Spring Break 2.0

^ Margy, Jeri, Mary and Lindsay. Yours truly is behind the camera. 

Spring Break 1979

That was the first time I ever took a warm weather winter vacation. A carload of my dorm girlies and I trekked from Michigan to Fort Myers, Florida, to spend a week in the sun at one of the girl's parents' new condo. 

We did not fully grasp ahead of time the fact that said condo was in a retirement community. But that's a story for another day.

My point here is that that junior year trip to Florida was not only my first snow-to-sunshine getaway, but until last month, it was also my last. 

Uh huh. Yes. You heard that right.

For more years than I care to count, I have never taken another mid-winter escape vacation.

Not one.

Now don't feel too sorry for me. I've enjoyed a zillion fabulous vacations.

But I hadn't indulged in another cold-to-warm weather trip until my eldest said to me last summer, "I'm going to be so sad when pool season is over. I might need to go somewhere warm next winter to get a fix."

And I, knowing to strike when the iron was finally hot, said, "Yes. I'm in."

Which is how we came to find ourselves in sunny Palm Springs, California, last month with crystal clear expectations as to how we were to spend our long weekend:

Go to pool.

Read. 

Swim and splash about.

Eat.

Check, check, check. And check.

We had a glorious stay under the blissfully blue desert sky, and I've got the pics to prove it. Who knows, I may not wait another forty-six years to go back. 

^ The Saguaro Hotel is a delicious treat of rainbow flavored exteriors. This would be the citrus section.

^ Morning light reveals the San Jacintos in all their glory. 

^ Baby flowers match the purple walls. Freaking adorable.

^ I'm going to be honest. The interiors of the hotel are ho-hum at best. The pool area and surrounding courtyard are where the Saguaro packs its punch, and boy, does it ever. 

^ Fish tacos are my jam. These were delicious.

^At first, my eye was tricked into seeing these as some of those orange plastic construction fences. But they were actually cool steel barriers that created cozy little spaces here and there in the massive courtyard, and set off the landscaping. Love. 

^ I'm not one for drinking alcohol in the sunshine, but if you offer me a complimentary margarita, I will say yes. 

^ Looking up.

^ By the time the pizza arrived, I forgot all about taking photos. 

^ My idea of cute al fresco dining. 

^ The Holy Grail.

^ The room aesthetics did not tick a whole lot of boxes for me. But the colors in this happy corner blew my mind..

^ The weather was blessedly cool. Mid 70s. Any warmer and my chilly PNW bones might have melted.

^ When it comes to vacation hamburgers, I say go big or go home. Eventually, I did both.

^ Waiting for our ride to the airport gave me a moment of alone time with the bougainvillea. 

^ Goodbye, Palm Springs! See you in 2071. :)

A Change Of Heart

 

^ One of the medics and the nurse. My new friend is already inside the truck. I hope she is warm.

It's Valentine's Day.

I'm driving home from a few early errands and my mind excitedly turns over the trimmings of the day.

Hand-drawn cards.

Foil-wrapped chocolates.

Heart-shaped meatloaf.

I've laid careful plans and I'm prepared to celebrate in fine style. I'm a big believer that Valentine's Day is all about expressing love to friends and family, and my heart buzzes with a happy excitement for the festivities to come. 

As I turn from the highway onto a residential street, I see several cars ahead of me swerving to avoid something in the road.  My reverie shatters.

What's this? It's a woman.

An older woman. Well, older than me.

In a second, I assess the situation. She's clearly been walking down the sidewalk along the highway, pulling a nylon covered shopping cart but here, where the sidewalk gives way to a dirt path along the residential road, several sections of rough and tumble pavement make for some serious tripping hazards, and this poor woman has apparently taken a header.

She's literally lying in the street, struggling to get up.

Three or four cars ahead of me zip past her, swerving around her, pausing only so slightly in their rush to get to wherever they're going. 

I'm horrified.

