Opting Out [RANT]

Lately, people have been opting out of my Substack posts. I didn’t sign on for so much poetry either but bear with me. My muse is prepping some stories for October. If I can work my way through some of my other piles of “want to do” items, I might even post a story before this month ends. If you are keeping tabs, it didn’t happen this week.

Technically, this was the clones’ first full week of school, but they have today and Monday off to assure that lack of consistency I am coming to expect. This may be my way of gently letting you down. A story may not be forthcoming next week either.

My number one fan has already tried to stay home with me a couple of times. Watching me shuffle through piles of this and that in the hopes of making our house weigh less isn’t most people’s idea of a good time yet she seems drawn in.

Maybe I should start a podcast where people can watch me grumble to myself as I try to clean and tidy the disasters that accumulate over and over again in my house. Who wouldn’t want to watch that? I can see some of my commentary that will keep them coming back:

“Has that really been there all summer?”

“How did I miss this corner?”

“Why is she hoarding this?”

“For someone who keeps complaining about the mess, why did he leave this here?”

“That’s what that smell was?”

“We might actually have a pet in here…”

“Oh my, she is a hoarder like me…”

Yep. We do terrible things to our children just by giving them our genetics. At least I gave them giant heads to hold their brains, right?

Maybe you’d opt out of watching me dig through what is probably just piles of garbage. If I were car line compliant, I might opt out of the school bus route. The bus has yet to arrive at the time that we were told it would arrive, either morning or afternoon.

Honestly, it hasn’t been either consistently late nor early. The app which is supposed to make it easier to know where the bus is hasn’t proved helpful. One minute it says the bus is on the opposite side of the road, parked at an intersection and sixty seconds later, it is approaching. Mind you, looking up doesn’t always mean I will then see the bus.

Other times, the bus sits just within view of our stop idling for unknown reasons. I try not to pry but it sounds like a confused child a couple of stops before ours neither wants to go to school nor return from school, so everyone waits.

Yesterday, I was treated to an extra half in the sun while the bus finished its previous route. They had the decency to call after I had already left my house, since the bus was ten minutes early the previous day. On that occasion, I raced to try to catch the bus only to see it zip by and turn around to head back to the school. I think the confused child forgot to get on the bus that day. Is it wrong to think that people who have that much trouble getting their child to acclimate to the bus and respect that it is not a private conveyance might want to give carline compliance the old college try?

I just want my kids to arrive at a consistent time, so I know they have time for breakfast at school and when I will get them off of the bus, so I am not running down the road even though I left my house before the bus should have left the school…

Is that too much?

Does mama need to much?

Our Family [RANT]

I called my stepsister last week to let her know we would be in town. She may or may not have squealed with delight before inviting me to her daughter’s wedding reception. Having met this bonus niece twice, I promptly accepted and volunteered to invite my brothers and father to round out the motley crew of “who are you again?” guests.

Only one brother and my nephew were able to make it. Oh, and me and my three pack of blue-eyed cuties. The oldest of these made it sound like we were forced to attend. My family is an acquired taste that he has no intention of developing. 

But we showed up a bit early and hung out at the venue. My girls assured that I got lots of hints of sulphur and brimstone by insisting we needed to keep checking out the bathroom that showed signs of being entrance to the fiery bowels of the earth. A sign even warned us that the water comes out hot to reinforce this supposition.

Aside from that, the venue was as lovely as ever. One child fell in love with a stuffed bear but was denied a new friend. The other spent most of the previous night having more fun than could be anticipated at that hotel and fell asleep at the reception. She grudgingly woke up to play with her cousin at one point, but she wouldn’t have forgiven herself if she missed out on cousin time.

I should share about our accommodations the previous night. Key features of the hotel included an outdoor pool that was still covered despite claiming a functional indoor pool on the booking site, hallways that reeked of cigarette smoke, a smoke detector both disconnected and wrapped in cling wrap, stale pastries, a moldy ice machine, and pillows that smelled of dog. This last wasn’t really an issue for me, but we requested a pet and smoke free room due to extreme allergies in one member of our party. And this room was the only one available, despite our specific reservation, because it was out of service due to a broken television that turned out to just be a broken remote. At least our media starved darlings didn’t eat us for entertainment. But I digress.

