of posing for pictures. Those tiring trips to the mall are over. There will be no excuses of “Santa didn’t know or he couldn’t find it” accepted either. I can hear it now. “After all, I was registered.” Soon we’ll cut out the chubby middleman entirely.

The Internet is transforming society and shaping the future. I don’t know when Christmas changed from being a  “hands on” celebration with a few little gifts for the kids, but we’re rapidly cruising down the information highway pointing and clicking our way through the transition.  According to the profusion of ads for web sites we see everywhere, you can do Christmas entirely on the Net. Order your tree from a choice of sites around the United States. UPS will drop your tree on your doorstep within two days.

You can have a personal shopper help you choose the perfect gift for everyone. The on-line “E-tailors” are becoming quite nosey. Just give the shopper your loved ones sex, vital statistics, and tastes. With a click of the little rodent, the gift is on its way to you. If you want absolutely no part in this messy Christmas business, the perfect gift can be gift wrapped and sent directly on to the recipient.

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this picture?  Is there anyone that doesn’t remember the luscious smell of the pine as your family tramped through the Christmas tree lot? When you all agreed on the perfect evergreen, Dad tied it on top the car and if it wasn’t perfect when you arrived home, you just turned the bad spot towards the wall.

Christmas is a great opportunity to introduce the little kids to the special glow of giving. After they empty their piggy banks they can carefully choose a gift for each member of the family.  I’ll admit, the lesson was lost on our middle son who only asked one question when contemplating his purchases; “Okay, but how much change do I get back?”

Do you remember the thrill of coming upon the perfect gift for that special someone?  A unique gift you found while browsing and enjoying the decorations, luscious smells and holiday music.

I’ll be the first to acknowledge computers are a productive tool in our fast paced world at work and in everyday life.  Working mothers especially need and welcome the convenience of online shopping.

Speaking of rules, I have a suggestion. Lets ban all web sites that target children young enough to still believe in Santa Claus. Around age eight or nine is soon enough for him to go scanning at the toy store.

On second thought, don’t interrupt him now. He’s probably on-line with his broker checking his Merrill Lynch account!.

“Thanksgiving Day, Here in Arizona”

by

Gerry Niskern

Thanksgiving day, here in Arizona, is a day of traditions. It will be celebrated in many locations and the rituals will be as varied as the individual families.

Grandmothers and grandfathers will serve their children and grandchildren a fine old- fashioned turkey dinner, complete with dressing, gravy and homemade hot rolls that melt in your mouth. The carving knife is already sharpened and the table lines freshly laundered.

Some traditions, here in Arizona, will be started for the first time when the newlyweds decide to invite the clan to their home for barbecued turkey on the grill and a dip in their heated pool. No matter where they gather, some members of the family will argue politics, religion, and the latest courtroom trial. Everyone will over eat and some will drink too much.

Others will go to church to thank God for their many blessings. Whole families will give up their day to serve others in the many charity dining rooms, here in Arizona.

Native Americans on their reservations will gather together for mutton stew and fry bread. New immigrant families, like the one I saw shopping for a heavy roasting pan at the Goodwill store in my neighborhood, will buy their turkey and trimmings and try to prepare it the American way!

Other families will gather in hospital rooms or visit cemeteries, carrying pots of golden mums and try to remember why they are supposed to be thankful on this day.

Here in Arizona, people tired of formal affairs, will wrap their turkey up tightly, and put the potatoes, dressing and gravy in large thermoses and head out for a desert picnic. They will fly kites, ride go-carts and go rock hunting.

Lonely residents of nursing homes will be served their turkey on long tables decorated with papier-mache  turkeys and jaunty little pilgrim hats. They’ll be remembering other past Thanksgivings when children sat at their table.

Firefighters will cook their bird at the station. Policemen will grab a quick bite while on patrol. Emergency room personnel will eat their drumstick in the hospital cafeteria. Babies will be born and Mom and Dad will forget to eat, here in Arizona.

Some Mothers and Fathers will read to their children about the first Thanksgiving. They’ll tell them about the Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving when Governor  Bradford invited Chief Massosit to share their feast. The chief brought ninety men with him and they stayed for three days. The pilgrims celebrated their freedom in their new country with the Indians who helped them survive their first winter.

Maybe these same parents will ask their offspring to name the things they are thankful for. Then, hopefully, they’ll remind their families that there are Moms, Dads, kids, and even Grandparents who are hungry and homeless in Europe on this Thanksgiving day.

Today’s parents will tell the kids that we have the freedom to celebrate our traditions or change them, as we wish. They’ll remind them to nurture and cherish that freedom.

All these things will happen on Thanksgiving day, somewhere here in Arizona.

“It’s Music to my Ears

By

Gerry Niskern

Has your child brought home the note yet? If he didn’t, get ready, he will shortly.

I’m referring to the notice that invites him to learn to play a musical instrument at school. Actually, research has proven that studying music increases test scores, self-esteem and retention of information.

Most boys opt to try their hand at the brass instruments or drums. If you’ve had a child in that category, I needn’t say more.

One smart fellow I know recalls that music lessons were mandatory at his grade school.  He chose the tuba only because he wouldn’t have to carry an instrument back and forth. The school kept one and sent one home to use for practice.

I was in sixth grade when I brought home the notice and begged for a clarinet. The music stores didn’t rent instruments back then; parents had to buy them. My used clarinet was metal and cost twenty-five dollars which was real chunk out of dad’s pay check.

