dogging my steps

In case anyone wonders where the phrase "dogging her steps" comes from, let me assure you, it is simply very very descriptive. Before Mary left for college, Shelby would follow me around in the morning, wagging his tail and dogging my steps a bit until I took him for a walk. Then he would spend most of the rest of the day sleeping in Mary's room.

Now he follows me up down and in out of every single room every single time I change locations--which is quite frequently!! He pulls himself out of a dead sleep if I decide to go downstairs or upstairs. And usually I have to retrace my steps several times, retrieving a cell phone, a coupon, a dirty dish, a book, and Shelby dear is with me every step of the way. I hardly need to walk him anymore, since he gets plenty of exercise all day long. He is getting old, about 15, and has some arthritis, so it is very sad watching the poor dear gather himself together to descend and ascend the stairs a bit haltingly, one at a time. I have taken to closing my bedroom door, leaving him inside, that way he can't follow me.

He used to sleep in Eliz's room, but then she left; he moved to Mary's room and now she has left. And Stephen is an inconsistent visitor. Who can blame the poor old mutt for being a little paranoid? I'm starting to feel that way myself. :)

Far from the Madding Crowd

I love Thomas Hardy. I love his deliciously depressing poetry. "Channel Firing" is on my top ten list, and I have it memorized forward and back. Hearing one of my profs recite it in an English class was one of the highlights of my undergraduate life. And "The Darkling Thrush" rates up pretty high as well. (I leant upon a coppice gate/when Frost was spectre grey/and Winter's dregs made desolate/the weakening eye of day) So when I read Hardy's novel Far from the Madding Crowd for a book group, I was surprised and a bit let down. I was expecting something more along the lines of Tess of the d'Urbervilles or Return of the Native--nice depressing fatalistic stuff--though I'm not a fatalist myself. The whole time I was reading, I kept expecting something dreadful to happen: Bathsheba's vanity to bring her to ruin, Gabriel's steadfastness to bring him to ruin, and Francis Troy's careless gallantry to be the probable catalyst of all the ruin. And while it is true that Boldwood did come to a somewhat tragic end, the reader didn't feel too tragically about it since that made way for the right man to get the beautiful heroine. (And Boldwood's love for her is the most anemic of all. Hardy might have fleshed out a little more of his personality to account for such foolishness--total oblivion to total infatuation.) All in all, and in respect for Hardy, I would give the book a "thumbs out" (not down, not up).

The development of the characters, as I already mentioned was not too impressive. Bathesheba is beautiful, which is, I suppose, a reason to find her sympathetic; at any rate that fact worked well for all of the suitors in the story. But we only get unfullfilling development of her character, and in several cases the details of her vanity and the early picture of her did not jive with her unusual drive--unusual for that time period–to run the farm herself.

Gabriel is somewhat better developed. His restraint, competence, long suffering, and faithfulness make him a sympathetic character. (Though I kept hoping he would meet up with Fanny Robin and run off with her.) And I suppose Francis Troy's character had to remain stagnant because we didn't want to feel too terribly sad when he was shot. And since he was still a cad, well, hmm, bye bye, nice knowing you. But I really didn't think Hardy should mind terribly if we mourned him, so why not make him a bit more interesting and repentant before the big bang at the end?

And Bathesheba, darling that she is, never gets over her infatuation with him. Yes, she recognizes Troy for what he is, but she is still enthralled by him, and would have let him back into her life, albeit to mostly suffer. Only after a lot of trauma and drama do we find her turning to Gabriel, when all the other choices are off the table. Really not all that impressive a heroine.

I almost wish I hadn't read the book because I've always loved the title–it's a good title to just repeat to yourself in poignant moments of life; even though no one is actually sure what it means in relation to the story, other than madding means insane or passionate, and it is taken from a line of poetry by Thomas Gray called "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Now that I've read the book, the longing and romance of the title is somewhat lost. (But with a little time, I will regain it.)

Still despite my bit of dissillionment with it, the story did keep me turning pages, and I remember why I don't read novels much anymore: I just have to find out what happens! And nothing else much gets done in my life till I find out. Also on the plus side, there were some good Hardyesque poetic lines of description:

The sky was clear, and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse. The North Star was directly in the wind's eye, and since evening the Bear had swung round it outwardly to the east, till he was now at a right angle with the meridian. A difference of colour in the stars--oftener read of than seen in England--was perceptible here. The sovereign brilliancy of Sirius pierced the eye with a steely glitter, the star called Capella was yellow, Aldebaran and Betelgueux shone with a fiery red.