As we waited for the reception to start, another couple wandered over. The husband swore I looked familiar. I said we might be related. Turns out they were from the groom’s side. They lived in the city where I went to college but not while I was there. I half expected to be identified as the chick in the cloak though…

My first view of the groom found him carrying a huge roaster full of pulled pork. His wife, my niece, was helping set up food. We are hardworking people even on our special days. My mama taught me not to come empty handed, so I brought black and white cookies and three loaves of banana nut bread. I got compliments for both. The best compliment was my great nephew telling me I did a really good job on the cookies. I suppose he will require me to bring my children and cookies for every subsequent visit. Otherwise, he might deny me admittance to his Nana.

Another guest told me how fast the banana nut bread was being devoured. It has received accolades before. Thank goodness for Betty Crocker. I also amused some guests by reminding the bride of how she is related to my brother and I. We like to keep familial relationships complicated where I am from. (“Well, I am your step-aunt but I am probably also your fourth cousin once removed. I bet we are related another way too, but let’s stick to what I currently know, shall we?”)

Aside from that, the reception proved uneventful for my normal familial small town gatherings. I feel like my troops’ attendance may have doubled the number of guests for the bride’s side. Events are hard to plan so close to the start of the school year.

I say that because another bonus nephew is having a half birthday party this weekend. The weather is being unkind, so the date got switched, but the cupcakes will still be delicious. That’s right, I don’t plan to come empty handed to that party either.

I have regaled you enough with my own family, so my in-laws just get an honorable mention. They tried to fatten me up, but I succeeded in practicing a modicum of self-control, so I am still around the same weight as when I left for my magical journey to family time.

Stay cool, my friends. Have fun in school, kiddos. And, moms, get ready to deep clean like your fall depends on it.

The Answer Might Scare You [RANT]

It’s been a week. Internal struggles abound. External struggles always seem to join up when that happens. Throw in some cute kids and it’s a wild ride. 

Had some communication lapses on Saturday and thought my girls were going to disown me and request a new model. We were supposed to get together with one of their friends but lunchtime passed and we neither saw nor heard from them, so I double checked and we hadn’t committed to anything. It turned out it was a difference in perceptions of lunchtime combined with a project taking longer than anticipated. Three happy kids and three entertained adults resulted.

Sunday brought more child adorableness. In my church, we have a program where the children sing and share thoughts about God at least once a year. This Sunday was the happy day. Quick highlights:

Tiny humans signing while singing some of the songs.

Nervous human babies looking like they need snuggles because stage fright is real and receiving those snuggles.

My daughter perking up when she realized mama was watching her.

The two girls taller than me towering over the tiny four year olds.

My friends’ son lip-syncing with the most amusing expressions on his face.

My daughter, right behind him, using her Scooby jacket as a puppet.

Almost shaking loose a suppressed giggle over this impromptu vaudeville show.

Songs in tiny voices.

The rest of the week has been spent in contemplating life, the universe, and everything. I may have shared some of my aggravations with more people than I should have. One of my friends sent me books to help me process. Not sure the books all apply to the situation at hand. But what do I know, I only think about my problems to the exclusion of sleep and fight battles for longer than most people would bother. Sometimes, it works out. Sometimes, it clearly isn’t going to.

However, I have confirmation that some of my thought processes are definitely not flawed. Now, we just see if the right people hear what I have to say and choose to be in this with me, right?

Life isn’t meant to be lived alone. Why else would we be born into families? And if your family falls short, choose more family. Pick and choose sisters and brothers from your friends. And if you need extra supervision and guidance, choose more family. Though my biological mother has passed, I currently have five moms listed in my phone. And I pull people into my family conglomeration from time to time because we need each other. I want to thank those who are willing to deal with being part of my family. I apologize if I overstep. We’ll just have to work on our communication. Just be patient with me.

Anyway, I doubled down on adorable today by attending a parade at my children’s school. Kids in each grade level dressed as storybook characters, idioms, or famous people. I saw so many Amelia Earharts and Taylor Swifts, flying pigs and raining cats and dogs, and Waldos everywhere. I also saw so many other adorable creatures and people. 

