5 Minutes: Halloween memories

The next writing prompt for Your Life in 5 Minutes is this:

What is one of your best Halloween memories: a costume? trick-or-treating? gorging on candy? parties? carving pumpkins?

Obviously, I'm behind schedule here. That's okay. This isn't for you, it's for me.

I love Halloween. It's such a fun holiday. It's just very childlike and it's a great excuse to be silly again. But the memories I have of childhood Halloweens aren't the most positive. I'm a little bitter, to be honest. I never got to have the door-to-door trick-or-treating experience. I guess our little city wasn't necessarily the safest, but I think my mom was a little over-protective about the tradition. When I did go trick-or-treating, she would drive me around to people we knew, I'd get out of the car, run up to the door, and then come back to the car. As a parent now, I can understand the concern, but it was pretty lame at the time.

In sixth grade, I was invited to a Halloween party by a friend at school. (It was a really big deal to me, because I was typically a bullied kid, and didn't have friends. This particular girl, and her twin brother, had transferred to my school just for the last year, and they had a Halloween party every year. That year was no different...the invited all their friends from the old school, and were each allowed to invite two friends only from the new school. I was one of those. You can't imagine how excited I was.) There was food, a costume contest, a pumpkin carving contest, and the part I was most excited about: door-to-door trick-or-treating in their neighborhood! I didn't care about any of the rest of the activities. It was a surreal experience for me to finally get to do it the traditional way. Their parents followed along behind our group, and I dutifully didn't eat any of the candy until I got home and my mom could inspect it (which I did for my own daughter this year), but it was so exciting for me.

The other thing I wasn't crazy about as a kid was that once my sister was born, my mom often coordinated our costumes -- Peter Pan (me) and Tinkerbell (her). Bo Peep (me) and her sheep (her). It's not that I didn't like the costumes, just that I didn't get to choose them myself. But I will admit, I had pretty awesome costumes in general. Several of them were mom-made, and she always did a good job. Even those that weren't mom-made (like Bo Peep) were great outfits. And I can't say that I might not do the same thing in my own family. I have a friend who does family themes with their costumes. Three years ago, they dressed as a 50's family -- him in a white t-shirt and tight jeans, with greased hair, her in a poodle skirt and ponytail, and the baby in a similar skirt. Two years ago, she dressed as the Cowardly Lion, her husband was the Tin Man, her mom (who was in town visiting) was Glinda, her stepdad was the Scarecrow, and her little girl was Dorothy. It was really cute. Last year, they did Alice in Wonderland. My friend was the Queen of Hearts, her husband the Mad Hatter, their older daughter was Alice, and the new baby was the White Rabbit. I like the family theme, but Ben is a little humbug-y for it, I think.

Anyway, here are some fun blast-from-the-past Halloween pictures. My parents and sister will probably be mad at me for posting them, because they're in some of them, but oh well.

First up, Halloween 1985. That's my mom on the left, and my dad on the right. My mom had helped make costumes for the big LDS dance festival in LA that year, and she had leftover fabric from it. A lot of striped polyester.

Here's a little closer up on me:

Now on to 1986. My mom made this dress. I actually really love it. I hope I can put it on Julie in a few years.



And now, 1988. My sister's first Halloween. Yeah, she's pretty much going to kill me for the rest of these photos.

1990. I did a Girl Scout Halloween party this year (or the next one?) in this costume, and everyone thought I was Robin Hood. I guess I just needed my Tinkerbell with me.

Finally, 1991. I'm not particularly fond of this one, but it's a nice costume. Candice and I went together well.

One costume I couldn't find a picture of (I think it must have been after my mom stopped doing my scrapbooks) was Snow White. I didn't like it because it was a great costume or because I love Snow White (she's actually probably my least favorite Disney princess), but because I have fun memories of that year. My great-aunt always threw a huge Halloween bash at her house every year, but it was always more "mature" -- definitely not for kids. One year, my aunt got married, and decided to have a theme wedding at Auntie Yiyi's house. The wedding was on October 30th, and the colors were black and white. Everyone was asked to just come in their Halloween costumes, and the reception turned into the party later in the night. I was uncomfortable with the idea of dressing up (or down, as it were) for a wedding, so I wore a Snow White costume (and wig!) that we had. It was kind-of itchy, but I just remember the whole evening being so much fun. I got to spend time with my aunt as she got ready for her wedding, and with my cousins (who were always a blast). It was a fun year.

5 Minutes: It's elementary

Though not the most current, the writing prompt I left on for Your Life in 5 Minutes is this:

What is your earliest or favorite memory of an elementary school teacher?

I actually remember all my teachers' names, though not necessarily much about them. In kindergarten, I had Mrs. Armitage. First grade was Miss Wilkinson, second grade was Mrs. Stone (super mean), and later Mrs. Lebo (I moved). The rest become much more vivid. I remember that I really like Mrs. Wilkinson, though. She was really nice, and I remember my mom talking about her in a positive light. Also, the caption on this photo in my scrapbook says "Janelle and her WONDERFUL 1st grade teacher, Miss Wilkinson."