The only city music teacher covered the eight Phoenix elementary schools weekly. The poor lady traveled by streetcar and bus between schools.

Probably because to my lack of talent and progress, the public school teacher suggested private lessons also.  Every Saturday, I took the Capitol streetcar, and then transferred to the North Central bus to my two-dollar lessons. After the private instructor heard my silver beauty he offered my mother a used woodwind clarinet that was guaranteed to have fewer squeaks. She paid off the difference over time. .

When both instructors asked me after each lesson if I had practiced an hour every day, I did what any red-blooded American kid would have done, I lied.  Each week, after my session, my neighborhood friend Tammy Jo arrived in her grandpa’s Cadillac for a double lesson. Believe me, she practiced.  I was only allowed to be in the orchestra for our spring recital. Tammy Jo, on the other hand, had a solo.

I went on to play in the Girl’s Band at Phoenix Union High School. Our uniforms were knee length white dresses, trimmed in red. I soon learned that band involved a lot of marching down Central Avenue in the Rodeo Parade.

Since then, I’ve taken my hat off to anyone who performs in his or her school band in a parade. That’s hard work!

I didn’t sign up for Band the next year. I don’t know what happened to that old black “Liquorices Stick”, but more importantly, I had been allowed to try my hand at music.

So your excited musical wannabe brings home the note, give it a thumbs up. Who knows? They may become a skillful musician or soon realize it’s not their forte’. Either way, they will be exposed to the world of music and will genuinely appreciate musicians the rest of their lives.

Last blog about Halloween, I Promise

By

Gerry Niskern

Do you know why witches fly around on broomsticks?

There will be a lot of little witches zooming around on October 31 trick or treating as soon as the sun goes down and they have eaten the required few bites of dinner. You can be sure they will be keeping a sharp eye out for monsters and ghosts that are flying too.

We lived out in the country when I was trick or treating age. So I missed out on that great night when grownups pass out big handfuls of candy, but we had something better. We had Halloween parties at neighboring farm houses.

Everyone started planning their party right after school started. But the important work went into their costumes. Everyone tried to create the best disguise so they wouldn’t be recognized. It was a fierce competition and a badge of honor to be the last one recognized. The remaining one whose identity was guessed was always awarded a prize.

One year when I was about eight years old, my sister and I begged to have a Halloween party for our friends. We worked hard cleaning up the basement (the parties were always in the basements). We decorated by dragging huge, dry corn stalks in from the fields and put them in the corners; than our dad put lights behind them for a warm glow. We had lots of dad carved,  grinning jack-o- lanterns and big black paper cats we had been working on for weeks.

We picked the last of red apples in the orchard and filled one of mom’s wash tubs with water for the bobbing for apples contest.

Mom bought Candy Corn and filled several bowls she placed around the room. There were platters of her homemade donuts and a punch bowl of cold apple cider. This young sugar junkie’s mouth was watering in anticipation.

In my quest to be the last one identified, I insisted that my mother pin me securely into my ghost costume, which was one of her white sheets. I wanted to make sure no one could peek around my ghost mask either. Then as the games started and the party got into full swing before the guessing started, I watched in dismay, arms locked tight  in folds of white, as the bowls of candy corn, all the donuts and even the sweet cider disappeared before my eyes!

By the way, witches fly around on broomsticks because the vacuum cord is too short!

Who sabotaged the Candy Corn?

By

Gerry Niskern

Have you noticed a difference in the Halloween candy this year? Come on, admit it. You know you’ve been sampling.  It’s our duty to check it out for the kids. Right?

The candy corn has changed. It doesn’t taste like it did when we were kids. Then again, I’ve heard grumbling about other favorites like Red Vines, Snickers, and lots of others that we used to hope would get tossed into our Trick or Treat sacks.

Let’s face it. After all the shopping for costumes, including the agonizing over Star Wars or Bat Man, Elsa or the current popular  princess, and then trudging  thru the neighborhood, the exhausted  parents deserve their reward. They should get to look over the kid’s loot and confiscate a favorite or two.

Actually, a lot of candy that we all loved as kids has changed. A friend of mine, who is quite the connoisseur of candy, tells me that the little pink hearts we all loved on Valentine’s Day has changed too. And don’t get her started on Red Vines. She remembers when she was five and the family dog ate the Red Vines from her “hard earned” Trick or Treat loot. She was so angry she kicked at the poor dog and broke the glass Arcadia door instead. A really long Time out without her bag of candy to console her was no fun at all!

I remember one Halloween years ago when the kid’s daddy walked in the door with a stack of boxes. “I bought regular candy bars like I always wished I would get when I was trick or treating as a kid.” He volunteered to stay home with our new born while I took our little Chinese Coolie girl out. Guess what? When we got home he said he hadn’t had one single doorbell ringer. How could that be with our neighborhood loaded with children? He said he would hear voices and footsteps, and then they would fade away.

We solved the puzzle when we opened the door and found the “Shhhhh! baby sleeping” sign that had been left on the door after nap time. It was a few years late, but Dad got his wish after all.

As for the change in the candy corn, I speak as somewhat of an expert. While my mother did her weekly food shopping when I was a kid, I stood staring at the penny candy case in our grocery store and agonized over how to spend my penny each week, but always ended up asking for a penny’s worth of candy corn. In my expert opinion I think the corn used to have the tiniest taste of salt. Nowadays Candy Corn has a cloying, sweeter taste, without that tang that gave it character. What do you think?

Has your childhood favorite changed?