Day 4 - L.HoPE

This site puts the latest blog first, which means the first blog is last. So, to read it in chronological order, you have to start at the end, which is really the beginning. I've heard that if you read it with double mirrors it rectifies the situation. I've tried it. Actually, it takes 3 mirrors. You take one and stand it on top of the other, end to end. The two are placed in front of, and parallel to, the computer screen, with the blogs on it. A third mirror is placed at the bottom of the screen and at a 45 degree angle. You can prop the top of that mirror on the bottom edge of the screen. Now you adjust the angle of the other two mirrors. The top mirror points to the bottom half of the mirror on the 45 degree angle. The bottom mirror points to the top of that same mirror. Voila! The first blog is now on the top of the mirror resting at the bottom of the screen and the last one is on the bottom, where, by rights, it should be. Before you try this, I suggest you read the short sentence at the end of the third line down in the first paragraph of my first blog.

I was just thinking about a woman I knew in the mid 1980's. Her name is Valerie. She had no teeth. (Did you notice I said that her name IS Valerie - present tense, but that she HAD no teeth - past tense? I feel pretty secure in the assumption that her name hasn't changed, but I don't know the same thing about her lack of teeth. I've learned something about making assumptions. Read on, you'll see what I mean.) I saw Valerie every day for two months and never heard so much as a peep out of her. She would sit in her chair and stare off into a world of which I was totally ignorant. Sometimes she would scratch herself or cry or shake her head yes or no as if she was answering the questions of some invisible being. After the first couple of days, I just never paid much attention to her, given the fact that she was so easy to ignore and, in truth, a little scary.

So, on this particular day, two months into it, I was busying myself with other people; other duties. I'll never forget it. I was facing away from Valerie when I heard her voice. She said "Mark, there's someone at the window up there!" I knew it was Valerie speaking. No one else was behind me. I felt the goose bumps forming on my back, as if her voice touched my skin with a chill wind. I twitched. I was amazed that she knew my name.

When I turned around, I saw Valerie pointing to the windows high up on the wall. Her eyes were wide open as if she was shocked or afraid. Her mouth was open and her lips were curled over her toothless gums. 

I talked to Valerie on a regular basis after that. Sometimes she would shake her head in answer to my questions. Once in a blue moon she would say a couple of words. It was enough.

Today was trick-or-treat in this area. Sunday, October 25th. Lots of kids out roaming the neighborhoods. When I was a kid you were either a witch or a ghost or a pirate. Teenagers would walk around without a costume, maybe put a few marks on their faces and say they were Indians or cowboys or football players. (Superheroes hadn't yet come into vogue.)

Regardless of attire, everyone had a grocery sack, a paper one, for collecting the loot. We stuck to our neighborhoods, to where people knew us and would try to guess who we were before lifting up our masks to see for sure. The neighbors put sweet treats in our sacks, things like homemade cookies, apples and Snickers bars. And sometimes they would hand us a plastic cup with a little sweet apple cider in it, to drink on the spot. Life was good.

My older brother and I would compete to see who could get more goodies. Both volume and weight were taken into consideration. We would eat a quarter of our haul while still making the rounds, and then, when we got home, we'd tear into eating it with a seriousness, and without the slightest consideration of the bellyache to come.

And then there was my sister. Three years younger than me, she was a marvel. All girls pretty much were. I didn't pay them much mind, but when I did, I concluded they were a sorry lot. Dolls, baby buggies and playing house. All that mamby-pamby pretend stuff was enough to make me sick. No spirit in it! Me and the other boys were digging for treasure, living the life of Indians and cowboys, protecting mankind with cap guns and plastic knives, while leading explorations into the wilds of Fasnaught's woods. There was a retarded boy that sat in front of me at school, in the third grade. Everyone knew he was a little slow, but, in my mind, he deserved some respect. At least he had enough of a sense of adventure to spill some battery acid on his fingers and run around screaming like a banshee, two hours later. When I found out he had been digging in a garbage dump with his bare hands, I felt a sense of kinship with him. He was a boy!

You've got the picture, right? Okay. So, my sister goes Halloweening and comes home with a handful of the sorriest candy you ever saw, and she thinks it was a successful night! Ha! How dumb! She spent most of her time yackety yacking with her girlfriends and the old folks who were giving out the candy! Being her older brothers and feeling kind of sorry for her lot as a girl, we tried to school her. It didn't take. Not even. After we told her which houses had the best loot and how to rearrange her costume so she could go back twice, she went her merry way and paid no attention to us. And when she got home with her slim pickins', she threw the sack of goodies in her closet and closed the door.

Three months later, that sack was still there. The candy and cakes and such were getting older by the day. Who knows, maybe they were already moldy or contaminated or hard enough to chip a tooth. I couldn't risk my little sister's health by allowing her to eat something that could poison her or break her teeth. My conscience wouldn't allow it.

I snuck into her closet one evening shortly after New Years and inspected each one of her sweets. The wrappers looked okay, but that was no indication of what might be lurking on the inside. I opened up a Snicker's bar and took a bite. Tasted okay to me. Now on to that cherry flavored cream puff with the butter cream icing. Hmmmm...First bite's a little suspicious. Better take another bite. Hmmm... Still can't decide. Better get a glass of milk and wash it down so I can start out fresh again. As you can see, I was being very careful. (My sister's health, remember?)

An hour or so later, I had tried everything in the bag and was feeling pretty confident that it was all still fit for human consumption, so I put it back and left. I never got so much as a thank you for all my trouble and concern. To the contrary: She squealed on me! But that was okay. I got the whole bag of stuff after she through it out!

Geronimo!!!!!