Trick or Treat

Halloween is celebrated differently in North America than in other parts of the world.  The main event of the day is 'Trick or Treating', although this is fast becoming less popular due to safety considerations.  After dusk, with younger children accompanied by parents, children dressed in Halloween costumes meant to be scary, go door to door to gather teats.  Generally the tricks amount to soaping windows with a bar of soap, unravelling toilet paper around a tree in a neighbour's yard, or overturning trash cans in the alleys behind the houses. 

Looking back, it was a fun time going through the neighbourhood, seeing so many of the homes decorated with fierce looking, lighted, jack-o-lanterns on the front doorsteps, and the excitement of children in their costumes as they run from house to house.  I usually went out with my brother or some friends and always came home with a pillowcase full of Halloween candy, peanuts, and apples.  This 'loot' was something you bragged about to your classmates the next day in school.  Because of their generosity, I had special places to target, two of them being small, family run, general stores near my home.

There was one Halloween that is hard for me to recall fondly because of what happened.  Our family lived on 102nd Street and 115th Avenue in Edmonton.  It was not a main street and was not as well lit at night as it might have been.  Just one block down from our house and on the same street was the school I attended.  Spruce Avenue School got its name from the two huge spruce trees that stood in front of the main entrance.  The yard was spooky at night, more so on Halloween, and was a favorite spot for youths (called hoodlums then) to hide in the dark shadows of the branches waiting to prey upon unsuspecting children and steal their candy.  Somehow my brother and I had forgotten about this.  Four of these hoodlums sprang out at us as we passed by the school.  They shouted dire threats that caused our feet to move faster as we attempted to flee.  We headed down an avenue to 101 Street, a brightly lit main thoroughfare.  Our attackers dropped back when they saw where we were going.  After catching our breathe, we continued trick and treating but the fun had gone out of it and we went home.  We never told our parents what happened because mother was not keen on the idea of trick or treating and it was one of the last times we celebrated Halloween in that fashion.

 

 

 

 

                                                        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Give Us This Day . . . Eggs and Strawberries

Some folks view God as a grumpy old man with a penchant for smiting those who are misbehaving.  To those who know Him better, He is a loving heavenly Father who provides for the needs of His children sometimes in unusual ways.

 



Years ago, on a mission's trip to St. Lucia, W.I., I was supported only by my earnings from working for a year in a grungy barrel factory where they washed and repainted used oil drums.  Thus it was necessary for me to live on a strict budget.  There were many food items that I would have liked to buy but found them too expensive - one of them being eggs.  Rather selfishly, I prayed that the Lord would supply me with eggs.  I had no idea how the Lord would do such a thing but I will say that I did not expect a chicken to walk into the living rooms and lay an egg on the rug.  What the Lord did do was to use a hard working house maid on meagre wages to supply my need and teach me a valuable lesson.  Not only did this maid supply a half dozen eggs but a tin of sweetened, condensed milk, half pound of butter, and a package of sweet biscuits as well.  I was extremely humbled by her generosity and careful afterwards of what I prayed.  A man, in the church I was helping to build, heard the story.  He had a chicken farm and thereafter supplied me with any eggs I needed.

My second story involves my wife when she was carrying our first child and craving strawberries.  At the time, we were living in South Africa.  Her craving seemed like it would be something that God would be unable to satisfy.  Even if it were possible, where does one find fresh strawberries in Africa?

It happened that we were staying overnight with another missionary couple in the home of a grand-daughter of Smith Wigglesworth, the English evangelist.  To our amazement, after hearing of my wife's craving, she said, "I know somebody that can help you!"  Later that day we drove out with her to a farm outside Pretoria where a farmer specialized in growing strawberries under plastic tarps for export to Israel.  The strawberries were eye-popping gorgeous.  The man explained that they could only export perfect berries and the ones with blemishes were thrown away.  He took us over to a hug plastic bin chock-a-block full of strawberries that did not come up to par.  "Take as many as you like.  They only go to waste here."  My wife's craving for fresh strawberries was satisfied and she was also able to make jars of strawberry jam for use in the months ahead.  Sometimes I think that God has a sense of humour.

How to Ruin a Picnic

After Mom and Dad were married, they chose to live in Edmonton, raising their four sons there and living in various parts of the city their entire lives.  While my Dad hailed from Yorkton, Saskatchewan, my Mom had been raised on a farm near Lamont, located thirty-seven miles east of Edmonton in central Alberta.  Her Father's farm and two others, one belonging to her brother and his wife and one belonging to her sister and the sister's husband, were located a few miles from Lamont.