To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement.

This was only Hardy's second novel; it came out in serial form and no doubt was written more for the publication than for Hardy. I don't want to complain too much because later on in his life when Hardy became famous, people were always having fits about his novels. Which is why he turned to poetry and gave up novel writing. So all in all I have no hard feelings about the story and may still read more of his works--I hope they are not too depressing! :)

New Moon wolfs down $140.7M opening weekend

If you missed the numbers on the "New Moon" weekend here they are:

"New Moon" placed third on the all-time domestic chart behind last year's $158.4 million opening weekend for the Batman blockbuster "The Dark Knight" and 2007's $151.1 million haul for "Spider-Man 3."

Among the top-10 all-time openings, "New Moon" is the only one that came outside of Hollywood's busiest time, the summer season. The movie adaptation of Meyer's next "Twilight" chapter, "Eclipse," arrives in the heart of summer, next June 30.

On Friday, "New Moon" set an all-time domestic high for opening day with $72.7 million, topping the previous record of $67.2 million by last year's "The Dark Knight."

twilight reply

I wrote such a long reply on Allysha's blog about Twilight that I thought I would post it here (slightly expanded) since Mary and Eliz probably won't read it there, and they might find it interesting.

Enjoyed your comments about Twilight. I didn't realize until you mentioned it that I didn't like the fourth book either. (Though that was the book where I saw the most Mormon theology-- I haven't read any reviews of the similarities.) But I think I let myself live with the characters less critically, so I didn't hate them--just some of the plot. Since I find many of the characters rather swoon-worthy, I didn't blame them for any foibles of the plot. :)

Also, I am still ever-so-impressed that a young mother of three who had never written even so much as a short story did such an amazing job. That woman certainly does not lack for plot ideas. It could be her blessing and curse. A little more development of the twists and turns would have been better. The book--till book 4--moved through numerous plot intricacies at break neck speed. (No pun intended.)

Still I remain very impressed with her. And to think she did not even start out to write a book, much less a blockbuster. The story just poured out of her. I remember having strange fantasies when I was young--fantasy life fades a great deal with age, for better or worse; but I never went out on a limb and tried to write a story. Yet a lot of the best things in my life happened when I took myself out of my comfort zone. I have a huge tendency to "cocoon." What a ride she has had! (Oh and by the way, after the first book, someone else was probably doing the vacuuming--which imho is a great blessing. After a certain amount of vacuuming, you really don't need any further experience with it. )

From today's paper: Edward's bumper sticker: "I can totally be a pain in the neck!"; Jacob's bumper sticker, "My bark is not worse than my bite!" Ha ha! I find the whole hoopla very entertaining. And really who can complain when the whole teenage female world is reading (and watching pg movies) that we can choose to overcome our baser "animal" instincts, love triumphs over all, no sex before marriage is a possibility, babies are wonderful and a "must have" even for vampires, and although parents are quirky and flawed you can still love them and want to be in relationship with them. Yes, yes, I know the nuances of reality are missing, and the books would have been better with them, and real love is not like Twilight love. But still, a few–too many–smoldering eyes evoke a smile in addition to the eye roll; and probably most of us have experienced similar heart-racing moments that, usually, came to nothing--or perhaps matured into something.

I'll be going to see the movie, but I'll wait till Mary comes home for Christmas, otherwise I would be in line with her for the first showing. She will have seen it when she gets here, but will want to see it again.

PS: I do smirk a bit when I picture the BYU English Department profs being a tad stunned and horrified at the same time. But I suspect they will eventually invite her back for a lecture or two.

PSS: I tried to get those pics to load as a "large" file, but they wouldn't! You'll have to get your own poster. :)

the meaning of life

The other evening Russ and I were bantering about nothing in particular. I was sitting at the computer, so I asked him what he wanted me to google. “Oh, the meaning of life” he said jokingly. So I googled it. And sure enough Wikipedia had an entry–I love Wikipedia: The meaning of life constitutes a philosophical question concerning the purpose and significance of human existence or biological life in general.

