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Don’t Miss the Chance

Posted on January 8, 2020 by susanrray

I almost didn’t go.  Daughter called and invited me to join her family at Cane Creek Park.  “Some of us are riding bikes on the dirt trail.  Want to come and stomp in the woods with the rest of us?”

             I answered, “Thanks. Not today.  I’ve got to go to the grocery store, cook, and write a column.” I hung up the phone and continued writing my grocery list, checking the refrigerator and pantry.  It was 10:30 a.m.  I didn’t need food on the table until supper time and writing could wait.  How could I pass up time with Daughter, Son 2, and five Grands?  And I knew part of the reason Daughter invited me is because she knows I need time outside, among trees.  I sent her a text:  I’m coming. Where can I meet you?

           Two Grands, ages 12 and 14, waved at me after I got out of my van. As we walked on the paved trail, they shoved and tripped each other.  They laughed; I grimaced. “Enough,” I said.  “Ah, Gran.  We’re just playing,” Samuel said.  I suggested they play like that when I wasn’t around.  He threw his arm around Elsie’s shoulders and they walked arm in arm beside me.  Elsie asked, “Gran, is this better?”  Much. 

          After the two youngest rode one time around the two-mile trail with their dad, they raced to the wooden vertical climbing structures. Eight-year old Lucy, quickly climbed high and stood twelve feet off the ground.  “Come on, Gran. You try,” she said.  I took her challenge, but stopped only a few feet high.  

          Youngest Grand’s short legs didn’t reach the first step so he unsuccessfully clawed and tried to get a foot hold. (Family rule: you can climb anything if you don’t need help getting up or getting down.)  “Gran, let’s throw rocks in the water!” Micah shouted.  There’s something calming about watching concentric rings on the water’s surface.

         All Daughter’s family except Annabel, age 10, were ready to go home, and she agreed to walk around the lake with me.  We gathered fruits from sweet gum and sycamore trees.  We searched for sweet gum balls that had really sharp points that felt like needles. We rubbed cedar tree twigs between our finger to smell a real Christmas tree, the kind my dad cut for our house every December.

        As we walked, Annabel and I held hands. “I’m going to close my eyes.  Don’t make me fall,” she said.  I said that I’d keep her safe.  I led her diagonally across the four-foot wide path.  “Don’t go crooked,” she said.

      “Trust me, Annabel,” I told her.  She giggled.  I stopped and led her around me.  “What if I get dizzy and fall,” my Grand said.  I reminded her to trust me.  We zigzagged and walked off the path.  “Why should I trust you?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

        “Because I said I’d keep you safe and because I love you,” I told her.         To think I almost didn’t go.

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An Open Letter to Jake Hoot

Posted on January 3, 2020 by susanrray

Dear Jake,

When a tall woman, old enough to be your mother – no, your grandmother – holds her arms out to hug you, that’ll be me.  It will be a hug of gratitude for sharing your singing talent with everyone who watched Season 17 of The Voice and my thanks for your humility, your thoughtfulness, and your appreciation.

             Until this season, I’ve never watched The Voice. A few years ago, a friend encouraged me to watch it.  “Be sure to catch the first show of the season,” she said.  “That’s when the coaches pick teams and there’s lots of outstanding singers.”  I missed your blind audition, but when I heard someone from Cookeville made the cut, I searched online and found a picture of you wearing a black cap and a dark plaid shirt.  I jumped on the Jake Hoot bandwagon when Tennessee Tech hosted a Watch Party at Hooper Eblen.  Out of curiosity, I went, sat with hundreds of your fans, and watched to the very end when you performed.

            I don’t remember what you sang that night.  I do remember that I felt a connection with you, a Cookevillian and a TTU alumnus.  You wore normal everyday clothes and could have sat unnoticed among those of us watching, except for your height and because I’m six feet tall and my son is 6’ 9” I was happy to see a big guy on stage.  You lived, with your missionary family, in the Dominion Republic where I spent a week on a mission trip.

            That Monday night I voted for you and Tuesday, I cheered when you made it through.  Then I watched every Monday and Tuesday and voted 10 votes every way I could. 

            Thank you, Jake, for the excitement you have created in our community.  Your successes were our successes.  We celebrated over coffee with breakfast, sweet tea with lunch, and wine with dinner.  We downloaded your songs.  We talked about people we knew who knew you.  We marveled that someone from Cookeville was in L. A. and doing well.