I started snapping pictures of every kid I knew. With the sun shining on me and people milling about, I figured I might get a good photo for a friend even if some of my pictures only included a wing of one child or a hint of skirt of the other. Hopefully, my offerings bring happiness.

And now to accomplish other tasks before walking my tiny clones around to claim candy and bring joy. Hopefully, substack gets a new post today, too. I have been working on it, but it doesn’t quite feel ready for public consumption yet.

Scary Things Are Brewing [RANT]

While I hung out in the FamilySearch Center on Saturday, the rest of the troops got to work on Halloween decorations. Thus I got to see one of my tiny humans apparently hefting a body on my doorbell cam. Still giggling.

Of course, on my way to the center, I almost became a corpse myself. Two separate individuals thought switching lanes abruptly in near bumper to bumper traffic would be prudent. Pretty sure neither got to their destination quicker. Thankfully, my reflexes and lack of faith in the sanity of other drivers kept me from deserting my faithful readers and “to do” pile.

Sunday brought the expected level of peace as it started with church. Aside from one child flooding the bathroom, bringing out my inner janitor, I enjoyed time with my church family. Then we went to hang out with some friends.

Despite getting reassurance from our host that his oven was functional, it poured out an amazing amount of smoke during the preheat cycle. Then I was left to my own devices without having to claim the kitchen. Of course, this means I felt like a burglar as I opened most cabinets and drawers in search of pans, utensils, and other cooking needs. If only it were that easy to be left alone at my house. My youngest has taken to rolling toys under my feet when I am dancing around between the stove, counter, pantry, and fridge. So if I suddenly stop posting, you might want to check the hospital and sneak me in some food. 

Anyway, we all survived and I didn’t burn down anyone’s house. I did make an adorable four year old happy by cutting a horse silhouette into his pumpkin. I also brought the same kind of joy to a seven year old by not cutting out the face for her jack-o-lantern. 

This week continued at a steady pace until yesterday. My kids get a lot of days off, so I get to entertain them for four days straight. I might be more excited about this than they are. This might be because one refuses to do her homework, so mama isn’t turning on the television and letting them rot their brains. They also keep complaining that they hurt themselves by tripping over the obstacle course they created and then whining more when I offer the tried and true solution of, “Clean up your stuff.”

Even if my kids don’t love me, random strangers do. I have had two individuals on different platforms start chatting with me out of the blue. Because I didn’t immediately tell them to play in traffic without a car, both seem to have reached the conclusion that I don’t store a brain in my head. One invited me to have coffee with them if I ever travel across the country for the inconvenience of a “wrong number”. The other seems to be trying to sweet talk me in French. Yes, I will type to you in French, albeit slowly since I haven’t kept my skills up, and, yes, I will catch the nuance of the French version of, “Your profile picture is so beautiful that I just had to talk to you.” I have heard this before. I am not impressed. Ugh. Anyone know how to negate the aura of “looking to be scammed” that seems to linger around me?

Anyway, I need to work on writing some fiction pieces, so enjoy this little snippet of sleep-inducing wildness. Type at you soon.

Bonding, Balancing, and Brainstorming [RANT]

Another week has come and gone. Summer is truly upon us. Lovers of heat and barbecues and being seasonal mermaids rejoice. Polar bears contemplate diving into the neighbors’ pool, preferably with permission and the payment of an acceptable treat. Small children want to run through sprinklers and mud and track it through the house as a memento for their mama despite the horror evident on her face at this action.

Then the rain rolls in. And it always chooses to do this when we are at Nana’s house. So Nana is sad that no one gets in the pool. And the kids just watch other people play computer games on television. That pretty much sums up the first half of my week. That and eating out and dutifully eating brownies that were purchased from Costco for a party of twenty when only four guests were expected. So if you see me and wonder if you are seeing more of me, signs point to yes.