By reflex, I carefully inch around this poor woman and park my car on the shoulder nearby. I rush over to her - she's still struggling to stand up or even squirm her way off the road. My first objective is to help her to safety.

I say hello.

I ask her if she'd like me to help her up.

I don't really wait for an answer. 

Drawing on the lessons I learned when helping my mother stand up, during her hard times, I step into  position, clasp her hands, and gently pull up.

Our first attempt fails and she sits back down. I realize she is more dazed that I first thought.

"Let's try again," I encourage.

And this time, as I pull and she struggles to stand, a miracle happens.

From nowhere, a younger woman wearing a rainbow-striped puffer vest and a beanie materializes out of the ether, and positions herself behind the woman, lifting her as I pull. In a heartbeat, the woman is standing.

"I'm a nurse," our new friend informs me. I cannot possibly be more delighted.

We talk, the three of us. The fallen woman is terribly confused. She has a strong eastern European accent, a small scrape on her chin, and absolutely no idea where she is or what has happened. 

Bless her heart.

The nurse speaks aside to me. "She's concussed. I'm calling 911. Can you hold her steady?" 

Yes. I can do that.

So we stand in the cutting wind, under steely skies. I listen to the nurse talk in medical acronyms and abbreviations to the medic dispatcher. I see her stealthily take the woman's pulse, peer at her pupils, and ask the woman over and over, "Did you hit your head?"

In the meantime, I hold onto the woman for dear life as she trembles, twitches, shakes like a leaf. She looks up and down the street, twisting and turning in my grasp to look around behind her, wondering over and over again, "But how did I get here?' I brush some stray bits of bark and mud from her white fleece vest and lilac ear band. I try to imagine what I could possibly say to comfort her, and do my best to stumble through.

The medics pull up. More angels. They're smiling and kind and endlessly reassuring. The poor woman is still confused, and now begins to apologize for her accent. We ascertain that Polish is her first language, and as the medics promise to call for a translator right away, I keep holding her arm and whispering encouragements to her: "Don't worry. We can understand you. Your English is just fine."

Now the medics are ready to move her to their truck for a full assessment. She's scared, especially when their gurney makes an appearance and they ask her to sit down. "No," she says. "Don't take me to the hospital." But these folks are prepared for her resistance and promise that right now, all they're going to do is take her to the truck so she can sit inside where it's warmer.

She sits down..

They belt her in and move her off. The nurse walks with them, still dispensing information and swapping medical data.

There's nothing more for me to do.

So I get in my car and drive home.

Along the way, I gradually recall my Valentine's Day plans. My pretty red hearts and chocolate candy don't seem quite so important now. Yes, I still believe in Valentine's Day as an opportunity to shower my nearest and dearest with tokens of my love. But maybe it's something much bigger than that.

Maybe this holiday is well celebrated by standing on the side of the road, shivering in the wind, holding up a confused, concussed woman and wondering what she will remember of this adventure with me. 

Probably nothing.

But I will remember her forever. 

Happy Valentine's Day.

Gracie's Birthday Banquet

"Feasts must be solemn and rare, or else they cease to be feasts." -Aldous Huxley 

^ From the top, clockwise: 

kibble and sardines, 

fresh blueberries, 

fresh bell pepper, 

roasted chicken, 

frozen blackberries, 

and in the middle, Gracie's favorite, hard boiled eggs. 

A cozy bed. 

A squeaky toy.

Maybe a sweater. Or a raincoat.

It's hard to land on a great birthday present for a dog. 

Especially when your dog does not care one whit for such treasures.

Gracie cares for one thing and one thing alone. (Well. Besides me.)

Gracie cares about food.

So this week, as her birthday approached, I racked my brain, trying to think of a new way to give her all the delicious food we're already giving her, in some way that would feel novel and maybe even special. At least to us. And one of my daughters hit the nail on the head.

A scavenger hunt.