            Throughout those many weeks, I enjoyed your every performance and I appreciated the little things.  You answered questions with “Yes, mam,” and “Yes, sir.”  On the final night as you four finalists took the stage, you stopped and offered your hand to Rose who walked up the steps behind you. 

            When you were announced as the winner, you bowed.  Bowed. Most winners throw their arms high with a stance of look at me.  Your response was humble thankfulness.  You gave credit to others.  You came home to Cookeville and, with gratitude, offer a free concert.

            In your dress, your manners, your performances, you stayed true to the person you were the very first night of The Voice.  You reminded me that good guys do finish first.

            May your singing career be successful and may you have the courage to not let others define you as continue to be yourself.

Blessings for the very best from a Hoot Fan,

Susan

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‘Tis the Week Before Christmas

Posted on December 19, 2019 by susanrray

‘Tis the week before Christmas and my life is a’jumble.  There’s much to do.  Write lists.  Shop. Wrap gifts.  Attend Christmas programs and plays.  Bake and decorate cookies with my Grands.  Deliver gifts.  Watch Christmas movies. Read A Christmas Carol, for the umpteenth time.  

            When the hustle and bustle overwhelmed me, I brewed a cup of tea and settled into a favorite chair where I can see an outside birdfeeder and our Christmas tree.  Finches and cardinals calmed my thoughts.  A nativity ornament, carved of olive wood and bought in Jerusalem, reminded me why I celebrate Christmas and soothed my spirit. 

            Ornaments on my tree take me back to memories of childhood, to the people who cared for and loved me.  I think of gifts.  On Christmas Eve, I opened one gift:  flannel pajamas.  Long sleeve, button-up the front, collared pajama tops and pajama pants with tucks just above the hem so they could be lengthened as I grew.  I never saw Mom make them, but I knew pajamas were in the wrapped package that she put under the tree a few days before Christmas. 

            Granny always gave money, but the amount varied.  In November, she’d say, “I don’t know how much you’ll get for Christmas.  It depends on how the ‘baccy sells.”  Granny had a tobacco base that she leased and when those dried tobacco leaves were sold in mid-December, she’d get a check.  Most years she gave me a $5 bill, a generous gift in the 1950s, but a few years Granny gave three $5 bills, a small fortune!

            Christmas Day dinners were the most special meal of the year. Dad, my uncles, and grandfather wore white shirts and ties; Mom, my aunts, and grandmothers wore church dresses and pearl necklaces.  The dining room table was covered with a white tablecloth and set with the finest china and crystal and an arrangement of fresh flowers and evergreens.  Children sat around card tables, also covered with a tablecloth. Platters of sliced turkey and cornbread dressing and bowls filled with vegetables and salads were placed on the dining table where the adults sat.  Dad’s blessing included gratitude for Jesus, our family, and the food.  Then we children stood at the corners of the dining room table and filled our plates as the food was passed.  Mom and her sisters served their best desserts: sugar plum pudding, chocolate cream pie, and apple stack cake. 

            I want to carry the love and my memories of Christmases past to Christmas present.  When my Grands decorate cookie angels and Christmas trees, sticky icing and sprinkles will coat my kitchen counter.  When gifts are opened and paper and ribbon clutter the floor, I want my Grands to know the love I felt. When our traditional breakfast is served, Son and Daughter will tell their children that they always ate country ham and angel biscuits and strawberry jam on Christmas morning.  

            Christmas isn’t about lists and tasks, it’s about people and sharing love.  May we all enjoy Christmas preparations and activities, and make memories that will be cherished.####

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Let Children Give

Posted on December 12, 2019 by susanrray

A young fifth grade student knows his teacher well.  Mrs. R calls him a rough tough boy and she shared this story.  Their school gives money and a shopping trip to children who wouldn’t have money and an opportunity to shop.  This little guy asked Mrs. R, “What do you want for Christmas?” She answered,

“For you to work hard!”

            That wasn’t what he had in mind.  “I’m going shopping and I have SO MUCH money and I want to get you something,” he said.  Mrs. R thanked him with a big hug and told him he didn’t need to get her a gift.  “I’m still going to get you lipstick or perfrume (his word) because they’re what you love,” he said.