It doesn’t help that I am an accommodating creature. As a guest in someone’s home, I try to fade into the furniture unless I can be helpful. But if my help just gets me told how I am doing everything, including breathing, incorrectly, I wrap up in my cloak of invisibility and keep quiet watch over my tiny clones while catching up on music I want to peruse and my to be read pile. These are a few artists that spoke to me this week:

Lisa Marie Presley: Yes, that Lisa Marie. Her music is kind of gritty. I want to hug her daughters because I know they miss her.

Wolfgang Van Halen: I was on a kick for the babies of famous singers and actresses. That doesn’t mean their music doesn’t have merit of its own.

Brigitte Calls Me Baby: Their music makes me think of the 80s and I enjoyed the 80s. Though some of the music now traumatizes me as my brain keeps telling me what those lyrics really mean.

The Heavy Heavy: Not sure if they give me nostalgia for the 60s or the 70s, but I dig their music. Plus that one band member looks familiar. Odd.

Red Wanting Blue: Southern rock speaks to me for some reasons. Might figure out why at the end of this post.

J J Heller: She posts light-hearted and worship music that soothes me.

I have returned home, where my obsession’s center around finding balance in not just my own life but hopefully the lives of the three blue-eyed cuties who live with me.  I have small children, so I am trying to keep them on a schedule over the summer, so life doesn’t devolve into the chaos. The first week went well. The second week occurred in someone else’s space, so we were schedule free and stayed up late and ran wild. We are trying to get back into the groove of things, but yesterday was exhausting. Today looks like it wants to follow suit.

