Halloween Candy vs. Nostalgia.

My roommate came in the door the other day with more Halloween candy than he could carry in one trip. He had aproximately $150 of candy and plastic pumpkin handled dohickies.  If you cannot imagine.. that is a really really big super sized bag of candy. His intention was to assemble nice gifts for his customers, but what resulted for me in the form of windfall was much different.

Rather than taking the time to create dinner for myself that evening.. I snacked on candy. Nerds, Runts, Twix, Tootsie Rolls, Laffy Taffy, Smarties, Butterfinger, Babe Ruth, and so on and so forth. The whole time I was working and munching and feeling great about reliving the days of being young and running the neighborhood in the rain, snow or something worse.

How great to be nostalgic. To think on simpler times when we planned our route on who gave bigger candies, and who gave out stickers.

Bah to stickers by the way.

Bah.

As the evening progressed and I was in a sea of colorful wrappers my stomach made itself known, first with the tingle of upset, then with progressively bigger and bigger rumblings until I was undeniably uncomfortable. This is to completely disregard the sugar high I was sporting that could have launched even a full dump truck into orbit.

So I offer this. Reliving the past is bull. Today is good. I eat better candy now than I ate as a child. I will not be hoodwinked by those taffy peanut butter things in either orange or black wrappers again. They are gross. I will obtain my sugar fix on something better, like a Belgian hazelnut chocolate or an almond cake that requires it’s own pan.

Those days were good to me in my figure skater outfit, or princess garb.. the bag of jelly beans, the clown. I was a girl with a varied and interesting costume past and I was a girl who ate crap candy because I could.

Not glorified. Just the truth.

And the truth about me now in my adulthood Halloween state?

Last year I gave out pencils. Of course they had a bubble wand in the top… but I was the house that gave out pencils. Say it with me… “Bah.”

Sad, sad days.

Crabapples.

I have crab apple trees in my neighborhood. They line both sides of the boulevard I live on and I LOVE them. In the spring they are all shades of pink with a sweet perfume that wafts around swirling and making you know without a doubt that spring has sprung. In the summer they are green lush and in the fall the bold red of their inedible apples is in stark contrast to the greens of their leaves. In the winter they catch and hold snow with dedication known to few.

And then there is the one small week to two weeks a year they gross me out, and that time is now.

This is the time of the year when the apples fall off the tree branches when the wind is gusting. There are crab apples hiding out in the grass and they are somehow made worse worse by their numbers than sneaky land mines of dog or rabbit poo. There is no watching your step… there are just apples. There are apples in the street and on the driveway. They run in streams down the drainage carried on currents of rain.

They are little time bombs of grossness and they are sneaky. At first they are just cute and red and it is fun to see them all over everything… then they are moist from rain, warmed by sun and squished by feet or tires…

and then they ferment.

Sticky.

Stinky.

Staining.

Little crab apples of doom.

Still, I kind of revel in their putridness (not a word, but maybe should be) while out with my dog of the “must pee” variety. The falling and rotting of the apples is the first sign that there will be winter. First apples.. then seeing your breath at night.. then the leaves come down and then there is the waiting and praying and hoping for enough frosty nights for hills to turn on the blowers and to falsify god’s gift to skiers everywhere.

This is my ode to apples, by which I mean snow.
Sarah

Putting your future in your present…

This weekend there were a lot of conversations I was privy to that circled around not putting things off and the power we give to, or take away from our words.

So, for example saying, “I’m going to be a writer” or “I’m going to write” would point to someday in the future; which would leave great opportunity to not hold true to your word. Not holding true to your word would in turn negate the power of your word.

The power of our word is crucial, because what more are we, if we are not our words?

Yes, this is lofty and serious already… bear with me please.

If I am to take my future and put it in my present, I would say instead, “I’m being a writer.” To honor my word so that it retains it’s power, then I would need to act as a writer would to maintain integrity between my words and my actions.

So, here in lies my point. (for those of you who have read my writing before, I sometimes get to one and thank you for bearing with me)

I am being a writer, and therefore must take actions consistent with that in order to honor, or give power to my word.

I’m writing.

Welcome to Stuff Sarah Says, the spot where I am BEING a writer.

Years ago my mother gave me a print of a poem by Mary Anne Redmacher – Hershy. It was something I always went back to and pondered, but it has much greater meaning to me today and I’ll illegally reproduce it here for you now.

“Live with Intention

listen hard.

walk to the edge.

practice wellness.

play with abandon.

laugh.

choose wtih no regret.

appreciate your friends.

do what you loe.

live as if this is all there is.”

So here is one part of my making my intentions my realities. To honor being a writer, I must write. And now that I have made this declaration that I am a writer, I must continue to do so. Hold me to it, as I hold myself to it, and we will just enjoy the ride as we go.

Saying stuff,

Sarah