            Mrs. R, a teacher for twenty years, wears perfume and bright colored lipstick.  And this rough tough guy wants to give her something he knows she’ll like.  Not because he has to, not because his mother told him to take a gift to his teacher, not because his teacher asked for a gift.  Because he wants to.  I hope he finds the brightest red lipstick ever and I know Mrs. R will wear it.  And if he gives the cheapest sweet-smelling perfume, she’ll wear it too, at least a few times. And that rough tough boy will probably work harder when she does.

            Mrs. R’s story took me back to my classroom where elementary age children brought me Christmas gifts for twenty-five years.  I appreciated every gift, but the ones that touched my heart were the ones that children chose.  Like the small ceramic hummingbird that sits in the window over my kitchen sink.  When David’s mother picked him up after school that Christmas party day, she made sure he didn’t hear her as she apologized for such a small gift and said he wouldn’t bring the gift she’d chosen.  David chose the perfect gift.

            My Christmas tree has a small flock of birds: cardinals, a blue jay, doves, partridges.  All gifts from students.   Brooke handed me a beautifully store-wrapped gift and said, “Momma said you had better like these.  They cost a lot of money!”  Inside were two green partridges which hang with other birds at eye level on my Christmas tree where I see them every morning as I sit and drink coffee and enjoy quiet time.

            My sweaters were often decorated with pins, scatter pins of all kinds.  Best teacher.  Santa with rhinestone eyes.  Angels with gold wings.  Gifts that students chose and when I wore them, the givers stood straighter, work harder, smiled more.

            I also remember gifts I really liked, but left the giver uncertain.  Gift certificates that were just a piece of paper.  Banana bread that the giver didn’t like.  A glass pie plate.

            During this Christmas shopping season, let children choose the gifts they give.  Let them know the joy, the excitement of watching someone open what they chose.  Let them smile when someone hugs and says thank you.  Let them give.

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Lux Remembers

Posted on December 5, 2019 by susanrray

In last week’s column, I wrote about Lux, a teen-age Rotary Exchange Student, who lived with our family for four months almost thirty years ago.  After she went home, she called Christmas mornings and we sent cards and pictures.  Now, via email and social media, we communicate.

            I asked Lux, her nickname for Lavanya, to share her memories. This column is snippets of her response. I didn’t made changes; her command of English is part of her story.

Dearest mom thank you very much for taking me through this memory line.

            OH MY how and where do I start from? It feels like I have just lived there in Cookeville and back. Evergreen in my memory which I would cherish every bit of it for my lifetime.

            Lavanya a tiny teenager decides one fine day that she would be part of this exchange program and live in another country where people culture food everything would be unimaginably new. Knowing very well that I could return home to India only after a year to see my family. Our only form of communication was letters and few phone calls due to the cost of international calls.

            New environment, new people, new accent of English, new food and an entire new culture waiting for me. My first day of school was mind blowing and challenging. One would understand if you know the layout of Cookeville high school. New teaching methods and the culture of my fellow students were so beautiful. My acceptance as one among them started then. I was surprised and at the same time felt happy to have had the wonderful opportunity to be there and experience such happiness.  God really have blessed me with such wonderful parents in India and two lovely parents and families in Cookeville ready to be my parents forever.

            A sister who takes me to school who teaches me how to enjoy cleaning the ice off the windshield. A wonderful younger brother with whom I played with snow and enjoyed watching his basketball matches at school. Fun and carefree where those days, no doubt.

            I remember Halloween and the large pumpkin which I sat down and carved into my own design and put a candle onto it. A work all by myself.  Going to the nearby town and visiting the Apple Barn and tasting apple pie with cinnamon. I could drool over it even today.  Mom I miss your Macaroni and Cheese .

            Stepping out to pick our Christmas tree home and the fun we had watching dad Allen decorate it.  He was as tall as the tree. What a wonderful Christmas. Singing songs, opening Christmas presents (I yet hold most of it) a visit to the church for the midnight prayer, watching the movie Ghost with Alicia and friends.

            My entire year in Cookeville with the most wonderful families would be cherished for a lifetime. I have learned that life is beautiful and distances are never a boundary to have such wonderful relationships and continue the bonding forever.

            I’m thankful for Lux and that she has happy memories.  When we’re busy with daily life, we often don’t realize the memories we’re creating.