After ruling out several undesirable scenarios:

1) In which we hide food around the house, which would result in unsightly puddles of Gracie's drool left behind in every place where she found her treats, 

2) In which we hide food outdoors along the route of her walk, which would only encourage her to eat (more) garbage, a horrible habit of which I'm continually trying to break her,

we hit upon a winning idea. 

Once home from her walk, we'd serve Gracie up her usual dinner of kibble and sardines. As she was chomping that down, I would slip out from the house a series of other dog bowls, each full of some Gracie-approved tidbit which, considering she loves all food except raw mushrooms, would not be difficult to accomplish, and tuck said bowls here and there around the front patio where she would already be dining. Then, we imagined, our birthday girl would nose around the patio, finding one delicious treat after another, and snarfing them all down to her heart's content. 

And you know what? It worked perfectly. 

^ Kibble and sardines, down the hatch.

Interestingly, Gracie did not tear through her various dinner courses at quite the breakneck speed I'd imagined. She worked carefully, diligently, licking every trace of food out of each bowl before moving on to the next. Other than the hard boiled eggs, which she wolfed, she ate with much more careful deliberation than usual. It was a delight to see her move through her progressive supper with more curiosity and self-control than her usual chomp fest. 

In fact, the only downside of the entire feast was the disappointment she surely felt on the day after her birthday when we returned from her walk and she excitedly scanned the patio for more of the extra treats.

Sorry, Gracie. Those goodies are for celebration purposes only.

But don't worry. You'll get another birthday banquet in just 364 more days. 

* * * * *

Do you remember the crazy story in which Gracie came to be mine? Read this for the details.

Surprise!

Equinox

 "To love beauty is to see light." -Victor Hugo

Spring peepers, yes.

Pale pink cherry blossoms.

Spunky purple crocus.

Greening grass and slowly leafing trees.

And sunny days that sneak up and surprise us, delight us, warm our weary bones.

These are all vanguards of spring, brilliant waving banners that announce our side of the planet's tilt toward the sun.

But more than anything else, what heralds to me the change in the season is the light.

As the sun's angles shift, afternoon rays stream through my south facing windows. Golden sunbeams pour into my home in fresh and exciting ways; patterns of light play against every surface to announce the new season.

Spring has finally come. And, once again, its beauty leaves me breathless.

My Little Irish Lass

"Bless your little Irish heart and every other Irish part." -Irish blessing

^ My friend and me, with our lovely Irish lassies at the 2019 St. Patrick's Day parade in Seattle. 

Guess which one of us loves to dress up in costume.

After sharing most of my life with these spunky redheaded dogs, you'd think every day I'd be grateful for their many charms. 

But the truth is that with all of my setters, and these days Gracie in particular, I take certain things for granted.

The sparkle and shine in her eyes.

Her ever-wagging tail.

Her quick gait and alert posture as she hunts.

The gentle way she greets strangers, especially children.

Her unending desire to please me. 

The unmistakable look of mischief on her face when she's up to no good.

Her charm, delight, and never-ending blarney.

You would think I would appreciate every single day the magic that my lady leprechaun  - and my other Irish gentlemen before her - bring into my life. But honestly, I'm so regularly blessed with those smiling Irish eyes that I sometimes forget all I have to be thankful for.

Luckily, I celebrate a special holiday every year that reminds me of my good fortune.

I am blessed for the love of my little Irish lass. 

Made New In The Snow

This wasn't exactly a blizzard but it was enough of the white stuff to get my heart pounding. 

Maybe it's because I was born in the middle of a winter sleet storm where cars careened across the lanes of the highway and pedestrians crawled up and down the sidewalks outside the hospital on hands and knees, unable to stay standing on their own two feet.

Maybe it's from the countless hours little girl me spent sledding, ice skating, and traipsing around in the endless acres of my outdoor playland, not coming inside until I was so thoroughly cold I could only lie on the floor inside the front door and cry as my mother peeled off my icy layers.

Maybe it's from the four winters I trudged back and forth to my classes across the massive tundra  that was my university campus, dodging in and out of cozy buildings along the way for a blast of warm air  and temporary relief, then playing a few games of Asteroids before class to make my frozen fingers nimble enough to hold a pencil.

