Halloween

By

Gerry Niskern

There will be a lot of little witches zooming around on October 31 trick or treating as soon as the sun goes down and they have eaten the required few bites of dinner. You can be sure they will be keeping a sharp eye out for monsters and ghosts that are flying too.

We lived out in the country when I was trick or treating age. So I missed out on that great night when grownups pass out big handfuls of candy, but we had something better. We had Halloween parties at neighboring farm houses.

Everyone started planning their party right after school started. But the important work went into their costumes. Everyone tried to create the best disguise so they wouldn’t be recognized. It was a fierce competition and a badge of honor to be the last one recognized. The remaining one whose identity was guessed was always awarded a prize.

One year when I was about eight years old, my sister and I begged to have a Halloween party for our friends. We worked hard cleaning up the basement (the parties were always in the basements). We decorated by dragging huge, dry corn stalks in from the fields and put them in the corners; than our dad put lights behind them for a warm glow. We had lots of dad carved, grinning jack-o- lanterns and big black paper cats we had been working on for weeks.

We picked the last of red apples in the orchard and filled one of mom’s wash tubs with water for the bobbing for apples contest.

Mom bought Candy Corn and filled several bowls she placed around the room. There were platters of her homemade donuts and a punch bowl of cold apple cider. This young sugar junkie’s mouth was watering in anticipation.

In my determination to be the last one identified, I insisted that my mother pin me securely into my ghost costume, which was one of her white sheets. I wanted to make sure no one that my long braids were hanging out or that anyone could peek around my ghost mask either. Then as the games started and the party got into full swing I watched in dismay, arms locked tight in folds of white, as the bowls of candy corn, all the donuts and even the sweet cider disappeared before my eyes!

And of course I didn’t win the costume guessing contest either. Everyone know that the little ghost who was already at the party had to be me!

Flying Felines
By
Gerry Niskern
What do flying cats have to do with Labor Day?
Well, let me explain. You see, a couple of weeks ago, my grand-daughter flew with her two older teenage cats from Anchorage, Alaska to Greensboro, North Carolina. She and her husband were leaving the cold rain of their home of ten years for the warm climate of the Carolinas. Hubby and a friend drove their two cars across the country earlier and set up the house. Although he is experienced, he will be going to school to become a certified welder. She is a Cosmetologist and is already working and building a client base.
In the United States anyone can move any time and anywhere they choose. People change jobs and homes at will. This Democracy we live in has the freedom to make personal changes, unlike many other forms of governments around the world.
I’m reminded of my mom and dad driving across the United States from West Virginia to Arizona in the summer of 1942. My sister and I shared the back seat with many a serviceman hitching a ride trying to get home on leave. Both my parents need the dry climate for their health and were free to make that move even during wartime.
My late husband’s parents made a different journey in the late 30s across the country from the Dust Bowl of Texas to sunny California with two little boys in the back seat. His dad was a carpenter. He looked for work up the coast and ended up following the crops for a while. My husband, the older boy, talked about changing schools every month as they moved on.
The freedom we have in this country to move, change jobs, schools and even places of worship is all a good reason to celebrate Labor Day. Labor Day, the first Monday is September began in the late l9th century to thank American workers for building our democracy. American workers were able to labor anywhere they chose or to move seeking a better life.
The two flying felines, I am told, are real happy in their new, warm home and so are their owners!

“Are They Really Ready for School?”

by

Gerry Niskern

(This was published in The Arizona Republic)

I’m sure you’ve seen them. Who could miss the must have for school lists in magazines and newspapers?
According to the experts, the young ladies need the new see through backpacks for their books. The kind with wheels would be even better. And remember their jean jackets don’t have the stone washed look this year, but anything with a Taylor Swift logo works.!
Speaking of clothes, the boys favor the cargo pants, with at least fifteen pockets, including one across the rear. The shirts must be a popular brand their crowd is wearing, and get ready to dig deep for a pair of the latest in sneakers.
Of course, you could have one of those kids who waits to see what everyone else is wearing. Then you and the child are hitting the mall in the evening during the first week of school when she should be home hitting the books.
Dressing like your peer group in school has always been important to a student. I remember when new kids came to Phoenix Union High. If a young man from back east showed up in shirt, tie and dress slacks, you can bet he came back the next morning in Levis and the mandatory white tee shirt. Eastern girls came in nylons the first day, but wore bobby sox from then on.
The basic school supplies were pretty much the same between east and west. Now the choices are mind-boggling. If you are picking up a Nike binder for your child, you should know if the instructor requires the contoured, zippered or ensemble style. Of course, iPads are a must and don’t forget how handy a pager and cell phone can be. Your student needs a new cordless mouse for his computer and separate phone line, for research, of course!
. The other day I saw, among some school supplies, a key ring displaying the temperature, time and it even had an alarm. I guessed the alarm was to wake you up when math class was over. The first-graders weren’t neglected. They can find personalized pencils in sets of four with a choice of over 200 names.