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A Happy Thanksgiving Memory

Posted on November 28, 2019 by susanrray

When Lux moved into our guest bedroom on the Friday after Thanksgiving, 1990, Husband and I welcomed a third child, another teenager. She brought two suitcases, clothes on hangers, and a big smile. Lux, Lavanya, was a Rotary Exchange student from India, and we were her host family for four months.

            About a year earlier, during a family supper discussion Husband talked about the exchange students who presented the Noonday Rotary Club’s program and the idea to invite a student to live with us was born. Daughter and Son, ages 16 and 14, had known other Cookeville High School exchange students and they thought it would be fun.  Husband and I agreed so when he learned that Lux needed a host family, he volunteered.

            Rotary Exchange students are 15-19 years old and attend school while living with two or three hosts families during their 10-12 months experiences.  Lux had requested the United States.  She came from a professional family; an extended family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. 

            Lux had lived with another Cookeville host family before she came to us so she knew the routines of a being a high school student and had earned how living here was different from living in her home city, a megacity.  But she had been the only child at her first host home and at our house she was thrown into a hectic schedule.  Two working parents and two teen-age siblings who played sports, attended Young Life meetings and church youth groups, and whose friends who were in and out of our home often.  All that activity made Lux’s smile even wider.

            No matter where anyone went, even to the grocery store or post office, Lux wanted go. She especially enjoyed high school and Tennessee Tech basketball games, and although she didn’t understand the rules, she liked the excitement and cheered when we did.   

            Lux sometimes wore a red dot on her forehead.  She explained that where she lived in southern India, a dot could be marked after prayers, but in some Indian cultures, only a married woman can wear a dot, a bindi.  And she explained her altar which set on her bedside table.  Christmas was a natural time to talk about the differences between Christian and Hindu faiths.  These ongoing discussions among made me appreciate this international student exchange program.

            Lux enjoyed the freedom of wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, but for special occasions she chose her native dress, beautiful colorful saris.  Showing her sense of humor, she once dressed in her sari and a baseball cap that Son had given her.  She stood by the door smiling, and as expected, Daughter and Son both shook their heads and told her to either change her clothes or take off the cap.  She giggled and took off the cap.

             Thanksgiving brings memories of Lux, a daughter I thought would move in, then out of our lives, but phone calls, Christmas cards, emails, and social media have kept us in touch.  When she calls and says, “Hi, Mom,” I see her smile and travel back to 1990. 

####

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My Grand Said

Posted on November 21, 2019 by susanrray

“Gran, your lunch looks like a dead mouse with a chicken on its head,” my 5-year old Grand told me while he ate lunch with Husband and me. How could half of a ham sandwich look like a dead mouse? I could stretch my imagination to see a chicken created from five triangular pieces of cheese.

“Jesse, have you ever seen a dead mouse?” Husband asked.

“No, but it’d look exactly like what Gran’s eating,” he said. Looking at his plate where I’d created face features using grapes and tangerine segments, Jesse said, “I like teeth and eyes, but I don’t like hair so I’m glad my guy is bald like Pop.” He giggled, ducked his head, and lifted his eyes to look across the table at his Pop.

There are several Jesse quotes in a little book entitled “The Grands Said” where I’ve collected things our grandchildren have said.

When he was four, Jesse put his face against the window of the van on a dark night.  Those of us who could see by the headlights were talking about a small animal that had run in front of the van. “I can’t see! Somebody turn on my outside lights!”

Recently, on a cloudy dark night while Jesse and his family traveled in their van, Jesse again stared outside. “It’s splish-splash dark,” he said. His mother repeated splish-splash dark. “Yeah, it’s really dark.”

A few minutes later, Jesse’s older sister asked, “Jesse, do you mean pitch-black dark?” (Siblings often interpret.)

“Yeah, pitch-black, splish-splash dark,” said my Grand.

While eating ice cream, Jesse stopped, put his spoon in the bowl and his hand over his face. “Oh, I’ve got a cold mind!” he said.  His cold mind was like other people’s brain freezes.

When Jesse, then 4, spent the night with Husband and me, he didn’t like the plain yellow pillowcase that was on his bed and asked for the Star Wars pillow. He looked at the flat pillow case made from fabric with Star War characters and asked, “How do you blow it up?”