Maybe it's about the years I've spent skiing down sparkling white mountains and riding back up in frosty chair lifts, floating through the hushed crystal beauty. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it's about God pouring his love out onto our world, transforming all that is broken and dirty into pure sparkling, brilliant white.

What I know for sure is that when I wake up to fresh snow, as I have several times this past week, something in my soul comes alive.

And as much as I know I was born for snow, I'm pretty sure it's a God thing.

For me, God's love is made new in the snow. 

2023 Ornament Of The Year

My 2024 Ornament of the Year

Once I read this sentence in a business article:

"The best ideas are when you take two older ideas that have nothing to do with each other, make them have sex with each other, and then build a business around the bastard, ugly child that results." - James Altucher

Now I hear those words have been published in a book and it's a good thing because I think they are mad genius. 

And those words pop into my brain whenever I find myself putting together two seemingly disconnected ideas and discovering that I may indeed be on to something grand.  

* * * * *

Here's a story of highs and lows, wins and losses, long years spent sitting in the dark, and eventually, sweet victory.

I'll call it Sex in Sweden. Let us begin.

After years of hibernation, my salt-dough disks are free of their storage bag and ready for paint!

Back in the fall of 2019, I was noodling about in my annual pursuit of a good Christmas ornament idea, and I thought perhaps some good old-fashioned salt dough might be the perfect medium for my madness.

Spoilers: it was not. 

But I didn't discover that until after I had whipped up a jumbo batch of salt dough that now had no purpose to serve. 

Well, I jolly well couldn't waste it. So just for fun, I grabbed my mother's sturdy doughnut cutter and made as many doughnut-shaped circles of salt dough as I could.

Which turned out to be exactly 41 circles.

Then my attention turned back to my 2019 models and these 41 salt dough disks found themselves sealed into a Ziploc bag and tucked into one of my garage craft bins. 

The next year, with hope rising in my soul, I pulled them out and experimented with some white acrylic paint. Nope. Still wasn't feeling it. Back they went into the garage where they sat for several more bleak and fruitless years.

But I never forgot about them. And I knew someday their time would surely come. 

Yes! Their time has finally come! 

Now this past summer, I received an interesting and seemingly unrelated email. The good people over at 23 And Me had recently upgraded their DNA analyses and offered me a refined report on my genetic lineage.

And Lord have mercy, saints be praised, I learned that I am 11% Swedish.

I can't tell you haw much I have always longed to be Scandinavian. Oh sure, I'm happy for my Scottish, English, German, and French ancestors - not to mention my Canadian paternal grandparents - but I have always felt a deep kinship to the Norsemen and wished to be one of them.

Well. Pass the pickled herring and pour me a cup of fika, once the excitement of my newfound ancestry sunk into my bones, I knew exactly what to do with my salt-dough disks. 

This ornament mother tries not to have favorites but if I did...

So this year's ornament is an homage to my Scandinavian roots. 

Minimalist design.

Neutral colors.

Natural materials.

Wood accents.

Airiness and a sense of space.

And you know what? When I counted out how many ornaments I needed - for my extended families, my own family of six, and three friends with whom I share the tradition - there were EXACTLY enough salt-dough disks to go round.

Forty-one. Exactly. 

And one for me. God Jul!

I'm delighted with how these long-ignored ornaments have finally got their time to shine, and bring such a special celebration to my new bit of family history.

Now my story is all told out. And we are living happily and Swedishly every after.

* * * * *

For more Ornament of the Year posts, check these out:

2023

2022

2021

2020

2019

2018
2017
2016
2015
2014

2013

2012

2011

Christmas Colors

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever." -John Keats

Still available for 50% off MoMA Design Storeat the 

Bang! Boom! Pow!