Kind of makes you yearn for the days when getting ready for school involved a simple trip to the corner grocery for a Big Chief tablet and a #2 pencil, doesn’t it? And remember the lunch pails? I had a pretty orange one with my name scratched out in block letters across the lid by my dad.
My significant other used to say that all he ever had was a paper sack for carrying his fried egg sandwich!

Out Delivering with Mom
By
Gerry Niskern
I saw the tiny foot first. The young woman was carrying about five or six plastic bags full of groceries in one hand and with the other she was pushing a very small baby stroller which contained the owner of the little foot stretching out past the blanket. The infant’s mother was delivering food to an apartment in my building. When I asked, “Boy or girl?”, she answered “Boy” and quickly hurried on. But who could blame her? Everyone who has done deliveries knows that “time is money”.
Lots of kids go along on these deliveries that we all enjoy for the convenience of having something brought to our home, especially in our triple digit temperatures this summer. You can see their little heads bobbing around in the back seat of their parents vehicles.
A few years back the trend of “take your daughter to work” became popular. It was a great idea and a way to let your kids learn about the daily grind, struggles and problem solving required to earn a living. But way before that trend, it was a necessity for mothers to take their babies with them when they worked in the fields. Moms in poor countries around the world today still carry their infants on their chest in a sling while they work in small factories producing good sold around the world.
Unfortunately, in 2026, in our wealthy nation, federal child care assistance funding has been cut drastically back. There is a long waiting list for child care assistance in Arizona. 25% of Arizona kids need child care while both parents are working, sometimes two jobs to make ends meet.
Most Governors around our country are struggling to solve the huge problem. In Arizona Governor Hobbs has led a program called BRIGHT FUTURES initiative to provide expanded state wide child care assistance to working families. She has crunched the numbers in the budget and delivered more funding, but not nearly enough. Thousands of children are on the waiting list for a place to be nurtured, fed and cared for while their parents work.
Maybe the little guy I saw who likes to air his toes will get a place soon!

We are starting a month of celebrations marking our freedom and the country’s 250th anniversary. In this era of ICE and the deportation of thousand of illegal immigrants it’s a good time to stop and consider the truth. Immigrants have made up the fabric of our nation and fought violently in our many wars. It’s a good time to remind everyone of one of Arizona’s heroes.

Sgt. Sylvester Herrera was one of those young illegal immigrants who fought in WW11. Hererra was an orphan toddler and was brought to this country by his uncle.

His uncle raised him as his own child. Sergeant Herrera was married with a family, in Glendale, Arizona, when he volunteered to fight for his adopted country in World War II.

I saw his homecoming.

One August evening during the World War II when I was kid my dad announced, “That young soldier from Glendale is coming in on the train this evening. He is a real hero and we’re going down to Union Station to help welcome him home.”

It seemed like most of Phoenix and the whole town of Glendale was there.

As the train slowed to a stop I saw a soldier back carefully down the steps. He was holding one arm of a wheelchair and another soldier had the other. But before they got down the crowd surged forward and many eager arms snatched the occupant from the chair. The proud, jubilant throng passed him from shoulder to shoulder.

The noise was overwhelming and I couldn’t make my dad hear my distressed question, “What happened to his legs?”

I was separated from my parents, and I ran along side the red convertible where the hero sat atop the back as it was driven up Washington to Central Ave. Phoenix was a small town then and the speakers stand decorated in red, white and blue was in front of the R and G building on Central. I ducked around people and made my way to the front. Herrera had been placed on the platform along with the Governor of Arizona and the Mayor of Phoenix, and other dignitaries. As a kid I probably wasn’t listening carefully as the politicians droned on, but I remember one speaker finally asking, “Sgt.Herrera how does it feel to be the first living recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor from Arizona?” I couldn’t hear his answer. He was surrounded by the politicians.