I shall find my balance. Or I shall vent about it to myself, since I feel like the only person reading my new substack, but I plan to keep posting there. And those who have enjoyed my rantings and writings for years can feel free to get a paid subscription and say it doubles as my birthday and Christmas present for this year. I still need to decide on a reasonable rate since I am currently only promising four to five pieces a month. We’ll see how feisty my muse gets if I receive some appreciative feedback, shall we?

~~~

Help me brainstorm by offering your input on the following questions. Please!

1. How much would you be willing to pay to read four to five pieces of my writing a month?

2. What creeps you out?

3. What brightens your day?

If you don’t want to share with the rest of my readers, message me somewhere. I have a feeling you got here from Facebook, so say “hello, weirdo” and then answer my questions. Thanks in advance!

~~

And your excuse to eat cake today:

Happy Birthday, West Virginia!

The best went west in 1863!

Here’s to another 162 years of being wild and wonderful! 

Chapter 18: Nature

Another offering for my faithful readers. I feel like I need to sleep more before I write, but when will I find that time?

Chapter 1: Nature
Chapter 2: Nurture
Chapter 3: Nurture
Chapter 4: Nurture
Chapter 5: Nature
Chapter 6: Nurture
Chapter 7: Nurture
Chapter 8: Nurture
Chapter 9: Nurture
Chapter 10: Nature
Chapter 11: Nature
Chapter 12: Nurture
Chapter 13: Nurture
Chapter 14: Nature
Chapter 15: Nurture
Chapter 16: Nurture
Chapter 17: Nature

How could the second day of school compare to the first? Nerves have settled. Connections have been renewed. New friendships might even have seeds planted in young hearts. And even so early in the year, some lucky kids already had something to look forward to each day. For some it was the chance to see friends. Others can’t wait to learn. Then there’s me, looking for my sister who wasn’t my sister though I felt I had known her since before she was born.

Maggie found me outside the school, so I could walk her to class. She declared this the best part of her day before we parted with a hug that reassured me she would feel exactly the same excitement on the last day of school. I returned her hug and offered a grin that mirrored her own. With one last backward glance, she disappeared into her classroom. I turned toward my own, ruminating on the expectations of a second day some more.

Teachers had been assessed. Seats had been claimed. A certain order had fallen into our young lives that summer never seemed able to offer. Of course, we weren’t orderly enough to already know the new schedule and expectations of a new classroom and a new teacher. 

Ms. Compton smiled at us from under her tight, dark curls as she gently rapped on her desk to attract our attention. Her sharp, dark eyes focused on those who didn’t immediately look up until she claimed the attention of even the most wandering minds.

“Silent reading time has ended. Not that you were as quiet as you could be, please focus on me now.”

As our minds followed our eyes to concentrate on her, a solid knock resounds from the open door. A tall slender figure stands just inside the doorframe with a smaller figure hiding in his shadow. A well-worn, dark suit hangs from his shoulders with folds of cloth speaking of weight lost since its purchase. He glanced around the room, smiling at the familiar faces that have now turned to us.

“If I may, Ms. Compton,” he gestured with his hand for an invitation to enter.

“Of course, Principal Johnson,” she smiled up at him.

He shambled into the room with his shadow slowly following in his wake. Even from my vantage toward the back of the room, his blue eyes startled me with their light shade. Shaggy golden hair fell like a fine mop over his forehead and covered them for a moment. He threw his head back to reveal those eyes once more, but he quickly tilted his gaze back toward the floor to avoid making eye contact with any of us.

The principal leaned in to whisper quietly to our teacher. She nodded understanding and turned back to the class. “We have a new student this year. Please get to know him and make him feel welcome. His name is…” she paused to look at him as her lip quirked upward, “Doll Lindquist.”

He frowned at her and turned pale, rebellious eyes toward the classroom as snickers erupted around me.

“You may sit in the empty seat next to Opera,” our teacher waved her hand magnanimously in my direction. “Raise your hand, Opera.”

I raised my hand reluctantly. Doll bobbed his head and shuffled toward me with whispered voices for theme music. The teacher turned her eyes back to the principal as he leaned in to say something more. I turned to whisper to my new neighbor.

“Your name is Doll?” I blinked as I met his unflinching gaze.

“It’s short for Rudolph. What of it?” He glared at me so severely that the chuckle in my throat stifled and faded away.

I cleared my throat and extended my hand, hoping to distract him from the shame coloring my cheeks. He grinned at me and took my hand in a firm handshake. I sighed at the implied acceptance of my unspoken apology.

“So your name is Opera?”

Now I tried not bristle at his teasing tone. “Yes, it is. What of it?”

“I like it,” he offered a shy smile.

As the teacher and principal continued their whispered discourse, other students found bravery.

“All the girls want to play with their doll,” the other boys chanted, “Especially Opera.”

 

