Halloween Observations

Hope you all had a great Halloween!  Me??  WELL. Saturday night I took my younger daughter Trick-or-Treating.  Being new to the neighborhood, I was on HIGH ALERT.  Paying extra special attention to everything.  Such as, Why do so many people here have curtains? And why do these be-curtained people not have their porch lights on?  Or answer their doorbells?  Even when we rang more than once.  I could see faint light through these window treatments, so they were obviously inside, watching TV or playing on the computer.  But they weren’t answering their doors.  Granted, I had to stick our candy out front in a bowl while we went trick-or-treating ourselves.  Long story short: my husband & our older daughter were out of town, so we didn’t have anyone to “tend” to the house like we usually would.  And our jack-o-lantern must have blown out (it was windy).  Our 250 yr old house doesn’t have a porch light, and we also don’t have a door bell.  And no one was home.  SO it may have LOOKED like we were not participating in Halloween, even though I spent $25 on candy that sat outside in a bowl, uneaten.  What I am saying here – is my new neighborhood is way quiet.

I have come up w/ 7 Levels of Halloween Participation.  I had lots of time between Trick-or-Treats to do this.

1) The Die-Hard.

Grown adults who retain the spirit of Halloween they had as children.  These folks go the full 9 yards.  They don costumes.  Their houses don costumes.  Put simply: Die Hards DO Halloween.  They spend months in advance preparing for the Big Night.  They assemble props.  They install theatrics.  They make constructions worthy of awards.  These are the houses all the children want to visit, though their spooky extravagance may leave little ones cringing in fear.

2) The Holiday Enthusiast.

These people like Halloween b/c they like holidays in general.  They do window displays.  They hang flags.  If they have a front yard, they own at least one large inflatable.  Often these inflatables cover multiple themes, such as Holiday + Local Sports Team (i.e., satan wearing an Eagles jersey).  The Holiday Enthusiast celebrates Halloween the same way they celebrate all holidays.  With eagerness and commercial support.

3) The Tepid Observer.

These people give out candy only b/c it’s expected.  They really do not want to, but are afraid if they don’t they will garner negative attention.  A few are secretly afraid of being egged. or T.P.’ed.  They never decorate for the holiday.  To do so would garner unwanted attention.  Mostly they just want to be left alone, but it’s hard to be left alone when people expect candy.  So on Halloween they answer the door and smile wanly as they drop a single KitKat into your bag.  Then they close the door and retreat into blessed solitude once more.

4) The Reveler.

This category covers those who like to PAR-TAY!  No need to elaborate.

5) The Non-Committal.

These Halloween participants are there in name only.  Not b.c they don’t want to celebrate Halloween, but b.c circumstance gets in the way.  These are the folks who leave a bowl of candy out on the front porch w/ the light on.  They may or may not decorate.  They may or may not have a lit jack-o-lantern.  Many parents fall into this category.  Also, older people.  Or the young.  Pretty much anyone who has a life and cannot stick around on a Saturday night to dole out candy.

6) The Hell Raiser.

This person believes October 31st belongs to the devil and trick-or-treating is akin to satan worship.  All who participate in Halloween ritual are pagans.  These people will not be home Halloween night b.c they are at church celebrating something not called Halloween but for which most of them are costumed and receiving candy.

7) The Unexcused.

This category encompasses the rest of the world.  Who say TO HELL! with Halloween – not for any religious reason, but for sheer (INSERT WHATEVER LAME-O EXCUSE YOU CAN COME UP W/ HERE).  These people cannot be bothered to buy a bag of candy.  They have more important things to do w. their time.  Like stay home on a Saturday night, watching TV or playing video games.  Behind their iron fortress of curtains. While the costumed stand outside ringing in the dark.  Treatless.

I am a Scholfield.

Some people may be Smiths.  Whites, Browns, Blacks or Greens.  But Me?  I am a SCHOLFIELD.

That’s right.. SCHOLFIELD.  It’s like music, wouldn’t you say?  Ack!  NO! NO!  You are BUTCHERING IT!  That’s German, Schultz..  We’re ENGLISH.  Scholfield sounds just like it’s written.  Except w/ a hard C and the L is silent.  No, a hard C.  Like SKO.  No, SKOL is that nauseating chewing tobacco.  That’s right.  Without the L.  Like I said.  SCHOLFIELD.  Ahhh.

I have been thinking about my maiden name a lot lately, b/c my sister – the last remaining Scholfield – just got ENGAGED!  Hearty CONGRATS to Suzanne & Jon!!!  As she & her fiance are already being bombarded w/ questions about the wedding, the date, the cake, the dress, the invitations, the location, and so on.  I thought it might be a bit much to start asking whether she’ll be keeping her name, or taking his.  But you know of course I have been wondering.  Whether my parents will no longer have any real Scholfield children.  Whether they will weep at night unable to sleep b/c both of us are now gone.  No pressure.  But they do have something they can still call their own.