 

They visited each other on a regular basis and our family was affectionately referred to as being 'the city slickers.'  At the time of this story, not all highways were paved, some being gravel, and so it took considerable effort to make a journey even though today it can be done in less than an hour from city limits.

In preparation for the journey, Mom said, "I'll pack a picnic lunch; the boys will get hungry.  Besides, it nice to stop for a bit even to stretch our legs."

"You had better bring along some extra blankets," Dad replied as he looked at the sky, "If it clouds over it could be cold travelling."

At the time, my Dad had a 1928 Model T Ford which had been nicknamed 'The Tin Lizzy" by their owners.  The auto was loaded up and the journey begun.  Travelling that day were my parents, my two oldest brothers, and an Aunt from my Mother's side of the family who often helped look after the boys.

The journey was uneventful until my Mother spotted a skunk crossing the road a few yards ahead of them.  "Watch out," she warned, " there's a skunk on the road!"

"It's too late," shouted Dad as he attempted to brake and slow the vehicle. "Maybe if I hit him quick, he won't get a chance to spray."

Those were famous last words as the Tin Lizzy hit the skunk with a sickening thud.  Immediately the air reeked with the pungent odor skunks are famous for!  Dad stopped the auto and got out to investigate.  The spray had hit the underside of the vehicle and had somehow penetrated the trunk where the spare blankets and picnic basket had been stored.

"This is a fine mess," Mom observed, holding her nose and surveying the scene.  "Whew! It makes my eyes water.  What a way to ruin a picnic!"

The boys were looking at the dead skunk fascinated by what had transpired but not knowing what to say.

"You might as well bury those blankets and the picnic basket," said the Aunt, "that smell will never come out."

"Maybe Uncle Charlie will know what to do," Dad said hopefully.  Charlie was Mother's sister's husband.

But Charlie had no suggestions on how to get ride of the smell and eventually Dad traded in his Model T for different vehicle.



 

The Lid Blew Off

The background to the incident to which I am about to relate is crucial to your understanding of why I did what I did.  Add to the fact that I was a teenager still green behind the ears and the picture is complete.  I was then and still am interested in all types of commercial aircraft.  When I selected plastic airplane models to build as a hobby during my teenage years, they were nearly always of the airliners flying the skies at that time.  My first plane ride was in the venerable Douglas DC 3, the most successful commercial aircraft ever built and some still flying today.

Air Canada or Trans Canada Airlines, as it was known then, flew as one of the largest aircraft in its fleet, the luxurious Lockheed Super G Constellation.  It was a four engine, propeller driven aircraft, the most advanced of its day and designed by Howard Hughes of Spruce Goose fame.  TCA was introducing it on their transcontinental service and had one parked on the tarmac in front of their Service Hangar at the Edmonton Municipal Airport.  The aircraft was open for inspection by the public several hours that evening and I wanted to see it badly.  Since I did not live far from the airport, it was easy for me to ride over on my bicycle.

"Mom," I asked, "May I go to the airport to see the plane TCA has on display until 8:00 P.M. this evening?"

"That is fine with me," Mother replied, "but remember you have to start supper this evening.  I want you to cook the spaghetti we'll be having and I'll make the sauce when I get home from work."

Now everyone knows that you cook spaghetti in a large open pot using lots of water.  I decided that I could speed things up thus getting away earlier by cooking the spaghetti in Mom's pressure cooker.  Well, I did just that and after letting the pressure build up to three rings on the pressure indicator, I turned off the heat and removed the indicator to let the steam out.  This was a fatal mistake.  Since I was in such a hurry, I didn't wait for all the pressure to be released.  Instead, I loosened the lid.  Blam!  The lid blew off and you know what happened,  There was spaghetti and the gluey water resulting from the cooking process all over the stove, the walls and the ceiling.  Of course, my Mother choose that exact moment to walk in the door.

What else can I say?  I had messed up big time but the story had a happy ending.  My Mom helped me clean up the mess, we cooked more spaghetti, this time in a proper pot, and supper was finished in plenty of time for me to bicycle to the airport and see the aircraft on display.  It was magnificent!

                                      ` Photo credited to: Ralph M. Petterson       Airliners.net