For the past decade or so, my Christmas decorations have featured sweetly organic whites and shimmering silvers and golds. As my life was moving though a swirl of sadness, grief, and loss, I craved the quiet, calm energy that neutrals provide. But now, as the storm clouds have mostly cleared away, I'm reclaiming joy in my life and accordingly, I'm back to seeking out the brightest, boldest colors of the season.

While I'm not sure I'll deck out the entire house in these eye-popping combinations of complementary reds, pinks, oranges and greens, you better believe these brilliant tones will be center stage come Christmas 2024.

These colors make my eyes hum with delight and my heart explode with joy and - like a pulsing star in a sky filled with angels - isn't that just exactly what Christmas is all about.

Christmas At Last

Two little girls are snuggled in their beds

Pretty dreams of Christmas running through their heads.

Downstairs is quiet, cozy as can be,

Shining like the lights on the Christmas tree.

Candles have been snuffed out, fire warms the hearth

Santy Claus is traveling all around the earth.

Tis the night before Christmas and everyone's asleep

My Christmas house is finally done; so happy I could weep.

* * * * *

Four - count 'em, four - years ago I started building this tiny holiday doll house. Though my vision was clear and my early steps certain, I eventually fell into a state of indecision and my project spluttered stalled in its path.

Yes. I know. There are monumental decisions to be made in the world of miniature crafts, and I dared not make a wrong move.

Anywho, this year, I decided, it was high time to bring some closure to this half-done holiday home. And wouldn't you know, as soon as I set my jaw and took a firm upper lip with myself - See here now, we're going to finish this once and for all! - the decisions came quickly and every little detail fell into its charming place.

* * * * *

PS You may notice that there is only one little girl asleep in her bed. The second one is currently in Ukraine being carved from a small bit of alder tree, and will be here very soon to accompany her sister. Thank goodness sister has a cat to keep her cozy till then.

* * * * *

For more on how this creation began:

My New Project

Ready To Fly

Tonight.

My home is a place where I feel comfortable.

Safe.

Secure.

Able to be fully myself.

Ready to take chances and try on new wings to see if I can fly.

And when, as it was this week, my home is tucked under a blanket of snow, it feels like magic too.

Thirteen years ago, on this very day, I began my blog. And ever since, it has been a place where I feel comfortable.

Safe. Secure. Able to be fully myself. Ready to take chances and try on new wings to see if I can fly.

And when, as I do today, I write on a snowy day, my words feel like magic too.

So here's to a fresh new year of writing. 

May I take chances, 

write about hard things, 

be honest about myself, 

and always, always be ready to fly. 

* * * * *

My first blog post ever. I still think it's very sweet.

Snow Makes All Things New

Gracie's Grandma

My mom, for whom my dog, Gracie, was named, was obsessed with quilts.

She made them, by hand and by machine, with infinite patience and precision that boggled my mind.

She styled her finished products with flair, draping them across the open door of an antique cupboard, folding them just so over an old trunk, or of course, spreading them out over a bed with coordinating but contrasting (she was never a matchy-matchy kind of lady) pillowcases and maybe a vintage teddy to boot.

And when it came to protecting her beautiful quilts, my mom was all over it. She washed them by hand and dried them in the fresh air, and stored them safely away from the fading rays of the sun. And while she always allowed - even encouraged - my little daughters to climb up and explore her quilts at close range, she also made a habit of subtly turning down her fragile pieceworks just before the girls hopped up into the bed at night to minimize the wear and tear.

Now that she's gone, a handful of her oldest and most prized quilts lives on in my linen closet; now and then, they come out, one by one, to make an appearance on one of our beds where they are treated with the utmost care. As they deserve.

The sturdy red and white quilt she used on her bed every day spends several weeks during Christmas on my bed. In these mornings, I wake up to find my big red hairy beast of a dog swaddled in my mother's precious quilt. 

It's a jarring sight.

And I often struggle as I imagine what my mom might say to this gross appropriation of her pristine workmanship.

But then I remember. If there's anything my mom loved more than quilts, it was big red dogs. Especially of the hairy beast variety.

