Remembrance Day

I grew up surrounded by veterans. Across the street and down the road, stood the dreamy houses that seemingly kept watch on those sometimes lonely walks home from school. Behind those curtained windows: what stories lay hidden? Perhaps, the block of housing was enchanted and locked in a time lapse. Was it still the 1940s up and down those stairs? Or did they dwell even further down into the past? What memories took hold and lingered into the living? Who were those folks? What did they see? What did they know? These were the questions my brother and I often had while walking past the line of housing for retired members of the Legion on the street opposite.

My internal directory of early memories (happily situated in the 1970s) retrieves lovely encounters in the corner shop, along the side of the road and most importantly at the traffic light which joined our sides of the street (and offered a precious few more seconds of interaction than purchasing a loaf of bread ever did). Well dressed and polite, many gentle yet aged hands bent down to shake little brown fingers. Some were veterans of WWII, and a precious few were from WWI. There was such honor and joy in those meetings: the twinkle in some of their eyes and oh those smiles. They looked at us in wonder, as we did them.

That's what I'll always remember.

Sesame Street: Count 'Em 40 Years

This sounds like a job for The Count. After all, as far as numbers go, 40 is a milestone and such a task should be reserved for the experts who spend their waking hours teaching kids how to count (among other things). Actually, when you think of it 40 whizzes by in no time at all (especially if you are said age or are close to or past it), leaving a trail of brilliant memories in its wake. Where could one begin when reminiscing about Sesame Street? Which season was your favorite? Which vignette or song captured your heart? Who was your number one Muppet? On and on, the questions would go (and the memories would unravel).

I've blogged about many of my favorite Sesame Street memories in the past, including:

• Sleepytime Bird
  
• "a Loaf of Bread, a Container of Milk and a Stick of Butter"
  
• Mr. Hooper
  
• the classic "Snow" video
  
• C is for Cookie
  
• Me and My Llama and 
• Christmas Eve on Sesame Street (click on the link above to revisit these entries). 

The list of course doesn't stop there. There are far too many beloved moments to cover.

In honor of this event, I'll share yet another favorite Sesame Street clip. It's no secret that I used to have a crush on Grover when I was a kid. Now, don't look at me like that (I'm not in need of therapy, thank you very much)! Grover was not merely an emotional blue monster, he also had an intriguing career as a waiter (the most unique waiter you'll ever meet), moonlighted as a super hero (Super Grover), and was in my opinion, the street's resident philosopher. So Grover had lots going for him indeed. The only thing that perplexed me was why Mr. Johnson (or Fat Blue as he is often called) frequented Charlie’s Restaurant while knowing Grover waited tables there. A mysterious thing indeed. Watch the clip below and see for yourself.

Happy 40th Sesame Street. Thanks for the memories.

Sesame Street: Grover and a Fly in My Soup:

Welcome Great Pumpkin

Hope you enjoyed our spooktacular festivities this past week! Enjoy the parties, candy, costumes, cartoons, scary stories, and all the fun this day has to offer. Please revisit our posts from Halloweens Past.


And of course, don't forget a visit with these ol' friends. Happy Halloween!

No rocks please!

Cartoons of Old

I don't need to say much here. Watch the clips below and you'll get that joyous, after school/Halloweeny type feeling in a heartbeat.


Casper the Friendly Ghost - There's Good Boos Tonight




Bewitched Bunny

Telling Tales

Since it's almost Halloween night, let's include more spine-chilling tales into our festivities. We recently revisited Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Edgar Allan Poe's Alone. But why stop there? About.com has the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe, the Monkey's Paw by W.W. Jacobs, The Specter Bridegroom by Washington Irving amid a lengthy list of spooky yarns and Gothic classics for you to explore. Google Books has a hauntingly good collection of digitized texts for readers to browse through as well. So grab those marshmallows, sit round the fire and start telling tales!

Halloween Night Candy

My dining table. Oh yeah, baby.