Then there followed an amazing array of isms and their respective takes on the meaning of life (mol):

Platonism, Aristotelianism, Cynicism, Cyrenaicism, Epicureanism, Stoicism, Classical liberalism, Kantianism, Utilitarianism, Marxism, Nihilism, Pragmatism, Existentialism, Absurdism (I’m not making these up), Secular humanism, Logical positivism, Postmodernism, Naturalistic pantheism, Zoroastrianism, Judaism, Christianity ism, Islam ism, Bahai’I Faith ism, Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism, Shintoism, Taoism, Confucianism! Plus the meaning of life in popular culture: The Highhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, The Simpsons, The Matrix and more.

You are probably all dying to know what the meaning of life is according to The Simpsons. But alas, apparently in this episode, just as the audience is about to find out, the credits start to roll and the end music plays over the explanation from God; the viewer never finds out. Sigh.

But if you want to know what different peoples have thought through the centuries, here are a few random, interesting, cribbed (very narrow) summaries:

Platonism. The meaning of life is in attaining the highest form of knowledge, which is the Idea (Form) of the Good from which all good and just things derive utility and value. Human beings are duty-bound to pursue the good.

Aristotelianism. Aristotle argued that ethical knowledge is not certain knowledge, but is general knowledge. Because it is not a theoretical discipline, a person had to study and practice in order to become ‘good,’ thus if the person were to become virtuous, he could not simply study what virtue is, he had to be virtuous, via virtuous activities. The good has rightly been defined as the object of all endeavor: Everything is done with a goal, and that goal is ‘good.’

Cynicism states that the purpose of life is living a life of Virtue that agrees with nature. Happiness depends upon being self-sufficient and master of one’s mental attitude; suffering is consequence of false judgments of value, which cause negative emotions and a concomitant vicious character. The Cynical life rejects conventional desires for wealth, power, health, and fame, by being free of the possessions acquired in pursuing the conventional.

Epicureanism states that the greatest good is in seeking modest pleasures, to attain tranquility and freedom from fear via knowledge, friendship, and virtuous, temperate living.

Marxism says the meaning of life is to serve one another, in peace and with integrity as equal and just beings.

Existentialism says that each man and woman creates the essence (meaning) of his and her life; life is not determined by a supernatural god or an earthly authority, one is free. As such, one’s ethical prime directives are action, freedom, and decision. In seeking meaning to life, the existentialist looks to where people find meaning in life, in course of which using only reason as a source of meaning is insufficient; the insufficiency of reason gives rise to the emotions of anxiety and dread felt in facing one’s radical freedom, and the concomitant awareness of death.

Humanism affirms our ability, and responsibility, to lead ethical lives of personal fulfillment that aspire to the greater good of humanity. Humanists promote enlightened self interest and the common good for all people. The happiness of the individual person is inextricably linked to the well-being of humanity, as a whole, in part, because we are social animals, who find meaning in personal relations, and because cultural progress benefits everybody living in the culture.

Buddhism believes that life is suffering or frustration. Which does not mean that there is no pleasure in life, but this pleasure does not cause everlasting happiness. The suffering is caused by attachment to objects material or non-material which in turn causes one to be born again and again in the cycle of existence. The Buddhist does not speak about “the meaning of life” or “the purpose of life," but about the potential of human life to end suffering through detaching oneself from cravings and conceptual attachments. Nirvana means freedom from both suffering and rebirth.

Taoism symbolizes the unity of opposites between yin and yang.

The Taoists cosmogeny emphasizes the need for all sentient beings and all man to return to the primordial or to rejoin with the Oneness of the Universe by way of self cultivation and self realization. The meaning in life is to realize the temporal nature of the existence. Only introspection can then help us to find our innermost reasons for living...the simple answer is here within ourselves.

Jainism promotes self discipline above all else. Through following the ascetic teachings of Jina, one can achieve enlightenment (perfect knowledge). Happiness is the result of self-conquest and freedom from external objects. Jains believe all souls are equal because they all possess the potential of being liberated and attaining Moksha. The Jain view of karma is that every action, every word, every thought produces not only a visible but an invisible transcendental effect on the soul.

The Baha’i Faith views humans as intrinsically spiritual beings. Our lives in this material world provide extended opportunities to grow and to develop divine qualities and virtues, and the prophets were sent by God to facilitate this.