Scholfield.org.  It’s ours!  Like the spoon collection and the heirloom doilies, it’s family.  But here is the down side.  Whereas my husband devotes an incredible amount of time to his family surname, his Ellingsworth.org website, and his 300-plus Ellingsworth friends on Facebook, my poor Scholfields are being overlooked.   For SHAME!  As much as I’d like to point fingers at my husband for his self absorption, we all know who the SCHOLFIELD is in this family.  Wah-wah-wahhhhh.  The time has come to dust off the old Scholfield.org site and put it to good use.  I already have way too much on my plate, and I’d like to challenge myself even further.  SO – Any Scholfields out there looking for a free scholfield.org email address?  Let me know.  My mom has one and her joy knows no bounds.  Any family history to contribute?  Send it my way.  Gossip?  Even better! (Even if it’s not about a Scholfield.)

We are after all THE SCHOLFIELDS.  The proud, the few, the hut dwelling/field grazers.  And did you know that here in Maine we have Scholfield HISTORY?!  As in – the SKOLFIELDS of Brunswick!  WOW.  Isn’t it great that people who were never related to me, don’t have the same spelling of my name but DO share the same phonetic pronunciation lived close by?  And did I mention? were RICH>>?  WELL. That seals the deal.

I hadn’t heard about this long lost pseudo branch of the family either, until my parents came to visit this summer.  My dad had done some research and discovered a SKOLFIELD HOUSE just 30 minutes north of Portland!

Hmmm.  Doesn’t look much like a Victorian mansion to me either.  When we walked up. none of us (including the senior in the chair) was quite sure what was going on.  So we politely stood on the corner across the street, trying to look inconspicuous while scratching our heads and taking photographs.  Apparently this Skolfield House is a nursing home.  Which doesn’t get a whole lot of out-of-town visitors looking for tours.  After consultation w/ google maps, we discovered The Skolfield-Whittier House several blocks away.

WOWZA!!  That’s more like it!  So even though we spell our name a wee bit differently (Scholfield v. Skolfield), it is after all pronounced the same.  And since back in the day no one could really spell, we all know these folks were closely related to me.  At least the ones in the second house. b/c they were rich.

Talking turkey.

9 am and they just left.  A family of fifteen.  Talk about ANIMALS!  By the end of the meal, they’d knocked a tray to the ground, there was food everywhere, and 2 of the kids were pooping in the bushes.  And they didn’t even pay!!  I turned my back for a minute and they’d run off.  I’d try to catch them, but 6 ladies just walked in, there’s a group of 7 due any minute, and a party of 16 this afternoon.  You’d think they’d have the courtesy to call in a reservation.  But of course not.  They are TURKEYS after all.

When some people buy a new house they inherit a lawn mower, or even furniture.  But when we moved in, we got a whole flock of wild turkeys.  The Dole House – our new home – sits atop a hill (Dole Mountain), overlooking a salt marsh, a portion of the Portland Trails hiking system and an Audubon refuge.  And YES it is lovely.  As the turkeys can attest.  B/c daily, like clockwork, they make their way across the land & busy intersections to feast, roost, and do their turkey business in our yard.

These bird sandwiches have become an increasing point of fascination for our entire family.  They’re so engrossing, in fact, that we now adjourn upstairs, or to the kitchen, for a good ole dose of (what we term) Turkey TV.   All four of us – five including the dog – stand pressed against the windows gazing out in wonder at the prehistoric beasts littering our yard.

Each & every morning, and sometimes noon & night, I restock the buffet.  We have twelve feeders.  Several of them are empty w/in an hour or two of being filled.

So we’ve also taken to tossing them seed directly when they show up, much like chicken farmers.

I cannot tell you how funny it is, watching full-grown turkeys hustle up the hill towards us like domesticated pets.  They’ve grown so accustomed to the routine, they barely even flinch when the dog comes out.  They just keep boogie-ing round the yard on their turkey stilts.  Keeping step w/ the sunflower seeds.  Vacuuming up every morsel.  And fighting.

That’s right.  FIGHTING.  I’d heard of turkey jerky, but never jerky turkeys.  The mommas and babies, you can’t help but go Awwwwww.. but some of the bigger ones are just plain awful.

If I weren’t utterly opposed to firearms, I’d be out there shopping for Thanksgiving.  Let’s face it.  Turkeys are not the cutest most cuddly birds to begin with.  Unless you’re an amorous turkey I’d be hard-pressed to find one appealing.  But it’s even harder feeling the love for a big ass bird who’s pecking his much smaller sibling over some free grain.  Especially when that trough of freedom overflows 7 days a week w/out fail.  Listen up mean turkeys!  You better get sweet, and soon, or we might be pulling out the mayo.