She's awarding me with a "super speller" award, January 27, 1987. Check out the totally awesome 80's hair goin' on! I do vaguely remember learning to tell time, and money-changing during class with Miss Wilkinson. And I also vaguely remember being teacher's pet, and a nasty snobby girl named Donna (I think) not liking me for it, because she wanted to be teacher's pet.

5 Minutes: Childhood in the Fall

Okay, I'm behind schedule from waiting for scrapbooks to come out of the attic, so now I have some catching up to do. The next writing prompt from Your Life in 5 Minutes is this:

What is a recurring childhood memory you associate with autumn? Back to school? Raking leaves? Harvesting or canning? Hayrides? Fall sports? (Not Halloween–we’ll get to that next week!)

I can't think of any one specific thing, really. I mean, nothing that seems particularly unique. But I guess the point of this exercise isn't to be different from everyone else, but rather to chronicle my own life, boring or exciting as it may be.

We went to pumpkin patches, and we had leaves. I grew up in Southern California, so we didn't have super chilly blustery Autumns. Today is November 1st, and I've been musing over the last 24 hours or so about how Halloween comes at a horrible time of year. What's the point of dressing up in a cool/fun/spooky/cute costume, if it ends up hiding under three extra layers of warmth anyway?

Fall, of course, means back to school. We always did the typical back-to-school photos, and got new lunchboxes, etc. Looking through my scrapbooks over the past few days, I've had the displeasure of reviewing all my first-day-of-school photos growing up.

This is a very unexciting post. I guess if I come up with more later, I'll add to it.

5 Minutes: Your childhood home

(Preface: I wrote this awhile ago, but have been waiting for my husband to bring scrapbooks down from the attic so I could go through them for pictures. Now that I have access to old photos I can scan, I will be keeping up with the 5 Minutes posts better.)

The Your Life in 5 Minutes blog will publish weekly writing prompts, but she has given three at the beginning, presumably just to jump start things. So while I've already done one within the last week, here's a second:

Write about your childhood home, or a place that was special to you as a child: the backyard, your grandma’s porch, the corner store. Why was it special? Who was there?

My childhood home. Well, I had two, I guess. There's a third that I also have fond memories of.

The first one is the house I lived in until I was 7 years old. It was on Apollo Avenue in Anaheim, CA, a quite cul-de-sac. While living there, I attended Betsey Ross Elementary School. I remember that the home was a small ranch style house. There was no basement, other than a three foot crawl space with dirt for a floor. We had a covered patio out back, where we frequently ate dinner when the missionaries would come over. We had a modest (though big enough for an only child who was still young and thought everything was big) backyard where I played with friends in the Summer, in a plastic kiddie pool (a new one every year). On the side of the house, between the house and the fence, we had a garden. I don't remember what we grew there, other than carrots. I have memories of going out to the garden with my dad, him helping me to pull a big fat carrot up out of the ground, taking it inside to wash it off, then cutting it up and eating it together. We lived close enough that I watched the fireworks from Disneyland every night. I don't remember this specifically, but my dad told me that even at two years old, I was up, watching those fireworks, at 9:35 every night. He hated it, because he knew that early already that I was a night person, and not a morning person.

(April 1987 -- my mom made my Easter dress. I think I still have it somewhere. I love this dress.)

I remember the layout of the inside of the house. When you walked in the door, if you turned left, you'd be in the kitchen. It was long, and at the end of it was our table and chairs. It opened into the living room, which I remember as being really big, but was probably only actually about as big as the living room in the house I currently own. We had a sectional sofa on one end, and a wall unit on the other end, with a TV and a VCR in it (a TV that my parents still own and use, by the way, despite a heavily distorted picture). There was also a (now) old stereo system with tall speakers and a turn table. There was a sliding door to go out to the patio and backyard. The back of the living room opened via bi-fold doors onto a bedroom, which was my mom's sewing room and dad's "study" (that's what we've always called his office). Out that door was the long hallway, which you could also get to by turning right from the front entry way. Across the hall from the sewing room was my room. I had a bed with a canopy on it, which I loved. At the end of the hall on the left was my parent's room. Their bathroom was a hideous mint green color, which, as luck would have it, is currently the color of my bathroom, along with maroon. At the direct end of the hall was the other bathroom, all brown. It was carpeted.

(Father's Day, June 1985)

I lived in this house until I was seven years old. We'd outgrown it. It was a small and modest home to begin with. My parents bought it before I was born, despite marrying young, and the fact that I arrived barely two years after they married. My dad has a mind for practicality, though, and refused to buy a house until after they'd accumulated a full year's worth of food storage. They did, and they still have some of those same cans.

A few months before my sister was born, many changes came to our family -- new cars and a new house. We moved across town while my mom was pregnant. Our home was now two stories, and on a busy street: Orangewood Avenue, but still in Anaheim.This house had a living room and a family room. There were three bedrooms upstairs, and one downstairs, though the downstairs one was a sewing room/office/organ room. My new bedroom was big, maybe even twice as big as my old one. (Okay, probably not, but to a seven year, it felt like it). This house had three gables in the front of it, one in each upstairs bedroom. Christmas lights on that house looked pretty awesome. I remember being 10 years old and sitting on the ridgepole of the (quite steep) roof, having gotten there by myself, to help my dad hang the lights. Later, I climbed out the windows -- the second-story windows -- of each bedroom to hang wreaths above them.