Logical positivism say that a person’s life has meaning (for himself and others) in relation to the life events resulting from his achievements, legacy, family, et cetera, But, to say that life itself has meaning, is a misuse of language, since any note of significance, or of consequence, is relevant only to the living, so rendering the statement erroneous.

Postmodernist thought sees human nature as constructed by language, or by structures and institutions of human society. Anything resembling a ‘meaning of life,’ in postmodernist terms, can only be understood within a social and linguistic framework. In other words we do not know what we know with certainty; we only know what we know relative to the tradition within which our knowledge is articulated. There is no firm place to stand outside of our traditions that would provide us with the possibility of purely objective discernment. I achieve a certainty only within and with respect to the traditions and communities of which I am a part.

Sikhism. The term “sikh” means student, which denotes that followers will lead their lives forever learning. Salvation can be obtained by following various spiritual paths, so Sikhs do not have a monopoly on salvation: “The Lord dwells in every heart, and every heart has its own way to reach Him.” Sikhs believe that all people are equally important before God. Sikhs balance their moral and spiritual values with the quest for knowledge, and they aim to promote a life of peace and quality but also of positive action.

Well I doubt you’re still with me, but if you are, I will also give a definition from Viktor E. Frankl Man’s Search for Meaning. I started reading this little book a month or two ago just because I ran onto while I was cleaning. I had read it in college and have often thought about some of Frankl’s profound and moving examples from his experiences as a prisoner at Auschwitz. Particularly his insight of “the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” I had put it down for a few days, but then picked it up randomly shortly after the googling-of-the-meaning-of-life episode. I hadn’t really put the two together or even thought about the fact that Frankl’s book is a treatise on the meaning of life—duh–it’s in the title. But when I picked it up again, I read this:

“We had to teach the despairing men, that it did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life—daily and hourly.

“According to logotherapy [Frankl’s theory], the striving to find a meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man. That is why I speak of a will to meaning.”

“Man is never driven to moral behavior; in each instance he decides to behave morally. Man does not do so in order to satisfy a moral drive and to have a good conscience; he does so for the sake of a cause to which he commits himself, or for a person whom he loves, or for the sake of his God.”

Anyway all these ideas and beliefs about life make for fruitful meditations. So many profound and overlapping views—I was quite taken with Cynicism, Taoism, and Marxism, among others. Oh and I forgot to mention Wikipedia’s take on Christianity:

Christianity Life's purpose in Christianity is to seek divine salvation through the grace of God and intercession of Christ. I thought that line, without a good deal of unpacking (which should be said about all of the above), was a bit anemic, and preferred this line from the Westminster Confession, further down in the reference: Man's chief end is to glorify God, and enjoy him forever.

Well there you have a few musings on the mol.

PS: The caption for that three-paneled pic above is: Hans Memling's The Last Judgment, which depicts St Michael the Archangel weighing souls and driving the Damned towards Hell. Kinda cool, huh? (I still have not figured out to arrange things on a post!)

Jeppsen art gene

I got an email from Uncle Scott, as in Scott and Joyce or Joyce and Scott. He sent me some pics that Spencer had drawn. They are quite amazing, so I wanted to pass them along. It is nice to see that the Jeppsen art gene is in good use in so many of the grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Apparently Spence is also a Dylan Thomas fan; Scott had noticed the quote from "Fern Hill" that is on the bottom of all my emails. Great minds think alike.

The drawings are of Dylan Thomas, J.R. Tolkien, and I believe the 3rd is of a famous actor or statesman--I can't quite place him. But obviously with such distinguished good looks he is quite famous.

pray for a really good time

I was thinking about having fun, as in “We had fun in Gatlinburg” or “Having an empty nest might be fun.” And I was reminded of the prayers my son Stephen gave when he was young. At the end of his prayer he would say something like “and bless us that we’ll all have a good time.” And being a rather outgoing child, he would offer this prayer with a good deal of gusto, sometimes substituting "great" for "good." When he first started praying this way, I didn’t say anything, assuming that he would very soon outgrow the “having fun” prayer. I did do some introspection at that time, wondering where I had gone wrong—apparently I hadn’t done enough praying for the “sick and afflicted” with my children, as we had always said in prayers when I grew up.

