Yesterday Elihu had a friend over. A ‘boy’ boy. By the end of the day every single bloody rc toy we had in the house – which had been neatly mated with their controllers, thank you very much – was out somewhere on the floor or kitchen table. Man, this is one reason I’m glad to have only one child. I’m pretty pissed about it today. I’d spent hours getting them all organized, and then in a matter of one unsupervised hour some stupid little nine year old boy has undone all my work. My kid, on his own, would put things back. He’d try them one by one, ascertain what worked, what didn’t, and put them back. Easy. Apparently, I am lucky to have such a child. So now I can’t get a toy to work and I’m missing a bunch of the panels that secure the batteries.

My handiwork in the coop has not turned out to be so handy. Last night the roosting bars I’d made a few weeks back succumbed to the jostling of our 17 flighted birds. This morning they were merely a tumbled mess of over-priced lumber covered in poop. Not sure I have screws long enough to fix them properly.

This is day three of a stopped up bathtub. I used the plunger as best as I could, but it made little improvement. Don’t have any liquid plumber around, so I’ve just kinda put it at the bottom of the list. I would really like to take a shower today. Not sure how yet.

I’ve taught a lesson today day, done the laundry, washed the dishes and made meals, so will finally get to the coop fixes now, with only an hour left of daylight. I can’t find two good double A batteries that work, I’m out of inspiration to fix the roosts, I need a shower and I’m getting crabby. Plus my kid is bored and wants me to entertain him.

I’ll do my best. Then, after it’s dark and the birds are safely in, I think we’ll make a trip to Walmart for some batteries and drano. Can’t wait for that shower.

Tonight I’d had it. I was out of steam. Couldn’t summon the inspiration to cook a meal. I was just out of ideas, tired at the idea of conjuring something clever and tasty for my son’s dinner yet again. I’m usually a pretty good cook, and I take some pride in being able to offer my child healthy, home cooked food. He is a fun person to cook for; he’ll try anything, he’s free with honest opinions and so we two make a good culinary pair. My approach, stripped down to the very essentials, involves seasoning or marinating a portion of meat for my son, pulling together some form of lightly cooked vegetable or salad and adding a starch of some sort. Elihu doesn’t prefer time-saving casseroles (the pot-o-glop style of cooking that my near ex and I relied on for years). Elihu doesn’t really care for rice or pasta either, and yet I’ll offer it to him, knowing full well that it is I alone who will polish it off – with so much sauce, butter and salt. (I try to fool myself, joining him in a lone salad, but my current dress size can vouch for the dishes of pasta and rice that I make for him, but consume mostly alone. Not sure why I continue to make them; is it the influence of my mother’s list of must-haves in a proper dinner? Culture? Just an excuse to eat it myself? Something I should address one day, no doubt.) I can make some tasty dinners, and do most every night, but just not today.

It was completely dark out by the time we’d done our chores and had come in the house, laying our books and bags on the big kitchen table. “I’ve had it!” I whined. “I just can’t do it tonight.” Usually supper doesn’t start for another hour yet, but the black of the kitchen windows told me it was time. Elihu suggested we find some munchies and just kinda snack instead. He’d already found the loaf of fresh bread I’d bought earlier in the day and was busy eating out all the soft centers, leaving a pile of round crusts for me. (Like Jack Sprat and his wife, we too have a symbiotic eating relationship – I adore the crusts alone, he does not.) “Let’s just do this” he said. “What?” “You know, just kinda eat what we can find”. Maybe not such a bad idea. I began to forage around in the pantry. I had to offer my growing kid protein, right? Snacking was fine, but what of substance could I add to the picnic? I must have wondered aloud, because Elihu shouted with instant enthusiasm “Spam!” Huh? Spam? That’s silly. Who actually has Spam? We don’t have any Spam. Then I remembered he’d come shopping with me a few days ago, and upon seeing the famous tin he’d recalled the Monty Python bit and had thrown it into the cart. I obliged if only for the humor of the moment. And now, here it was. Spam had become the cornerstone of our impromptu dinner. The rest of our feast consisted of a can of baby corn, a can of sauerkraut, some smoked almonds and bread. Done.

I poured us each a glass of seltzer water, and we sat at the tiny kitchen island munching away happily, with Elihu taking breaks to read from his new favorite book, Charlie Bone. It was such a contented meal. I was able to relax. Dishes would be easy. This was kinda nice.

What a lovely little party from our humble little pantry.

The day started with a fresh dusting of snow. Elihu and I had a cheerful morning, a really lovely one in fact, and as I watched his school bus disappear down the bending road I had hope in my heart for a good day to follow. The sun shone, and I set about to get some things done which I’d long postponed.