(May 1990)

(May 1990)

This house had an ample, if somewhat ugly backyard. There was a fence two-thirds of the way to one side of the yard, blocking off a dirt area. I'm not sure what it had been previously used for.

(April 1988)

(February 1990)

Eventually, both the front and back yards were re-landscaped. We were to host a wedding reception at our home, so we had to make it pretty. The wedding was called off in the early morning hours of the scheduled date. I can only imagine that after all the expense they put into the yard (front and back), that this must have been frustrated to my parents, initially. They might have preferred to do things more gradually, given the opportunity. No matter, though. We also had a playhouse in the backyard. I think my mom had always wanted one for her daughters. It was pink, with heart-shaped decor, and blue and white accents.

These are both after the relandscape. You can see some prettiness in the background.

(June 1992)

(November 1991)

We lived there until I was 14 and we moved to Oregon. I loved the time I lived in Oregon, but I don't think of it as my "childhood" home.

The other house I mentioned is my great-grandmother's. We visited her so often that it became as familiar to me as my own home. While she was really sick one time, my mom and I even moved to Paso Robles to live with her. I remember it being something like three months, but my mom tells me it was only six weeks. I finished kindergarten in Bobbo's home. I learned to read there. I pestered her neighbors to let me practice reading to them: "Pat on mat. Cat on Pat. Hat on cat. Hat on Pat with cat." Bobbo had a basement full of old trinkets and tools left behind when her husband passed away. I'm not sure it had ever been cleaned out. I remember going down there with my cousins, but there wasn't really room to play, unless it was hide-and-seek.

(October 2007)

The backyard, however, was great for playing. There was a hill at the top of it that was great for running down. She had a latticework enclosure at the back of the yard with grapevines growing inside. The whole outside of the house was covered with ivy, giving it a distinction and impressive appearance. I always felt happy pulling up to Bobbo's house.

(March 1989 -- my sister looking out the kitchen window into the backyard)

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to see each of these houses again. The first one I didn't even recognize. The color was different, there was a picket fence, and the shrubs and tree in front were all gone. I also didn't remember it being packed in so close to the houses on either side of it, so I nearly missed it. The second home was different, but still easily recognizable. I'd seen pictures of it a few times over the years -- I still had friends who lived nearby. Bobbo's house was quite a surprise. It didn't have the ivy that it used to (the people who bought it after Bobbo died had allergies, so they pulled it all off then, which I knew already). I was shocked at how small and unremarkable it looked to me. My grandmother had told me that the home had been sold again and was being used as a private library (I think). Something like that. She'd had the opportunity a few years earlier to walk through the home and reminisce a bit, thanks to the woman who owned it at the time (but didn't live in it). My grandma had grown up in that house, so that had meant a lot to her.

5 minutes: I was born...

Here's the first writing prompt for Your Life in 5 Minutes:

We don’t remember our births, but the stories we’ve heard about our birth or adoption are our natural starting point. What have you been told about your birth or adoption? Who told you?

By the time my sister and brother were born, I was seven-and-a-half and almost 12 years old, respectively, so I actually have a lot of pretty clear memories surrounding their entries into the world. I don't know a whole lot about my own, though. (now watch me write 10 paragraphs...)

My parents had miscarried not long before I was conceived. Based on how long the doctor told them they needed to wait, I probably shouldn't have happened when I did. Oh well.

I know my full name, date and time of birth, as well as the hospital, but I won't include them for safety reasons. I was 8 lbs., 13 oz., but I don't know how long I was.

My parents didn't know whether I'd be a boy or girl. I don't know what boy names they'd picked out, but for a girl, they had narrowed it down to Leah or Janelle, and pretty well settled on Leah. Until they saw me, that is. Then they decided that I looked more like a Janelle than a Leah.

My mom has an extensive collection of Jan Hagara artwork -- prints, dolls, figurines -- with which I've grown up. As long as I can remember, Mom has loved JH stuff. When I was 10 or 11 years old, I learned how and when my mom had started collecting her artwork. My mom had never heard of her, and she was looking for birth announcements for me, and she came across a package of notecards with JH art on them. She bought them, and fell in love with the artwork. (She can correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that's about how it went.)

Your Life in 5 Minutes

This blog has gotten slow as of late, and I think I've found a way to help pick it back up a little. Many of the women I know blog for one of two reasons: (1) to keep a journal/family history; and (2) to keep extended family in the loop with everyday goings-on. This will help me accomplish the first.

A woman I've met once or twice (maybe) who attends another ward near mine is a speaker, editor, and author, and focuses in writing one's own history. She has a blog called Your Life in 5 Minutes, where she issues a weekly writing prompt that will help record one's life stories. I've decided to take the challenge (even though it's not really a challenge). When it comes to really personal things, I might actually journal those, and not blog them. But for now, you can look forward to some memories.

I'll tag each of these posts with the label '5 minutes' so you can read them all if you want to by just search for that.

Will anyone else join me?