But when the prayer for a good time developed into a pattern, I felt I should ever-so-casually mention that perhaps praying for a good time was certainly nice and nothing was exactly wrong with it, still it wasn’t entirely biblical and wasn’t quite like praying that we would be “instruments of Thy peace” or that “we may glorify You,” or that “Thy kingdom come Thy will be done.”

My comments didn’t make much of an impact on his prayers really, and I started thinking, “Well of course, after all, God does indeed want us to have a good time. He created us that we might have joy, and if you’re having joy well then you’re probably having a relatively good time.” However, after having sat through more than my share of joy vs happiness Sunday school lessons, I wasn’t so sure that having joy corresponded all that closely to having a good time. Still it seemed unlikely that God wouldn’t want us to have a good time.

So in the end, I decided that as long as we wanted everyone to have good time, and were willing to work and suffer with those that were having a really bad time in order that one day they too might have a good time, well then that was certainly biblical. It is likely that if we are content to have just a really good time ourselves, we will become shallow, and, in addition, it is likely that we very soon won’t be having a good time—if only because of anxiety—the nearly universal malaise of our time. Unfortunately, when things are not going so well, we often whine about it instead of recognizing that helping others is the key element of having a really good time.

twenty-five years and counting

In honor of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary did I: a. buy silverplate at a garage sale; b. dye my hair red; c. get a tattoo; d. get a second ear piercing; e. all of the above?

Twenty-five years ago, on November 9th we got married. Ten months after the wedding we had sweet Elizabeth, and three months before our 25th anniversary, Mary, our last baby, left for college. So after 25 years of kids being the focus of our world, it's a little strange to be sorta kidless. Of course, you are never kidless once you start, but still it is different when you are no longer responsible for all or even some of their comings and goings and doings.

To celebrate, we went to Gatlinburg, mainly because we thought we ought to do something more than go out to eat since it was, after all, our 25th anniversary. Gatlinburg is the "Gateway to the Smokies," but has devolved into Tacky t-shirts of the World Mecca. I used to enjoy browsing through the rows of trinkets and souvenirs, but after cleaning through junk at my own house for the past few months and just living long enough to outgrow some things, we skipped that activity. Actually it seemed like a lot of people were skipping that activity, and we wondered how those rows and rows of stores with the very same tacky merchandise stay in business. And how those blocks and blocks and blocks of hotels stay in business. Ditto for all the restaurants.

It was heavenly weather, however, and many trees were still in full color. Our biggest excitement was riding the tram up the mountain to the ski resort, Ober Gatlinburg, which we had never done before, and then riding the slides down the hill! That was a thrill and at least gave us something to tell the kids, Mary in particular, who always wants to make sure we are having the requisite amount of fun together. (The pic of the slides at the top of the page is only a fraction of the length.) Plus Russ got me a lovely aquamarine necklace and earrings, and I got him a Buck knife. I guess you have to have some special treasures to pass on to your grandkids or great grandkids--"We got this on our twenty-fifth anniversary!" So even though we didn't end up with the Gatlinburg t-shirts like we had at first planned, we did help out the general economy. Apparently I haven't changed all that much.

We ended up having a pretty good time. Usually for me if the kids aren't coming with us, I just as soon stay home. Who knows, maybe this empty nest thing will be fun.

Ohmygosh!

This stroller is so awesome I'm thinking of adopting--or, on second thought, perhaps just pushing Shelby around the neighborhood! Some friends and I are doing a baby shower for a single-mom-to-be with hardly anything. So we decided to get some big items on Craigslist to make the money go farther. I found this incredible stroller--Graco Metro Lite--with carseat for only $50, and it includes two bases! For all you out of touch folks, bases stay in the car and you just snap the car seat into the base! Wahlah! PLUS the car seat snaps into the stroller as well--I tell you there is no end to the wonders of this set. True, you may need a degree in engineering to remember all the clever stuff the combo does, but it would be worth it to get the degree!

I've become quite an expert on strollers by the way. I decided the big ones are just too heavy, some are 35 pounds or more. So when I found this Metro Lite I was very entranced. The people who owned it had two girls use it and it still looks brand new! Had I known two kids had been through it, I wouldn't even have called on it because I want new-looking, if not new stuff for Lerissa. I have been having a great time picking out a portable crib, clothing and various other baby stuff. I even made a designer sheet to go on the portable crib. (It's hard to find anything but white in portable crib sheets.) It's chocolate brown and turquoise. Plus I found a Carter's diaper bag of the same colors. Fun fun!