And I imagine her beaming down from heaven - much closer than we think - to see her namesake puppy dog wrapped up in her lovely quilt. 

And everything feels just right.

Happy birthday, Gracie, from your grandma and me.

Carrying Christmas

My furry philosopher.

For some people, it’s the day the tree comes down. 

For others, it may be the moment when the last holiday cookie is eaten, or the final scraps of wrapping paper hit the recycling bin, or the heaps of new gifts on the coffee table are finally given a proper home. 

For me, Christmas is officially over when my out-of-town daughters go back home. 

Today was that day. I woke up ridiculously early with a pang in my stomach, an ache in my heart, and the sad feeling of letting go. 

Mothers do not like to let go of their adult offspring, no matter how brave they may try to be.  It’s hard and sad. Every time. 

But off to the airport we went. And even when I returned home, the glum post-holiday mood hung over me like a heavy fog and I felt that familiar despair that comes around this time of year. Christmas is over, the celebration has passed, and I have nothing to look forward to. 

And then I looked at my dog. 

She’s a sunbeam, this Gracie of mine, and she all but sang out to me: “Mom! It’s okay! Every day is fun when we’re together!”

The waves of sadness ceased. A rush of calm washed over me. I felt bathed in a pool of peace. 

Because I knew in a flash that my dog was right. As long as we carry them in our hearts, the peace and joy of Christmas live on throughout the year. . 

Fresh Start

Alright, with January 1, 2024 officially in the books, my birthday celebration is now done and dusted, and I'm looking to kick the rest of my year off with gusto. 

Where, pray tell, does one go to 

restore the body,

refresh the soul, and 

reset the mind 

all at the same time?

Easy. The beach.

^ I can't begin to imagine how many times I've stood in this exact spot, staring out at the murky grey sea and sky northwest of Mukilteo Beach, and drawing in a breath of delight as the one of the ferries - the Suquamish or the Tokitae - peeps out from its berth and sets sail across Possession Sound to the fair isle of Whidbey. Despite the unrelenting monotones, this sight never fails to fill me with wonder and joy.

^ Speaking of wonder and joy, the neighbors to the north of the beach added a small, cheerily lit Christmas tree to the end of their pier. He's such a fierce little holiday tiger to face the elements this way, and simply demands me to smile. I do.

^ You know what else makes me smile? The marine mammals that put on a show for us today. No photos but my memory carries perfect images. The second beast we see is some sort of seal who saucily splashes its head out of the water, draws two deep and rasping breaths, quickly swivels to take in the surroundings, then slips back down to swim away. But just moments before that, we are treated to a chose-up with a harbor seal not ten yards from our feet. She pops her head up, and we make out the contours of her face: her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She is a pale white ghostly thing and her beautiful image haunts me even now. 

^ Okay, time to move inland and enjoy the lighthouse. As usual, her front doors are decked out in holiday cheer and we are powerless to resist many snaps of her charm.

^ The twinkle lights around the doors don't put on much of a show, even in the midafternoon gloom, but the wreaths give me all the holiday swag I need. 

^ As we wander back to the car, feeling satisfied and serene, my eyes fall on this faded hydrangea bloom and surprisingly, a zing of excitement shoots through me. Rather than see it as a worn-out relic of seasons past, I see this old girl as a promise of all that is to come - another full year of growth and fullness and joy. 

And I know that my new year is definitely off to a fresh start. 

Embracing Change

Happy cheesecake to me!

Ever since I was in middle school, I’ve been requesting angel food cake for my birthday. 

Yeah. Fifty-plus years I’ve been celebrating with that light, tangy sponge, the crispy layer of pink glaze, perhaps a spoonful of fresh raspberries, and the delightfully cooling hit of vanilla ice cream. There’s a lot to enjoy about my lifelong birthday treat of choice and I’ve loved every minute of the delicious ride. 

But a few years back, something awoke in me. 

“Sure, angel food birthday cake is great,” my inner change-maker observed. “But what else could you choose?”