“Cover your ears before she sings.” One of the boys chortled but no one joined in his gaiety, too dense to get it or too smart to laugh at such a poor insult.

I rolled my eyes at them and turned back to our conversation with a raised voice, “They’re just jealous.”

Ms. Compton cleared her throat. Then we realized the principal had stepped back out of the room. As if we practiced synchronicity, every student turned to face her, folding our hands in front of us on our desks.

She shook her head at us, “That was very rude of you. It is time to return to learning, but first I will remind you that we practice kindness in our classroom.”

Chapter 16: Nurture

Chapter 1: Nature
Chapter 2: Nurture
Chapter 3: Nurture
Chapter 4: Nurture
Chapter 5: Nature
Chapter 6: Nurture
Chapter 7: Nurture
Chapter 8: Nurture
Chapter 9: Nurture
Chapter 10: Nature
Chapter 11: Nature
Chapter 12: Nurture
Chapter 13: Nurture
Chapter 14: Nature
Chapter 15: Nurture

Moving into the apartment increased our number of neighbors exponentially. Our old house sat far enough away from the next on on either side that accidentally bumping into our neighbors required work. In a multi story apartment building, neighbors live on top of each other. Maggie and I loved it. Father immersed himself in work and remained oblivious to the change in environment. Mother seemed to feel the weight of our neighbors on her back. 

While we examined door decor for hints as to which apartment would prove most profitable for trick-or-treating on Halloween night, mother tried to hurry us along to avoid inadvertent interactions. Father would be taking us around our new “neighborhood” later, so that she wouldn’t be subjected to the culture shock. I couldn’t hide my excitement to get to know more of the people I could hear in the halls and whose meals left a lingering and intriguing aromas in the halls.

“Are you sure about this costume?” Mother pouted, holding up the devil costume Maggie insisted on at the store. She put it down to show her the fairy costume she preferred. “Or would you like lovely wings like Sissy?”

Maggie crossed her arms, pouted, and tapped her foot. This was at least the twentieth time someone had asked that question, but she refused to be swayed. I particularly enjoyed swaying at that point because I had my wings on already. I loved the way they brushed my head and back as they moved. And the genius who designed them had added little bells so a tinkling choir sang for me every time I moved.

Maggie smiled as the bells went off again, but then directed a frosty look at our mother and firmly declared, “Devil.”

Mother hesitated, so Maggie lunged toward her preferred costume. She tackled it with skill worthy of the NFL. Before any protests could be voiced, she wrestled the one piece suit over the clothing she already wore. The headband hung askew after she wrestled it into place, but she grinned at us proudly.

“Twick ow Tweat!” She declared proudly.

We had both been practicing the night’s catchphrase for over a week, but she was still far from mastering the r sound. Mother and I couldn’t help but smile. Her mispronunciation and enthusiasm added to the charm of  her masquerading as a devil as blond curls framed an angelic face. She blinked her bright blue eyes at us—the picture of innocence.

“Well, you are adorable,” mother conceded and handed us each a sturdy orange bag featuring a Jack-o-lantern face leering back at us. “Stay together. Stay with your father. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“We’ll bring you something nice,” Father leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“We don’t live in a place that gives out high end candy for the kids to share with their parents anymore,” she lamented.

“Maybe they’ll surprise us.”

Mother’s half-hearted, “Maybe,” didn’t even try to sound enthusiastic as she placed a witch hat on her head to wait for trick or treaters. 

As we followed him closely to the first door, Father turned around and knelt in front of us, “Want to help me make mama’s night?”

We nodded enthusiastically. He grinned and reached into his pocket. He produced two full size chocolate bars from mama’s favorite brand. He tucked her favorite into my bag and her least favorite into Maggie’s.

“Now those are for mama, but tell her one of the neighbors gave them to you, okay?” We nodded understanding, but we wouldn’t have thought to tell her anything else.

As we knocked on doors, our bags grew heavier and heavier. So did our memories. Our new neighbors reveled in meeting us, sharing their names and little tidbits about themselves.

“I’m Joan. I do flower arrangements and corsages. You know for daddy daughter dances or date night with the wife.”

“I’m Wanda. My girls used to have blond curls like that but now they have dark hair like me.”

“An angel and a devil? I’m Carl and this requires a photo opp… Can I see your phone? You girls stand back there on either side of the hall. A little further back. Closer together. Perfect. What do you think?”

We raced forward to see the photo and collided with each other. When father finished untangling us and scooping spilled candy back into bags, Carl handed over the phone. We giggled. Our new friend had positioned us perfectly, so devil Maggie and angel Opera stood perfectly on our father’s shoulders.

“So you’re a photographer,” father deduced.

“Yes, I am, and I have something special for such charming models and their father,” he reached into his candy bowl and pulled out three of mother’s absolute favorite candy bars, “you have a nice night and a Happy Halloween.”

“Oh. We will,” I peeked into my bag, now more excited to go home and see mother than before.