When you come right down to it, Halloween in childhood means nothing more than obtaining CANDY—glorious candy. Hard candy, soft candy, beige candy, bright candy, lollipops, cavity inducing and filling-yanking toffees, bubble gum for big-as-you-please bubbles, mini-Chiclets for hoarding, chocolate bars for attacking, bags of potato chips for crunching, licorice for twirling, Popeye cigarettes for pretending and oh so much more.

I always looked forward to those lovely Halloween Kisses. Granted they're not for every palette (I do believe the ones they made years ago were tastier than current versions) but it was bliss inspecting those lovely orange and black wrappers decorated with little witches while I battled the hard molasses/toffee with my teeth. Reese's Peanut Butter cups were another delight. One year, even the vomit that resulted from overeating those peanut buttery delicacies didn't deter me from approaching them yet again, hours later.

Halloween night candy. Could the memory ever get old? Not a chance.

Mmm, I spy pumpkin jellies and Bazooka pops!

If you pace yourself, you can attack a little bit of everything!

Behold: Halloween Kisses on my dining table.

Garfield's Halloween Adventure

I'm an admitted Peanuts-biased holiday cartoon fan (who isn't) but that doesn't preclude me from partaking in some Garfield-goodness every now and then. Of course not. I mean an overeating cat, his birdbrained owner Jon and a kind but clueless pup called Odie—what's not to love?

Garfield's Halloween Adventure (1985) was one of those non-Peanuts related cartoons I used to watch and re-watch in the '80s and beyond (Fat Albert being one of the others). Part one is below. Part two follows here.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

The Headless Horseman Pursuing Ichabod Crane (1858) by John Quidor

Halloween wouldn't be the same without children and adults alike, rehashing the harrowing saga of Ichabod Crane: that lanky and superstitious schoolmaster from Connecticut who was pursued one autumn night by a ghostly horseman—a headless one as legend went—in a secluded glen of Tarry Town, New York, called Sleepy Hollow. Set in 1790, Washington Irving's famous story begins with local folklore surrounding this horse-bound phantom:

"The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak." 

Now, go snuggle up with a cup of hot chocolate and continue reading this beloved and spine-tingly tale. After you've done that, click on the links below to watch the 1980 film version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow starring Jeff Goldblum and last but not least, the ever popular 1958 Disney version of Ichabod's adventure. Ah, childhood Halloween memories at their best.

Ichabod Crane (1856) by William J. Wilgus

Disney's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1958)

Links:
Wikipedia reference: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
Text of Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
Disney's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow part 1 (part 2, part 3, part 4)
Film: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1980) with Jeff Goldblum

Alone

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) wrote some deliciously eerie pieces in his time. And what better time for us to revisit his poetry than in the week leading up to Halloween? A spooky poem that discusses his childhood is a good a place as any for us to begin our spooktacular festivities! So without further ado, read and listen and let your imagination take you away...



Alone (1830) by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring -
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I loved - I loved alone -
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still -
From the torrent, or the fountain -
From the red cliff of the mountain -
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold -
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder and the storm -
And the cloud that took the form
When the rest of Heaven was blue
Of a demon in my view.

The Giving Tree

"Once there was a tree. . .
and she loved a little boy."

I remember combing through my public school library, looking for a book to take home (being a shy kid, frequenting and ransacking the library was one of my favorite things to do). I spotted The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein tucked away in a corner shelf and could not put it down. As far as children's books went, it was different: philosophical, poetic and beautifully illustrated. Each page of the story drew me in. I wasn't adept at philosophy or poetry (being in first grade) but the story had a gentle and thoughtful quality to it—one that I appreciated. I rushed over to the librarian to sign out my discovery. Unfortunately, my little friends didn't seem too keen on exploring the relationship between a little boy and a tree. But I loved trees and spiritual things, and simply had to acquaint myself with the book.

Over the decades, there have been many different interpretations of this tale—some loathe it, others are deeply touched by it while others take offense to the underlying theme. I think that's the beauty of this book: the door seems to be wide open as to what meaning readers take away from it. It made me think and perceive differently at a young age. I felt bad for the tree, as well as for what the boy had eventually become. In a few pages, young readers are introduced to the concepts of aging, giving and loving. Definitely, a memorable reading experience. All these years later, and it still makes me think.

