Linda Broday

When I was growing up, outside of Christmas, the other holiday I could hardly wait for was Halloween. It meant candy, sacks of it. Since I have the biggest sweet tooth known to man, trick-or-treating meant fun, foolish abandon, and sugary treats. I didn’t care what kind of candy it was, I liked it all. My younger sister and I would run wild, racing from house to house like a pair of hyped-up hyenas. I’m just glad that we grew up in an innocent time when no one had to worry much about child abductions or candy poisonings. Kids sure can’t be that carefree today.

As Halloween approached this year I was curious about the early beginnings of it and did some research.  The name originated from All Hallows Eve that the Celts celebrated on October 31^st to mark their new year. The Irish Celts believed spirits wandered the earth looking for bodies to possess on that night. Lacking knowledge of science or the rotation of the earth and different seasons, Celtic Culture sought a reason for the shorter, colder days and longer nights. They mistakenly thought the sun was losing its power and the dead were to blame. To prevent the spirits from stealing their bodies on Hallows Eve, they extinguished every fire in their homes, made themselves physically undesirable by making their faces grotesque, and wore all manner of strange clothing. The Celts believed that magical powers were at their strongest on October 31^st. 

When European immigrants came to America, they brought their customs and beliefs with them. Children gathered and played games. Bobbing for apples was played most frequently. 

Other games were played, including one called “Clap-in, Clap-out.” The young men left the room, while the young girls each declared who they’d chosen for a partner. Then as the young men entered, he had to sit beside the girl he thought had chosen him. The girl clapped if he sat in the wrong seat. Then he had to go back out and wait for another chance to try again. The game lasted until every girl had a partner.  Another game, played in Ireland was a form of Blindfold. A blindfolded player was seated in front of a table on which sat several saucers. The saucers were shuffled and the player chose one. The contents of the saucer determined the player’s life for the following year. The saucer containing earth meant someone known to the person would die during the coming months. Water foretold travel. A coin meant new wealth. A bean meant poverty. And so on. In 19^th century Ireland, young women placed slugs in saucers and sprinkled flour over them. They believed the patterns left behind after the slug wriggled in it would reveal the face of their future husband. Boy, they must’ve been desperate! But, I should talk. I used to play with a Ouija board quite a bit, trying to find out who I was going to marry. Strange what we do to try to see into the future. I’m also thinking some of this might be useful in a story sometime.

 A traditional food eaten in Ireland on All Hallows Eve was called barnbrack. It was a type of fruitcake that had a muslin-wrapped treat baked inside. The person who got the piece holding the treat learned his future for the coming year. Some of treats were a ring (meant a marriage,) a coin (prosperity,) a thimble (will be an old maid,) and a button spoke of forlorn sweethearts. 

Over the years, Halloween has evolved into what we have today with many religions speaking out against the practice. Regardless, most kids still try to get as much candy as possible, no matter if it’s at Halloween parties or trick-or-treating. It’s their night to howl.  Whatever your beliefs, you can still use this time to take stock, count your blessings, and prepare for the short winter nights. I love fall. The gorgeous color of the trees, the crisp night air, beautiful pumpkins, and luscious apples. Oh, and of course, the candy! I’m holding out my bag. 

What do you associate with Halloween? Or maybe you have a favorite memory or tradition you’d like to share.

I grew up in New Mexico on a steady diet of red beans and fried potatoes. Occasionally, we might have a roast, some fried chicken, or pork chops. Only that didn’t happen very often. Also, once in a blue moon my mama would boil some spinach or greens. You couldn’t have paid me enough to get a bite of that green slimy stuff in my mouth! Yuck. But, as I grew older and left home a funny thing happened—my tastes changed. Now I love spinach, cabbage, and cauliflower, plus a lot of other foods that I turned up my nose at when I was young. 

Taste can also be applied to fashion and those changes for me on a regular basis. I’m not that finicky about clothes and shoes and purses. I like a lot of different things—mostly everything my daughters hate. It seems we have opposite ides of what looks flattering. Go figure. 

 But, what I’m finding totally amazing is the change that’s happened in my book preference over the last ten years. I used to scan through a book when I contemplated buying it to see if the heroine was young and if there were no “distracting” children in the story. If the heroine wasn’t late teens/early twenties or the story involved children, it went back on the shelf. I wasn’t interested in reading it, no matter how well recommended. Truth was, I didn’t give the book a chance. I wanted the girl young and the story free from anything that cluttered it up, like kids. My interest was only in the relationship between the hero and heroine. 

I’m not too proud of this, but I once spurned a good story simply because the hero was short. I didn’t care that he was handsome and tough. The fact that he was short ruined the story for me. 

Somewhere along the line, and I can’t remember when or how it happened, I drifted toward older heroines and I began to love stories that involved children. I found that children added a depth to the story that it probably wouldn’t have had. And now I can’t stand stories featuring some young thing that hasn’t lived long enough to have real character. Those go back on the shelves. I want my heroine to have had experiences that shaped her into the person she is.  Doesn’t matter to me if she’s married, widowed, or a spinster as long as she’s late twenties to late forties. And I want children, the more children the better. I want a rich, full-bodied story that tugs at my heart. I want the woman to have struggled and lost something very precious so that she knows when fortune smiles on her, she reaches for it with all the strength and tenacity she has. I want the same for my hero. He’s a man who’s rugged, who’s come through the fire, and who isn’t afraid to live life to the fullest. Rarely does he care what those around him think. He’s his own man and he walks tall even though he may not have physical height. I do confess though that I still prefer him to be tall, but I’ll read the story now even if he isn’t. Another thing I’m finding is that I love to read mainstream where there’s no romance at all, which is something I wouldn’t have considered ten years ago. It was romance or nothing.

 There’s no accounting taste I guess. Not everyone’s is the same. That’s why there’s room for all sorts of stories about a multitude of subjects and people. Variety is good. That way everyone can be happy and have what they prefer.

Maybe my age has something to do with my taste. As I get older my tastes in things change? I don’t know. That’s a deep subject. Could be true though. I just wonder if I’ll suddenly develop a craving for seafood? If I do, that’ll be a miracle. I’m not about to discount it with absolute certainty. And I wonder if at some point I’ll yearn for stories with seventy and eighty year old heroes and heroines?? Ha! Can’t imagine that now but who knows. Guess I’ll have to wait and see. 

What are your tastes and do you find that they’re changing or have already changed? Or what kind of books do you really like? I’d love to hear your comments.