Later, as an adult, I read the account of how Sylvester Herrera earned his medal. When the young infantryman’s platoon was pinned down by Germans in a forest near Metzwiller, France. He charged the enemy and captured eight enemy soldiers. That same day, to draw enemy fire away from his comrades, Herrera entered a mine field and in two explosions lost both legs. He then continued to fire upon the enemy which allowed his platoon to skirt the field and capture the enemy position.

Weddings,2026 Style
By
Gerry Niskern
Have you been to a wedding lately? June, the favorite month to marry, is winding down and many have noticed even more changes lately in the happy occasion.
Old traditions are out and new ones are being introduced. Modern weddings maintain traditional elements, like the formal white gown, which was started way back when Queen Victoria wore a white satin gown; but today, they lose the veil, are usually strapless, and form fitting all around!
Often in today’s world, the couple have been together for quite some time, enough to allow an “off spring” to carry the ring on a satin pillow down the aisle. At a wedding in our family recently, the little one belonging to the bride and groom, was fourteen months and sitting on Grandma’s lap. The pastor tried vainly to administer the marriage rites, but was drowned out by the happy chatter of the little boy trying to get mommy and dad’s attention. Finally, to laughter of the wedding guests, he gave up and declared them husband and wife.
Lately, while sending thank you notes, some couples, who have shared a home for quite a while, are noticing another trend that seems to be starting. Some guests aren’t bothering to send a wedding gift. They are realizing that the friends who enjoyed the reception, wineing, dining, and dancing, neglected to send a gift. Maybe the errant guests have decided the tradition of helping to provide the newly married couple with household necessities was no longer necessary.
Will this new trend become a tradition, who knows?

“Memorials are part of everyday life”

By

Gerry Niskern
Of course, adults realize it is not just the war heroes that are honored on Memorial Day. When I was growing up, it was called Decoration Day and it honored all that had passed away. There are also ceremonies by family members spending time and placing flowers on graves of mom, dads and siblings who are no longer with them. If the children are included it is a wonderful opportunity to relate some stories about the kind of life the departed once lived. In other words, it’s a day to remember.
Be prepared, you will probably get a flood of questions. Most kids are waiting for someone to start the dialogue. When you spend time remembering the ones who have passed this way ahead of us, important lessons between right and wrong will emerge. The children will begin to realize who is respected in the family and why. They will understand the consequence of choices made in the past.
It occurs to me that there are other ways we honor departed members of our family. Some lucky offspring have inherited useful, everyday objects from their parents and continue to use them in the daily routine of their everyday lives. Family stories usually go along with them. Children learn to cherish the intrinsic value of family tools.
I used to visit an elderly friend who still utilized a kitchen table her father built. It was an honor to share lunch there on that labor of love. Many great stories went along with those lunches.
One of the most important possessions of every homemaker used to be the button box. All buttons were saved and used to match up with others on newly sewn garments. On rainy days when boredom set in, it was a special privilege to be allowed to play with the button box. Family stories went along with each button.
Quilting has become a big craze in the last few years, but lucky is the family who has a totally handmade quilt passed down through generations. “That blue was scraps from Mary’s graduation dress” or “There is Johnny’s red shirt from his first day at school”. History continued from one generation to the next in simple patterns that formed a loving continuity.
If someone offers you a family possession that doesn’t fit in with your décor, take it, cherish it and put it away for now. You’ll find a place for it eventually, or someday one of your children will treasure and love it After all, the word that unites all families is, “Remember!”