Game-changing moment. 

Since my epiphany, I’ve mixed it up. No conventional cakes for me - my daughters cover the chocolate and carrot cake bases thoroughly on their own birthdays so I’ve been exploring new directions. 

A spongy trifle? Check. 

Banana cream pie? Why not?

This year, I chose a New York cheesecake. Extra lemon for plenty of zest. And it was delicious. 

Next year, who knows? I may go back to good old angel food; that’s always an option. But for now, I am embracing change. 

* * * * * 

A tour through just a few of my angel food birthday cakes of the past:

An Angel Food Birthday Cake

New Year's Resolutions And A Birthday Cake

A Trio Of Baked Goods

Soft Spooky

^ DIY ghosties: wrap white or ivory yard around a six-inch section of cardboard a least fifty times. Slip the bundle off the cardboard and tie  a foot long piece of yarn about an inch down from one end of the bundle to fashion a head and neck. Cut open the opposite end of the bundle to create the bottom edge of your spirit. I hang mine using light wire. 

* * * * *

Corkscrew roller coasters.

Bloody horror movies.

Psycho clowns

And the threat of the zombie apocalypse.

We are not big into hardcore scary things around here. 

Oh, sure, spiders are fine. And the occasional snake. We all genuinely enjoy air travel and I am totally down for some public speaking, as long as I'm comfortable with the topic at hand.

We like our spooky on the soft side.

^ DIY spiders: cut up a cardboard egg carton to fashion the bodies. Paint them black and decorate however you like. When the paint dries, glue on googly eyes and punch eight holes around the body. Cut four eight-inch lengths of black pipe cleaner and weave through the holes to create eight legs. My then-twelve-year-old fourth daughter wove the web with a small ball of fuzzy white yard and a whole lot of knots. 

* * * * *

Oh, sure, spiders are fine. And the occasional snake. We all genuinely enjoy air travel and I am totally down for the occasional public speaking gig.

We like our spooky on the soft side.

^ Store-bought black cat. 

* * * * *

Take our Halloween decorations as a prime example. 

You are not going to find any life-size skeletons swaying from our tree branches, nor sinister inflatable ghosts or witches with warts on their nose.

No fake tombstones.

No zombie arms clawing up through the lawn.

No robotic grim reapers or splatters of fake blood.

^ DIY jack o'lanterns: cut pairs of circles from gold or orange felt. Cut one green felt stem and use yellow felt to cut eyes, nose and mouth as you like. Use hot glue to attach the face pieces to one of the circles; glue the stem to the opposite side of the same circle, so the end of the stem will be inside of the pumpkin. 

(My second-born, middle school architect of this project, chose to glue a two- to three-foot length of white plastic lanyard cord inside in back of the stem, for hanging. We tied thumb tacks to the opposite end of each cord, and push them into the porch ceiling.) 

When all that glue has dried, put a line of hot glue three-quarters of the way around the stem side of the face circle, and attach the matching circle, leaving a hole for the stuffing. Once this hot glue has also dried, stuff a bit of polyester fiberfill into the middle, and hot glue the rest of the circle closed. 

* * * * *

What you will find are soft, sweet, not-so-spooky symbols of the season.

Happy jack o'lantern faces

Heaps of pumpkins

Googly-eyed spiders playing on a fuzzy web

Green glow lights.

A smiling black cat.

A gently abstracted skeleton.

And my personal favorite, soft little ghosties who sway with the breeze.

^ Pumpkins and gourds from Gordon Skagit Farms.

^ Store-bought skeleton and green light bulbs.

* * * * *

As my daughters look back on their thrilling days as little trick or treaters, and I remember my own, we recall the delicious feeling of being just a tiny bit scared. And that's what we try to capture for our young visitors on the dark nights of Halloween. 

^ Gracie ain't afraid of no ghosts. 

* * * * *

Soft spooky. That's the Halloween look we're going for. And I think we've got it nailed.