With the help of some local men I had dad’s harpsichord moved from the unheated Studio back to his home office. (Thankfully, south-facing windows had let in enough sun to prevent the room from becoming as cold as it was outside.) I then had them move the prehistoric suitcase Rhodes from my basement to the Studio. And finally, I had my new buddies transport a treadmill, a gift from a very kind piano student of mine, to my own home. My heart was euphoric when I fired it up for the first time. Walking, back in the day, was the only real exercise I ever took to. It was the key to my first major weight loss, my first 10K, even my mental health. I am determined not to use it as a giant clothes rack. And now, what with a family membership in the local Y costing upwards of $800 a year, my opportunity for a fresh start seems once again possible. I hope.

After that I knocked a few tedious errands off my list, and by the time Elihu’s bus dropped him off at home, I was feeling light of heart. While I try to keep my spirits hopeful in spite of things around me, my heart does not often feel like this. And I remembered again today that it feels good to feel good.

On top of all that feel-good stuff, Elihu and I went to the mall to enjoy a plate of bourbon chicken from the Cantonese family that runs the Famous Cajun Grill (what they serve is in no way Cajun inspired) and to see Happy Feet 2 in 3D. We arrived early to stake out our seats and were greeted at the door by our next door neighbor (such a nice surprise!). To pass the time until the movie started, Elihu went to jump around and get all sweaty in the large bouncy-bounce set up in the middle of the food court. I indulged in reading some energy-zapping tabloid for a bit, then we collected ourselves and made it to our seats in time for an epic run of previews.

The movie, being about birds who can groove, could not possibly have been more appropriately tailored to Elihu, my bird-loving, djembe-playing son. I watched him watching the movie. I watched as he lifted his arms in flight, as he tapped out rhythms on his lap, as he clasped his hands together in joy, marveling at what he beheld. Our day had been good, our evening perhaps better.

In the car we talk about the themes of the movie. He is the one who begins the discussion. He is outraged about what we are doing to the planet, to animals, to each other. Together we lament humanity’s situation, and together we reaffirm our resolve to live in the most loving, responsible way we can. The evening continues in warmth and joy.

But then I get home and after changing into my comfy bed clothes while Elihu works on a penguin drawing, I check my email to find I posted a rather personal message on someone’s Facebook wall. My ears get hot. So far, I’ve not done something this careless before. I tell myself we’re all human, things like this happen to everyone sometime. I tell my ego that I’m done with her, and that at the end of the day this crap doesn’t matter. Yet here I am, at the end of my day, and it I find it is mattering. Ugh. It’s been such a wonderful day, and now I’m here wallowing in embarrassment. It feels a bit as if I just hit the ‘reply all’ button. As I’m dwelling on it, alternating between making cases for feeling bad and cases for letting myself off the hook, Elihu comes into my room and interrupts my internal chaos.

He wants to show me what he’s just drawn.  His eyes are wide with anticipation of my audience. A smile begins to spread on his face. He hands me the paper, waiting for me to take it in. It’s pretty spectacular. He has drawn a puffin in the foreground with a vast, sweeping expanse behind. I can feel the space, the distance. The puffin has wonderful details – tiny white dots in the eyes, textured lines throughout his plumage – and he stands out, crisp and authentic. He has drawn a picture with such an impressive sense of perspective.

Ok, I think I can forgive myself this small mistake tonight. It’s been a blessed day, and there’s no need to ruin it. Thank you, Elihu, for reminding me what matters. Thanks for the perspective.

One of the many, trivial things that comes to mind as I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep, is the list of Halloweens Past. I fear that soon I will lose track. I go over them, checking my chronology, making yet another mental note to myself to write them down, lest they be gone forever. As I will never be a scrapbooking mom, nor am I great about actually sending and/or printing out photos, this is the single repository for my memories. Here they are…

Elihu’s 1st Halloween, 2003, 6 months.

Elihu’s very fist costume was that of Dom DeLuise as chef. Inspired by the big cheeks he inherited from his father, I donned the infant in a Chef’s costume, complete with black and white checkered pants, double-breasted white smock, painted-on beard and moustache, and wooden spoon. As I pushed his stroller down Main Street in Evanston we passed a Dachshund in a hotdog costume. I will never forgive myself for not stopping to get a picture of the two of them together. Some things live only in memory…

Elihu’s 2nd Halloween, 2004, at a year and a half.

I dressed him as a spider, in one of those pre-made costumes. I felt I was able to redeem it from its potentially average standing by the addition of my own costume which was that of ‘Little Miss Muffet’. I had a dress made years back for a medieval-themed Christmas party which featured a full skirt and tight, corseted bodice – just perfect for this fairy tail character. Elihu and I traveled to New York in order to visit my folks and go to a Halloween party that my family traditionally attended. I panicked when I realized I’d left my wood-tone plastic bowl back at home and had my assistant fed ex it to me at my parents’. I had to be eating my curds and whey, right? In the end, perhaps it was worth it. Little Miss Muffet and the Spider Who Sat Down Beside Her went over pretty well.