by
Gerry Niskern

Today’s young mothers sing to their baby while it is still in the womb as a way of bonding. Looking back, I have a feeling my mother was way ahead of her time. My earliest memories are of her singing to me. Her voice wasn’t anything special, even a little creaky at times, yet when I heard her warbling I knew that all was well.
Mom sang while she was hoeing in the garden as I trudged behind her down the rows of beanstalks. The old songs like “Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer True” and the lyrics that always made me giggle, “Ka, ka, ka Katie, beautiful Katie, I’ll be waiting at the ka, ka, ka, kitchen door” were in her hit parade of tunes.
She sang while she peddled her treadle sewing machine mending our dresses. She might break out into “When you wore a tulip and I wore a big red rose” when she was churning; patiently letting me take a turn when I was a toddler and could barely reach the plunger.
While making cottage cheese or kneading bread mom gave us her rendition of “I’m Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage.” I sensed it had something to do with the fact that she would rather have been outside working.
Sitting and rocking to and fro on the porch swing in the evening after a hard day’s work, my mother turned to hymns. “Come to the church in the Wildwood, come to the church in the vale,” had the right rhythm for the creaking swing. I always thought if I concentrated hard enough I would see that “little brown church in the dale.”
My parents started out across the United States seeking the dry climate of Arizona, in the wartime summer of 1942. Sometimes on the long August journey before air conditioning was available in cars, tempers flared and a foot fight broke out between us kids in the back seat. Dad’s hand left the steering wheel and swatted randomly over the backseat, trying to connect with the culprit. That’s when mom would say, “Let’s all sing.”
“No, you sing mom, sing Redwing”…we begged. As the words “There once was an Indian maid, a shy little village maid”…came floating from the front seat, our young girls hearts melted while hearing the love story once more and peace prevailed.
Before long, Dad was picking up soldiers hitching a ride home on leave. Many a songfest was enhanced by a deep male voice joining the girl sopranos from the back seat. The young men provided great “raspberry” sound effects when we belted out “Dur Fuhrer’s Face”
The war dragged on, and later my sister had a sweetheart in the service. Mom joined her in “Always…I’ll be loving you always” or “Till the End of Time” at dishwashing time.
My mother taught me many things about honesty, hard work and putting family first. But I also grew up with the assurance that you could get through almost anything with a good song.
I’m reminded of an old poem. Its last line goes something like this; perhaps you know it? “ I’m richer than the child who was left a fortune of silver and gold, because…my mother sang to me!”

I’ve been out of pocket due to health issues but will be posting soon in April. Have a wonderful Easter and look for me!

“Christmas Trees ”

By

Gerry Niskern

When I was a kid the minute I opened my eyes on Christmas morning, somewhere around dawn, and sniffed pungent, pine in the air, I knew it was there. My sister and I raced bare-footed down freezing stairs. Santa had come with presents and….a tree. It appeared magically in our living room each Christmas morning in glorious splendor, complete with large, colored lights, shiny ornaments and tons of icicles.
All types of trees at Christmases have come and gone. I remember when the enterprising tree salesmen started flocking trees, for a little extra charge. Everyone had to have one of those beautiful “snow” covered beauties. I have a friend who grew up in the Philippines who remembers trying to create a similar type tree. She says that when she was a little girl and wanted a Christmas tree her brothers went out and found a large tree branch, striped it, painted it white and glued little globs of cotton all over the branches. Then she decorated her “snowy tree”.
Once there were trees that “snowed”! The snowflakes blew out the top of the tree and settled gently down on the branches. The rest fell into a large cone at the bottom and were shot up inside the trunk to “snow” again. That fad didn’t last too long.
Then came the aluminum trees? They were one of the first put-together trees. The branches were inserted into the trunk, putting slot A into A, B into B, etc. You couldn’t hang lights on that tree; it came with a revolving multi-colored spotlight. I know a couple who were stationed in Saudi Arabia a years ago. As Christmas neared her mother shipped them an aluminum tree. Over the holidays they invited an Arabian family to share their traditional celebration. The only problem was all the little Arabian boys kept taking the aluminum branches out of the tree to play sword fighting!
Another Marine couple told me of being stationed on Okinawa and going scuba diving quite often. Once they spotted a beautiful chunk of coral shaped exactly like a Christmas tree. They managed to get it up and take it home. They soaked and cleaned it in the bathtub for a week, built a base for it and decorated it for their Christmas celebration. Wherever they were transferred, over the years, the coral tree remained part of their Christmas.
There used to be a huge yuletide tree in downtown Phoenix every Christmas. The city workers placed the magnificent fir atop a large box like platform in the middle of the intersection of Washington Street and Central Avenue. The traffic that traveled Washington passed by on either side.
Our best Christmas tree of all was the one we had after we became parents. One evening we set out with a lean pocket book but determination to buy our
three month old baby daughter her first tree. The Dairy Queen owner on West Van Buren always filled his empty parking lot with fresh evergreens. All the young couples in our crowd were on a tight budget, and our friends warned us, “Be
firm; never pay the price on the ticket.”
Of course, we fell in love with a beautiful tree that carried a hefty price tag. We circled and checked the lot again. Then we agonized and refigured our budget. Imagine our surprise and delight when we approached the vendor with our chosen tree and my young husband asked in the most firm and forceful voice he could muster, “Is that price the best you can do?”
“If it’s for that tiny baby girl, there’s no charge.” the vendor replied. And Merry Christmas to both of you.”