Father nodded his agreement as the door closed. He even raised a hand to his eye. At that time, I still believed daddy’s don’t cry, so I briefly wondered what he was wiping away. Then he grabbed Maggie’s hand. Usually, she and I are inseparable, so they started down the stairs confident I was only steps behind them.

I should have been right behind them, but as I stepped forward, my left wing jerked oddly. I stopped to try to fix it, but nothing I did helped. I gave up and rushed to the stairs. The hallway before me stood empty except for a few skinny zombies and witches, clinging to doorframes. As I gazed up the hallway in confusion.

“Father? Maggie?”

A doorway further down the hall clicked open. I breathed a sigh of relief. That must be them. But a woman with dark eyes and dark hair and the most perfect face I had ever beheld stepped out of the apartment. We stared at each other. My eyes held wonder. Her eyes wondered who I was and why I stood alone in that hallway. 

She slung her purse over her shoulder  and offered me a reassuring smile. My mouth dropped open. I tried to keep it closed but that already perfect face became beyond perfection when she smiled. I wanted to be that beautiful, right then, because angels had that kind of beauty. As my mind processed this in the slow way that a child’s mind works sometimes, my mouth remained open. She looked over her shoulder to reassure herself no one else had stepped into the hall. Then she cautiously stepped toward me with one dark hand extended like one might approach a feral cat.

When she got within a few feet, she stopped. She got down to my level, executing a squat in high heels with more grace than most of us can master it in cross trainers.

“I’m Mandy,” she pointed to her heart with her thumb as a soft melodious voice filled the air with her musical words, “I don’t think we have met.”

I nodded agreement. She searched her thoughts for a better question.

“Do you live here?” I nodded again.

“Do you know where your apartment is?” I shook my head at this and the smile completely disappeared.

A cheer erupted from the door to my right. We both turned toward it. The smile returned as her face brightened.

“Did you lose your parents while trick-or-treating?”

A nod from me and her improved mood loosened my tongue, “I’m Opera.”

“That’s a lovely name. And I think I can help you, Opera.”

“You can?”

“Yes. As you can hear,” she pauses for another uproarious cheer from behind the closed door, “The Haymonds throw a big party every year. If you knock on their door, they just pull you in. It is almost impossible to get out again because no one can hear how good your reason is to get out—even if you are looking for your daughter.”

I nodded understanding, so she continued, “Now I have to run out and grab more candy for when you knock on my door, so I can’t go into the party, but if you knock on the door, they will help you find your folks, okay?”

I nodded agreement and stepped toward the door, but she gently placed her hand on my shoulder, “Before you do that, I think I can help you with one more thing. Hold still.”

I obeyed, standing still as soldier while she adjusted something on my wings. I felt the straps pull a couple of times and then nothing.

“How does that feel?” She asked.

I shook my wings. They tinkled beautifully. They pulled just right—neither to the left nor the right. They didn’t pinch or poke. I looked up at my newly minted guardian angel and offered one emphatic word.

“Perfect.”

“Good. Now I am going to stand over here. When you see your folks, give me a thumbs up. If you don’t see them, a thumbs down will let me know to come rescue you. Ready?”

I nodded and knocked loudly on the door. It swung open almost immediately. An older gentleman with vampire teeth and blood dripping down his chin looked right over me.

“Mandy? How did you knock from way over there? Come on in. Muhahaha. Vou know you are always velvome here.”

She smiled and pointed down where I was avidly searching the crowd for any sign of my father. I had no trouble spotting him as he had hoisted Maggie up on his shoulders. He seemed to be trying to navigate through the crowd, but every person he came near stopped him to coo over Maggie. As she wailed until her face turned beet red, they tried to comfort her. Then she glanced toward the door, perhaps, hoping for egress and found what she really wanted. Her wails changed to something different. Even from my vantage point, I could make out her one word scream. 

“Sissy! Sissy! Sissy!”

She reached her arms toward me and father turned to face the door. Relief flooded over him and tension seeped out of his shoulders. My attention returned to the vampire before me who bent over so his face hovered inches from my face.

“You know we have a devil in here. I think an angel would even the odds.”

“Yes, sir,” I said politely, turning to give Mandy a thumbs up.

She smiled at me and turned away but not before offering me a finger wave. I waved back. Then four arms encircled me.

“Sissy, I’m so sorry,” Father said in a rush, “I thought you were right there and then this nice man opened the door and pulled us in. I realized immediately that you weren’t with us, but I just couldn’t see, to get back to the door.”

“Our parties are like that, but they are so much fun,” a female vampire joined us in the doorway.

An aroma of rubbing alcohol and grape juice emanated from her as leaned in to peer at first me and then my sister. “My goodness. You both look like angels, but I think this one in red here wouldn’t turn her nose down so much at how much we love to party.”

