This Holidays

Writen by Kenneth C. Hoffman

It was nearing dusk when an old lady appeared at the entrance of the aisle between the rows of folding chairs set up on the grass. We were at a school function near the end of October in 1958. She hesitated a moment, stared left, then right with bird-like movements of her head. A murmur started near the back as she inched her way up the aisle. An old cotton babushka covered all but a hank of iron gray strands of hair. A few unfortunate moles sporting a couple of lonely hairs were not too well hidden by some sallow-looking makeup. Two spots of raspberry cheek lent a carnival air but a sunken upper lip made it clear there were no teeth inside.

At least the brave soul tried to dress up for the occasion. She wore a long dress of an indeterminate flower pattern in purple and green, hanging almost to the floor in front and slapping her ankles in the back as she hobbled forward. Two thin sticks of arms, bent at the elbows, one carrying a cracked black leather oversized bag, ended in gnarled hands covered with a pair of once-white lace gloves. A hunched back like a half watermelon bowed her skinny shoulders. Around her neck hung a ratty-looking mink collar, the preserved mink head swinging pendulously as she steadily worked her way forward. A whiff of old cellar smell mixed with some five and ten perfume overlaid with a suggestion of mothball trailed in her wake.

I'm sure some of the thoughts in the audience ranged from "Poor thing, I wonder if she has enough to eat?" to "I hope I don't get that old some day" and "She's probably all alone in her room with no-one to take care of her." She finally spied an empty chair in the front row and lowered herself down right next to me. The old lady was my six year old sister, Diane, and she won the Halloween contest two years in a row!

Holidays are for families and for fun. Here's a poem.

At least on Halloween
The webs I have
Are proud to be seen.