Yesterday, I underestimated my Grand’s vocabulary.  He and I sang “She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain.” On the second stanza, I sang, “She’ll be driving six white horses when she comes.”

Jesse yelled, “Gran! Stop! How could she ride six horses?” Drive, not ride, I explained. “How could she do that?” I described a big wagon, like his red wagon but the size of his family’s van, and maybe with a top. Someone could ride in it and guide the horses with long leather straps attached to the horses’ bridle. “Gran, don’t you call that a carriage?” Jesse asked.

Jesse was barely four when he dumped about 50 colored building blocks on the floor. He sorted them by color: red, green, orange, blue, yellow. Then he made stacks by color, largest to smallest.  Sitting tall and straight, he looked at me and said, “Look, Gran, I’m really smart.”

My young Grands make me laugh just by what they say. What gifts!

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College Days Reflection

Posted on November 14, 2019 by susanrray


I am officially a Golden Grad of Tennessee Technological University.  At a banquet last Thursday night, TTU’s president placed a medallion around my neck and offered congratulations.
During the reception hour before the banquet, we 1969 graduates mingled and squinted to read nametags.  We talked about where we live, how many children and grandchildren we have, and how long we’ve been retired. The longer I talked with someone the more I remembered. Wrinkles and extra pounds don’t hide eyes and smiles. 
The TTU alumni office published and gave each of us a Class of 1969 Memory Book which includes pictures of the university, then and now, and individual pictures and personal updates that we submitted.  We were asked to share treasured memories, favorite professors, and most celebrated life events. 
A treasured memory is when I walked for the first time across campus with Allen, who was Husband three years later.  Allen and I walked from the Student Center, across the quad, past Derryberry Hall, to the science building for my chemistry class. Mrs. Charlene Mullins, who taught family life classes in the Home Economics department, was a favorite teacher. With her gentle voice and calm demeanor, she created classrooms that were as secure and comforting as kitchen tables.  And my most celebrated life events are about people: Husband, Children, Grands.
Fifty years ago, I earned a B.S. degree and teaching certificates that qualified me to teach home economics (a subject in high school many years ago), general science, and grades 1-8.  But some of the greatest benefits of my college years aren’t printed on paper.
Four years of living in a dormitory, a two-person room, and a hallway bathroom shared with twenty other girls developed tolerance and patience.  And those girls, my roommate and hallway dorm mates, became life long friends.  Friends who have shared joys and troubles regularly; at one time by a chain letter, but now by texts and emails. 
As a member of a sorority, I learned to agree to disagree while maintaining respect for others, to accept majority rule, and to work with a committee (which to this day I don’t like, but the experiences taught me how). I learned that little things, like the color of napkins for a party isn’t important.  Respecting people’s feelings and accepting differences are. 
I was given the opportunity to be a leader and take on the responsibilities of an elected office.  If I didn’t complete a class assignment, I suffered the consequence of a bad grade. If I didn’t complete and turn in a required sorority form to the Dean of Women, my forty sisters suffered. 
My life would have been very different had I not attended college. Not left home and lived and studied at TTU.  Not been a member of a group and not completed a degree. 
Two days that made the great differences in my life were the day I enrolled and the day I graduated from college. Those deserve celebration. Thank you Tennessee Tech University for honoring us Golden Grads.

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Where did the Years Go?

Posted on November 7, 2019 by susanrray

I slid the folded letter from its envelope. You are invited  to celebrate Tennessee Technological University Homecoming November 7-9, 2019, and join the Golden Grad Society. Golden Grad! Like a hot potato, I dropped the invitation onto the kitchen counter. I’d seen Golden Grads, people who’d graduated from TTU fifty years earlier. 

During halftime of Tech’s football Homecoming game, an announcement is made: Please welcome today’s honored guests, our Golden Grads!  People walk from the sidelines of Overall Field to the 50- yard line.  Some amble, some lean on canes, some hold another’s arm. Some march and swing their arms. Some take long, intentional steps. Some wear letter sport jackets. Some wear school colors, purple and gold. 

All gather at mid-field and wave to us fans as we stand to honor these individuals who have attended classes, studied, and earned a degree five decades earlier. Most have retired from work.  Some have gray hair, some no hair. Some carry stooped shoulders. Some limp. Many wear glasses. These aren’t young people.  Not even middle age.