Elihu’s 3rd Halloween, 2005, 2 years old

This was the year of the train. So many young boys become Thomas converts, so many parents begin to learn the nuances of the Thomas culture. Ringo Starr or Alec Baldwin? No matter your narrator of choice, in the end one must fully embrace the experience. If one is really lucky, the child will catapult the parents into a world of steam-powered train trips and weekend excursions that truly widen one’s view of the world. Elihu wore real coveralls with a red bandana tucked in his hip pocket and an engineer’s hat. The epitome of innocence and pure childhood.

Elihu’s 4th Halloween, 2006, 3 years old

That year he went as a pile of leaves, and I chased him with a rake, playfully admonishing him to ‘get back here’ so I could rake him up. A red sweat suit with leaves hot glue gunned all over (complete with leaf covered shoes and hat) it was perhaps one of the most inventive costumes I have ever seen. I cannot take credit for it; I bought it for less than $10 on ebay from a woman whose name and info I still keep in hopes that one day I will thank her for all the joy she gave to us that season. !

Elihu’s 5th Halloween, 2007, 4 years

Ahh, this was the year of the cicada. I found my inspiration in the recent return of the Midwest’s 17 year version of the insect. What a costume. It was true to life in every way, down to the segmented abdomen and clear, veined wings. It was a masterpiece, and I’m still rather bummed I chose to give it away shortly before I moved to New York. Elihu carried with him a larger-than-life alarm clock which had been set to ‘summer’. The bit was that he’d slept late by a season. Cute.

Elihu’s 6th Halloween, 2008, 5 years old

Our first year on our own in our new home, here in upstate New York. At five, Elihu aspired to be like the impish six year old Calvin of the comic Calvin & Hobbes. In the strip the young hero creates an imaginary character; a space-exploring version of himself in wraparound shades and tubular shoulder pads called ‘Spaceman Spiff’. I was proud of my physical rendition, accurate down to the frap-ray blaster.

2009 Elihu’s 7th Halloween, 6 years old

Bald Eagle. The bird thing now in full swing, he decided to start at the top. What better choice than the patriotic emblem of his country? This year marked my first avian work, and a deeper exploration into the medium of paper mache. I feel I did a pretty good job of nailing the contours of the head; eyes eerily sunken and beak frighteningly hooked. The body and wings were still primitive, it was a form that would take another couple of seasons to get down. Elihu won ‘most original’ costume at the local firehouse although one of the grandma judges thought he was a chicken, which he found most insulting.

2010, Elihu’s 8th Halloween, 7 years old

This year our bird thing really took off. He decided to be a Turkey Vulture as we’d had a resident flock of them living on our property the year we’d moved here. It was a very appropriate choice for the holiday; Turkey Vultures eat dead bodies. I went to town on this headpiece, and the results were quite impressive. This was the year I discovered armature wire – a very bendy and sturdy frame on which to lay the paper mache. It enabled me to make a very long beak that jutted out about a foot in the front. I accompanied him as the grim reaper; what I killed, he ate.

2011, Elihu’s 9th Halloween, 8 years old.

Inspired by his love of birds and the desire to be something spooky, he decided on an Anchiornis this year. What is an Anchiornis? It is an early, feathered dinosaur. Modeled on an illustration by a friend (who paints birds professionally) we created our own, slightly tweaked version as there is no one on the planet who can definitively say what the creatures really looked like. While not as true to life as my creations in years past, this costume was probably the best success. Not only did it garner a prize, but its wings were very sturdy and moved a lot of air, something of top priority for Elihu. I took a little extra time on the legs, sewing the embellishments rather than just gluing them, and the result was a costume that survived a 14 hour day of holiday appointments.

We have yet to go trick-or-treating, that’s tonite. We’ve found our little routine here, and we always enjoy it. Starting with the mansions on North Broadway, we wind our way into the interior of the tree-lined neighborhoods and on our way make a couple of social calls to old family friends. One fellow has a party each year with grown-up food and wine for the callers, a nice treat for me. We’ll explore the inner courtyards of the homes whose matching carriage houses are now gorgeous homes themselves, we’ll follow the route that most appeals to us, and we’ll allow ourselves to live fully in the moment, floating in time, dreamlike and untethered to any formal plan. How surreal it feels to meander like this through the darkened streets, to hear the hushed sounds of anonymous voices all around us, to see glowing pumpkin faces shining out at us from from porches and doorways…

Then we’ll get in our car and head into the blackness of the countryside. When we arrive home, the big dump will be made on the kitchen table. We’ll sort, compare, trade and bargain for favorites, eat some now, store the rest in the mouse-proof refrigerator. Then we’ll brush our teeth, climb into bed and recount our evening.

One scary story later, it’s lights off and goodnight to another wonderful memory.

