Halloween Candy Quiz

Happy Halloween!



Match each candy with its slogan:

Tootsie Pop, Almond Joy/Mounds, Kit Kat, Butterfinger, Skittles, York Peppermint Pattie, Smarties, Reese’s, Hershey’s Nuggets, M & M’s

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

1. Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don’t.
2. Taste the rainbow of flavor.
3. One of life’s little rewards.
4. Get the sensation.
5. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a ______ ______?
6. Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.
7. There’s no wrong way to eat a __________.
8. Give me a break! Give me a break. Break me off a piece of that _____ _____ bar.
9. Break out of the ordinary.
10. Only _________ have the answer.

Harvest Warning

 

Barn 'n Bunk, Trenton, Ohio



If you get lost in the corn maze,

Beware the night!

Scarecrows and hay spiders suddenly wake.

Bats and witches burst into flight. 

If you get lost in the corn maze,

Hide your fright!

Werewolves and vampires sniff the air.

Looking for tasty victims to bite.

If you get lost in the corn maze

Stay out of sight.

From spirited zombies roaming the fields
After dusk til morning light.

If you get lost in the corn maze,

Sit tight.

Bathroom Spying for Dummies



I wish my toilet looked this pretty

I suppose it's just human nature that people poke around in other people's bathrooms when they're visiting. It seems so forbidden. What hidden secrets lurk in the medicine cabinet? What might you find stuffed beneath the bathroom sink? I think the idea is that something seedy lies beneath the polished marble surface of the vanity.

Not so in my house. What you see is what you get, and it ain't pretty! We don't have medicine cabinets, for one thing, so everything is in plain sight. You can see what brand of toothpaste we use and that we squeeze from the middle. You'll see how worn our toothbrushes are and exactly what hair care products we spritz into our hair. You can even see all my CoverGirl make-up and lotions. Everything's out in the open.

If you look a little more closely (and unfortunately, it's hard not to), you'll see the residue of morning grooming in the sink itself. There's a minty glob of toothpaste hardened to the ceramic. Tiny little whiskers coat the back of the faucet from my husband's morning shave. The hairbrush is full of long, blonde strands.If you pick up the Scope, there's probably a sticky outlined ring of mouthwash that dripped down the bottle. Really, we've hidden nothing.

So if you come to our house and think you're going to spy around in our bathroom, good luck. Our bathroom spying options are geared for dummies. It would take a real mastermind to figure out what (besides cleaning supplies) might be hidden.

BeBe Jo's Pom Pom

You’re looking at a picture of a horrid, horrid man. And yet – my mother is crazy about him. She affectionately calls him “Pom Pom.”

Pom Pom’s picture was once tacked up to a school bulletin board with the caption “Joann’s Dream Man.”  That about sums it up. She has a t-shirt with Pom Pom’s image on it. She ordered mailing labels that use his picture, too. She even calls herself by the nickname he gave her:  BeBe Jo! BeBe Jo!

She’s obsessed.

Over the years, she has tried to impose her fascination with Pom Pom onto me.  She has hidden his picture inside my shoe, and even went so far as to enlarge his picture to poster-size for one of my birthday celebrations.   The worst  assault was when she pinned his picture to the back of my jacket as I went on a date, as if it were a campaign button that she thought might influence me.

I once found Pom Pom’s picture underneath a slice of personal pan pizza while I was waitressing at Pizza Hut. Another time, his picture was tucked away in a book I was reading, as though he were a bookmark that I would peruse instead of words.

I’ve been finding Pom Pom’s picture hidden away in unexpected places for more than 20 years now. The only recourse I have is to return it to her. I know how lost she feels when she doesn’t know where Pom Pom is.

So I’ve graciously attached it to the sun visor in her car, where she squealed in surprise without wrecking. I’ve placed his picture lovingly into the cup of her bra, so that he could be closer to her heart.  I’ve taped the picture to her toilet seat (which is where I think he actually belongs). I’ve even included Pom Pom’s picture in her holiday decorations, as an ornament on her tree.

But every time she finds his picture, she is determined to give it back to me. I keep telling her I don’t want it. I’m not crazy about Pom Pom like she is.

Most recently I think she stuffed his picture in my suitcase while we were on a cruise, though I don’t have clear evidence of it. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to part with it after all. She’s crazy about the guy.

All I can do is sigh; it’s her heart. I can’t change how she feels about her Pom Pom. But I can give his picture back here, where she’s sure to find it.

A Peaceful Church in Haiti



Church in Haiti


Though I rarely go to church here in the U.S., going to Sunday worship during my mission trips in Haiti and Nicaragua were among the highlights of my trips there. The church in Nicaragua wasn't much more than a concrete three-walled garage. The top of the walls didn't meet the roof, so a breeze blew through, waving the sheer white curtains hung on the cinder block windows. The congregation was dressed in their finest, and the sermon was humbly delivered in Spanish. As the children sang to the accompaniment of a guitar player, I felt truly grateful to witness the beauty of the the moment.

I felt that way again while attending church service in Haiti. The pink-painted walls and homemade decorations were joyously hung. The minister was soft spoken and the congregation was kind and welcoming. When they began singing hymns in Haitian Creole accompanied by simple hand-clapping, I felt blessed to be there among them.

That feeling of peacefulness was nearly ruined when a visiting Hellfire and brimstone minister from Kentucky took the pulpit and began evangelizing and shouting the message of God. I could sense that the translator was uncomfortable repeating his words and the children in the pews could not stifle their giggles. I was embarrassed to be associated with him and remembered what I don't like about church in America. If our churches were as serene, humble and unassuming as those I visited in Haiti and Nicaragua, I'd be at church every Sunday morning.

Trick

If Mr. Johnson had put out a bowl full of candy like the rest of his neighbors in Windermere Estates, none of this would have happened. Instead, he went to the movies. While he watched demons rising up out of graveyards on the big screen, Edward Cullen, Lady Gaga, and a gothic dark angel took trick-or-treat matters into their own hands.

They set Johnson's pumpkins on fire, tangled his 7-foot spiders' web, and murdered the skeleton hanging from his tree. They unstuffed his scarecrow and decapitated the vampire bat on his door. Then they took a melting chocolate candy bar and wrote one simple brown word on his window:

TRICK

Thank You, Airman



Mac and two of his biggest admirers at the Alamo


After my son, Mac, finished basic training for the Air Force, we left base and walked around San Antonio, Texas. So did all the other families of the newly official airmen. Since ours had never been a military family, I wondered how welcome the airmen would be off-base. It seemed like I'd heard horror stories. I imagined that the locals were probably pretty sick of the new airmen walking around their city, perhaps causing trouble or becoming unruly. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

As we walked along San Antonio's famous Riverwalk, one person after another greeted my son and thanked him for serving our country. Many men came up and shook his hand. Children pointed at my son in his dress blues and then waved shyly behind the legs of their mothers. Strangers came up to Mac and asked to take his picture. A few people even had their pictures taken with Mac. A Mexican family asked me to take their picture, and then all of them squeezed around Mac as they posed for a quasi-family portrait. I still wonder whether that picture is framed on a mantel somewhere?

The greetings and thank-you's continued when we went to the Alamo, out for pizza, to the movies, Wal-mart and everywhere else we ventured. It's been three years now and strangers still approach him wherever we go. It's so foreign to me. I can't get used to strangers viewing my son as a public hero. The outpouring of support has been incredible. He loves it. He's gotten used to it. I suppose someday I'll get used to it happening, too, but for now, every time a stranger shakes his hand and thanks him, I'm so proud to be his mother, I could cry.