I started to think, wow! when my kids have kids I'll just go crazy. Then I realized, uh, probably not. They won't let me pick out the colors and stuff, and certainly not on Craigslist! But now I'm having a ton of fun. Lerissa can't say yea or nay about anything, and if she hates it and throws it out, I won't even know! Perfect.

a remembering table for mother - day of the dead

El dia de los muertos, November 2nd. It's a shame North America does not have such a tradition as Day of the Dead as they do in South America. There are many, many variations on this holiday, but basically it is a time to remember and tell stories about relatives and loved ones who have died--the veil between the living and the dead is supposed to be particularly thin on this day. Usually there is an "altar" that the family decorates with pictures, food, and things that recall the life of an ancestor. Just planning and decorating the altar is an opportunity to recall the life and personality of the loved one. In Mexico there are big family gatherings where family members tell stories about the loved one, and in the evening the family goes to the grave site to have a picnic. Sometimes they keep vigil all night. What a wonderful idea! So much more soul in that celebration than in our somewhat anemic Memorial Day, which evolves each year closer and closer to Vacation Day. Perhaps part of the reason that such a great tradition has not seeped much across the border is that the idea of an altar frightens us. Altars are too closely tied to religion and sacrifice and worship. We don't want to worship our ancestors. That's why I think we should call it a Remembering Table instead of an altar.

So this year I made a remembering table in honor of my mother. I put a few fall leaves on the table, some rocks, a drawing pencil and an apple. I could have put a dozen other items, but I thought I would start small.

With all the beautiful fall leaves, I had been thinking of my mother anyway. Many times we had walked together in my neighborhood in the fall; we could never get very far without stopping to pick up another exquisite fall leaf to take home. Today I headed out on a walk/run and immediately found a very lovely stem of oak leaves. I picked it up and carried it as I ran, feeling a bit like an Olympic runner carrying a torch of bright red leaves. But as I continued on picking up more leaves, the Olympic feeling disappeared--hmm, could be another post? But this was a day for remembering mother, not for imagining grandeur. I came in and put the leaves on my remembering table with the other things. I thought about all the glowing comments made by her art students that I and my siblings had found a few weeks ago written in one of her old school yearbooks. I thought about my mother as a small child, and as a young bride, a young mother, a teacher, a friend, a grandmother and great grandmother.

Halloweening on an empty nest

A few weeks ago Russel asked me what we were going to do for Halloween--now that no kids are at home. I suggested turning off all the lights, locking the doors, and heading to a restaurant. Russ didn't say much, just, "Oh not do Halloween, huh?" But as the day approached he opined that maybe we could get just one pumpkin (he has always carved everyone's pumpkin--with each person's own design) and maybe put up a decoration or two. So we did a few decorations and put out a pumpkin, bought some candy and waited for the trick or treaters. No one came for an hour or so and we mourned the loss of good ol' house-to-house trick or treating. In Knoxville at least, church Halloween parties and trunk or treating have made great efforts to stamp out the unsafe and unholy practice of trick or treating.

But then a few treaters trickled by, and then a few more. We even discovered that three years ago our neighbors in the cul-de-sac just a few doors down had moved! A new family had moved in with two small children. For Halloween, one dressed as an adorable tin man and one as dracula. The young mother had on gorgeous, sparkling, ruby red heels. It was fun to meet our neighbors.

We have had a family Halloween tradition of having chicken soup with rice for dinner before the kids go off in costume--usually with Dad when they were younger. I started this tradition, with ulterior motives, because I knew if you have a full stomach, candy looks ever-so-much less appealing, at least after a couple first, thrilling pieces. And on Halloween night with all the hubbub and getting costumes ready, and meeting up with friends, dinner time can go by unnoticed. The tradition worked well over the years, and, as a good tradition will, ingrained itself into the fabric of the holiday, so that even when the kids were older and had little interest in stopping for dinner anywhere, much less at home, they always felt like they needed at least a small bowl of the soup or they had not had the full Halloween experience.

But this Halloween we ended up having salmon because it had been in the fridge a couple of days and had to be cooked. But next year, I plan on making chicken soup with rice--cooking once, cooking twice, cooking chicken soup with rice!