And now, I have received an invitation to become a member of their society. But, in my heart, I’m a student wearing a brand new wool three-piece suit that Mom made for my 1965 homecoming outfit. On a rainy Saturday, I’m the co-ed who ruined a $60 pair of new shoes that matched my outfit. 

On a cold snowy Saturday, I’m a newlywed, warm in my ankle-length red coat, who sits on the top bleacher and proudly watches Husband crown the 1969 Homecoming queen; one of his duties as Associated Body President.  Five years later, I’m the mother of three-week old Daughter and I drove two hours to celebrate homecoming with friends.  

After moving back to Cookeville, Husband and I welcome out of town guests and plan the weekend. Friday night gathering with his fraternity brothers and my sorority sisters. Saturday with friends and children: morning parade and afternoon football game. We celebrate Daughter’s birthday when it coincides with homecoming. Sunday morning brunch around the kitchen table.  Pots of black coffee, eggs, bacon, and stories of college days keep on coming. 

I’m the TTU fan who takes in every football and basketball game with Husband and our two teenage children. A fun way to share good wholesome family time. And when Son is a TTU student, I wish for him to make friends and happy memories and graduate. Years later, Husband and I take Grands to Tucker Stadium and explain four downs, extra points, field goals, and we high-five Awesome Eagle. 

Saturday, November 9, we Golden Grads will stand in the middle of TTU’s Overall Field and wave to football fans. And if anyone assumes that because we graduated many, many years ago, we are old and happy just to be able to walk and wave, that’s not exactly who we are. 

Maybe, just maybe, when I’ve watched other Golden Grads they, too, were students, young adults, parents, grandparents who were surprised that fifty years passed so quickly

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Why is being scared fun?

Posted on November 1, 2019 by susanrray

Why does anyone watch scary horror scary movies?  Movies that are so poplar around Halloween.  And why visit a Haunted Houses? Is it fun when a terrifying person screams or a horrifying object jumps toward you?

            The only horror movie I’ve seen is the 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby, and if I could erase some of its images from my brain, I would.  Even now, fifty years later, my skin crawls and tingles as I remember my fear.  I understand it’s a classic and according to those who rate movies, it’s a great film and could be classified as suspense, not horror.  But parts of Rosemary’s Baby made me cower, close my eyes, cover my ears, and breathe deeply.  That wasn’t fun.

            My favorite Halloween movies feature a small ghost or a round-headed little boy.  With his bright blue eyes and open mouth smile, Casper, the friendly ghost, flits from scene to scene.  The classic movie, It’s a Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, dates back to 1966.  While Charlie Brown and friends celebrate Halloween, Linus carries his well-worn blue security blanket and searches for the Great Pumpkin.  I’m entertained by Casper and Charlie Brown, and will never know the stories of Edward Scissorhands or The Exorcist or the other top 40 scariest movies, most released in time for Halloween.

            I’ve haven’t been to a Haunted House.  I don’t like total darkness.   I don’t like not knowing what’s near me.  I don’t like jolts of shock and surprise.  When Son was a teen-ager, he stood behind me while I loaded clothes in the washing machine.  Because the dryer was running and water was filling the washer, the laundry room was noisy.  Son knew I startled easily so he simply said, “Hi, Mom,” in a calm, quiet voice.  I screamed, inhaled quickly, and shook all over.  All who know me well, don’t speak behind my back when I don’t know they are there.  Why would I pay money for an attraction that shocks and startles me?  Why does anyone?  That’s not a rhetorical question.  Why? 

            The fear response does keep us alive because an adrenaline rush helps our bodies react. When we are scared our hearts beat faster, our blood flows more quickly to the brain and muscles, and our bodies are stimulated to produce sugar for fuel. Maybe some people like the adrenaline rush. 

            I was a teenager when I ran from ghosts.  One fall afternoon, my high school girlfriends and I walked along a county road and stopped at a cemetery to rest and talk.  The wind blew dry leaves, both on the ground and atop oak trees.  As the sun set, we heard strange noises.  Shrieking noises.  Then howls.  And somebody saw something – white figures – floating in the woods.

            Adrenaline kicked in.  None of us noticed the scratches and cuts on our arms as we ran through a long farm field of dry corn stalks.  We outran the ghosts.

            Halloween is the time when some people watch scary movies and like to run from ghosts.  Once was enough for me.

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