She took a swig from her glass as her husband leaned in to whisper in her ear. She frowned at him for a moment, then cast a look at us and softened up.

“Let me get you kids some treat bags and let you get back to trick-or-treating. My husband, the expert on childhood since he is in his second one, has reminded me of the importance of this night.”

She returned a moment later with paper bags overflowing with goodies. They filled up about a quarter of our bags all on their own. She offered my father her hand. He shook it tentatively and she laughed.

“Don’t look so scared. I really don’t bite. It was nice to meet you, James. We should have you and the missus and the girls over for dinner sometime.”

“That sounds lovely. I will have Livie get in touch with you.”

“Yep. We’re in the directory.”

With a few more prolonged goodbyes, particularly from Maggie’s new fan club at the party, father made sure he firmly grabbed each of us by the hand and led us down the hallway. As we reached the last door before Mandy’s, she stepped out onto the landing, clutching a large paper bag to her chest as she fumbled with her keys. She winked at me as she disappeared into her apartment. Her neighbor didn’t answer, which I had assumed from their lack of decorations, so we moved on to her door.

We knocked. Giggles erupted inside. The door slowly creaked open, though I am pretty sure someone inside made the noise. Then Mandy opened the door with a purple witch hat on her head. She was joined by a duplicate with a green hat.

“Hello, new neighbors,” they paused to cackle, “We’re Mandy and Candy and we want to cast a spell on you, so…”

They each produced a small plastic cauldron overflowing with goodies. Mandy dropped one in Opera’s bag with another conspiratorial wink and Candy dropped the other in Maggie’s bag.

“You’re the cutest little devil I’ve ever seen.” She giggled.

“And we’re witches, so that’s saying something.” Mandy added as she reached for something on a small table near the door.

Her hand returned to view with a tray of sugar cookies, decorated to look like cats and bats and eclectic pumpkins. “We’ve been meaning to introduce ourselves to our new neighbors. If I am not mistaken, your apartment is directly over ours.”

Father looked up and down the hallway for a moment, “I think you’re right. I hope we haven’t been too loud.”

“Not at all. They have wonderful sound dampeners in this place,” though her eyes crinkled a little bit with the lie, “We actually wondered if you had moved in yet.”

“Oh yeah. All moved in. We just haven’t got a chance to introduce ourselves to anyone. Busy, you know?” He gestured toward Maggie and I.

“Yes. You have to keep an eye on those little ones,” another wink flew my way.

This time father glanced between us curiously, “Have you two met?”

“A few minutes ago in the hallway,” she said, “While you were trapped in the party. We love the Haymonds until we want to come home and sleep.”

“I got that feeling myself.”

They wrapped up with more thank yous and holiday wishes and slowly closed the door. I peered into my bag. Maggie peered into hers and then into mine. Her eyes locked on my face as if trying to read my mind. 

“My bag is getting heavy,” I took a sideways glance at Maggie who had gently let hers drop to the ground after inspecting its contents.

“There are a couple more floors,” father offered though a look of relief crossed his face, “But we can go home and surprise mommy.”

“With cookies,” Maggie declared joyously, lifting the straps of her bag up as high as she could without actually lifting the bag off the ground.

Father laughed, “Yes, with cookies. Let me take that for you.” He glanced at me but I hefted my own bag.

“I’m a big girl,” I declared.

“Well, daddy is tired, so maybe we should take the elevator,” now he winked at me, but who was I to argue with adult wisdom.

Soon we were home with our abundance of treats. On par with tradition, we dumped both bags on the table and started sorting through them. My mother seemed excited that the cauldron contained mostly small toys and a couple Reese’s cups.

“Like they were made just for our girls,” she whispered to father as we started playing with the toys.

“It’s a snake,” Maggie shoved a fidget toy made of links that twisted this way and that into my face. 

We both giggled. Despite being distracted by our toys, we each kept one eye on mother as they sorted through the candy. Anything with coconut went in dad’s pile, along with anything we currently deemed weird. To this day, I still refuse to try a zero bar. Why is it white? Is zero the rating it got from the first people who tasted it? I’m not brave enough to figure it out, but father likes them.

Then the first of the expensive candy bars got unearthed. Mother stared at the gilded wrapper like it contained actual gold.

“Really? Someone gave out my favorites?”

Father shrugged, “Must have.”

They kept sorting. All told, we found nine candy bars just for her. She sat back in her chair, tears streaming down her face.

“Maybe you aren’t just an optimist, James. This place might not be so bad.”

As she opened up one of the candy bars and broke off sections for each of us, father regaled her with stories of our new friends. She seemed more fascinated with the Haymonds than Candy and Mandy. Maybe she had met duplicate people before. They are the first twins I ever remember meeting, so they seemed so much more interesting than hard partying vampires.

Chapter 17: Nature