When I was five or six I had a dream which has stayed with me for all of my life.

I dreamt that my mother was fixing my Halloween costume just so, dabbing powder on my face, tugging at the waistline of my garment, making adjustments to the fabric, pinning things here and there and telling me to wait just one more minute… In the dream she fussed with my costume for so long that when I finally made it out the front door and onto the street, Halloween was over! The street was dark. There were no voices. I had missed it all. I missed Halloween getting ready for Halloween??!? The irony of it just killed me. No, it was too much – this was not possible! I never forgot the feeling of panic and heartbreak I awoke with after that dream. Never. If one believes the theory that dreams allow us to experience alternate outcomes as a warning for what not to do in one’s waking life, I can say that it’s served that purpose well through the years.

Many years ago I told my high school sweetheart about the dream, and as we are now still good friends, whenever I feel I’m close to missing some deadline he’ll say ‘oh no, it’s Halloween!’ and we’ll laugh. Life is a busy affair; everyone of us flirts with our own ‘missed Halloweens’ as we scurry to get it all done in time. When Halloween approaches each year I get a little nervous. I’ve always made a costume for Elihu which takes many, many hours (before he was around I spent those hours on my own costume). However daunting the goal, I always know I’ll pull it off – thanks in part to that dream – yet the week prior I’m never completely at peace. Although the real trick-or-treating is tomorrow, our big Saturday is now behind us. It was a jam-packed day and we both had a very good time. The costume made it too – no touch ups needed. My house looks like a bomb went off inside it, we’re out of milk and there are no clean dishes left, but I made it. It’s Halloween, and I’m happy.

Just what was Master Elihu for Halloween? An Anchiornis. An early, feathered dinosaur. He was bedecked in crispy, high-contrast black and white feathers with a large headpiece of red and black feathers rather like a Mohawk, two shining eyeballs with tiny dots of white to create depth, a foot-long beak with pointy white teeth, a six foot wingspan and bendy, curving black claws at his feet and wings, with large, scary-looking nails. All accurate, by the way. He wore his costume the week prior, to a neighboring community’s event. (It’s nice to get a ‘dress rehearsal’ before the big day; it’s an opportunity to fix the bugs and make last-minute adjustments.) Elihu entered the costume contest there and surprisingly he didn’t win or even place. I was kinda shocked at that, but even more shocked that he didn’t care a whit. ‘What a really good kid’ I thought, truly impressed. He had a lot of emotional investment in that costume. In the end though, only two things mattered: that people responded to it and that his wings could really move some air. Both of those requirements were enthusiastically met.

Yesterday, in and among our many stops we attended a telling of scary stories by local heroes the Bruchac family, a clan that has chosen to celebrate the tiny bit of Abenaki Indian blood they share by dedicating their lives’ work to the promotion of the culture through the sharing of stories, music and artifacts. It was snowing fat, moist clumps when we arrived (having just left a party with a band that invited Elihu to sit in with his djembe on the next set, ah well, can’t do it all) and we were glad to see they, like us, were running just a little late and had yet to begin the really scary stories. We took our place in the small audience. What a lovely and unexpected surprise when one of our hosts announced there would be a prize for the best costume – and that they were awarding it to this fellow here – he motioned to Elihu, who with such a potentially appreciative audience as this had thankfully not yet removed his headdress. He won a book written by the speaker and afterward had it signed. Ha! That more than made up for the oversight by the frumpy matrons in the Wilton rec center the week before. That, and the post-performance discussion about birds with several like-minded as we stood in the lobby ready to leave. Just perfect.

We then joined Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Andrew at a party on the other side of town in an ancient brick home with wood stoves and crumbling plaster. We’ve joined this family at their party every year since Elihu was born. Behind the old house there’s a footpath illuminated by candles in old coffee cans that winds up the steep, wooded hill to the bonfire where most of the guests stand and talk. We pay a visit to the circle, and shortly thereafter a woman correctly identifies Elihu’s costume. His jaw drops open, then he recovers in a burst of laughter. He is absolutely thrilled. Plus, she’s actually seen the real fossil at Yale. Again, it’s just the very best news he could hear. Shortly we are making our way down the forest path through the falling snow to say goodnight to our hostess.

In the space of fourteen hours we did a lot. While the day included such mundane events as an hour of mobility work with his vision coach and home-bound, bird-related chores, it also included a pony ride, busking, being interviewed and filmed for the paper, attending several parties, being recognized as an Anchiornis by two people, jamming with some musicians, winning a prize for his costume, making s’mores around a campfire in the woods and coming home to a cozy house and a scary bedtime story. We both fell asleep as soon as I was finished reading.

And just now, as I begin to enjoy our do-nothing day, Elihu runs in my room to tell me that the Juncos are back. Ah, this is truly a wonderful weekend.

It’s Halloween and we haven’t missed a single thing.