The Giving Tree film (1973) narrated by author Shel Silverstein.
Listen to a YouTuber read her followers a bedtime story (lovely).

Landmarks

If you grew up in the Greater Toronto Area, there were certain places you simply had to visit and revisit with your family. Sometimes even your beloved (or dreaded) extended kin from America or overseas came along. One always knew, that come sunny weather, a trip to one of these locales would be inevitable. Depending on the company you kept, these trips were either wonderful or regrettable. Either way, these landmarks were (and still are) the stuff of memories. Simply dust and access...

A trip through our 70s family photo album:

African Lion Safari: Some monkey business on the car in front.

Monkeys l-o-v-e animal crackers.

CN Tower: look up, way up! My knees are wobbling already.

Toronto Zoo: Mum, me and bro.
Polar bears, elephants and pooping giraffes too.

Niagara Falls: Oh you delectable french fries in a cup (remember those)―how I've missed you! And you wonder of nature you, yes I've missed you as well.

The One About Droppings

A re-posting from my old blog.

I don't know why this memory came to mind but it did.

When I was about four years old, my family took a trip to the metro Toronto Zoo. I always enjoyed trips to the zoo: observing the animals and seeing all the displays had its reward, especially the monkey pit—for some reason on school trips it was one location where I made significant friendships (with real people that is, not that I didn't try with the monkeys). There's one recollection from one of our family sojourns that always sticks with me. My mum and I were casually observing the giraffes, remarking at how elegant and graceful they looked with those elongated necks. Then it happened. A baby giraffe rather nonchalantly dropped a few circular-shaped orbs from its bottom. I was horrified (being so little and the occurrence being so gross), as if my feathers had been ruffled (if I had feathers mind you). Naturally, my mum was disgusted (being that mums for some reason are exempt from farting and the like). But the baby giraffe carried on as if it hadn't done something so foul in front of throngs of onlookers. It seemed quite content and somehow still considerably elegant. And as the years have passed, whenever I see a giraffe (even the Toys 'R Us guy), I'm always reminded instantly of that experience. It's heightened my awareness of the powers of association.

I'm also aware that this entry is entirely about giraffe droppings.

September

Every year, when I see kids rushing to buy new notebooks, erasers, and even their snazzy new duds, I tend to envy them. In my recollection, one of the nicest things about the school year came at the beginning in September, because the opportunity for a fresh start presented itself. For about a week or so, amid the backdrop of autumn, you could anticipate a better year for yourself. The sense of promise dissipated quite quickly, however. In my case, every year ended the same, with none of my initial expectations fulfilled. How very Charlie Brown of me.

I enjoyed certain aspects of school: especially recess, arts and crafts, and trips to the library, and actually did well in academics but for the most part I dreaded it. I was never socially, as adept or savvy as some of the other kids, who very well could have fit into any boardroom, laboratory, football stadium, Broadway play or fashion runway...or so it seemed. Come October, that newness and excitement all but disappeared into a faint and distant memory. I suppose that’s why September still gets me into a renewal sort of mood. Perhaps it’s the effect of a new season: autumn in all its glory or simply knowing that the feeling of anticipation doesn’t last very long, making it even more important to initiate change.

For me, the month also means a birthday. It's like September has always been the start of something big. What it is, I can’t exactly put a finger on. Perhaps it’s just the anticipation of what one could become, when all one can feel is hope.

Early Artwork

I was going through stuff in my closet and found the large envelope of artwork I'd done that my mother had saved. I thought I'd share some of them here.

This was done when I was 8 (1961)

This was made a year later. I don't recall where, but somewhere where they had those big drum thingies that you poured paint into and spun. They were a lot of fun to play with.

Another from when I was 8 or 9. My proportions are a bit off. Look at the short arms on that woman! I think I was copying from a photo.