A Psycho Halloween

Last night for Halloween, I did not have any decorations but created a spooky atmospherewith scaaarrrry mooooood music.

My plan was to cue up my iPod to blare music from the shower/stabbing scene in Alfred Hitchcock's movie Psycho each time trick-or-treaters came to the door. As I opened it slowly, peals of screeching violins would greet unsuspecting visitors (listen at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfthzU3V4zo).

So I set my iPod, speakers and a bowl of candy next to the door; then I crouched on floor, peeked out to spot approaching trick-or-treaters, pushed "play" on the iPod, cranked up the shrieking violins ... and opened the door to startled faces. Then I'd ask if anyone had a peanut allergy while handing out candy. After they left, I shut the door, re-cued the soundtrack to the beginning of the screaming violin sequence, hit "pause" and crouched in wait to surprise the next set of victims. I did this over and over again for 3 hours.

"The Scream" by Edvard Munch

Composer Bernard Herrmann's music elicited various reactions: some kids stepped back, eyes widening in surprise (maybe a little fear); some kids stood stockstill (maybe in horror?) but then regained their composure and held out their bags; and some kids grinned, commenting "I like your cool music!" Of course some kids ignored the music completely and just eyed the candy.

A few trick-or-treaters asked where the music was from. My reply "the movie Psycho" usually drew blank looks. "Oh, your parents would know the movie Psycho," I'd explain.

One boy answered, "Oh yeah, I saw that movie on Netflix!" I know this kid -- he is only 9 years old.  I wonder what he thought of a naked Janet Leigh attacked by a knife-welding crossdresser.

Overall, I consider the evening a success ... except now I am deaf with high-pitched violins echoing inside my throbbing head.

For Halloween my daughter dressed as a secret agent in a black trench coat, black fedora and large black sunglasses. When she returned from trick-or-treating, she said that some people thought she was one of the Blues Brothers. "Who are the Blues Brothers?" she asked. Maybe the kid who saw Psycho could tell her.

Speed Camera Paranoia

Last month, I opened the mail to my first speeding ticket (in awhile). To my surprise, however, the ticket was for driving about 11 miles per hour above the posted speed limit on Avery Road, not on Route 108. Journeying through the forest, I must have missed the camera among the foliage and deer on Avery Road.

Speed cameras are ubiquitous in Montgomery County. Love 'em or hate 'em, you have to admit that they do slow zipping cars to a safer speed. The OBX has been fabulous about alerting readers of Olney's newest speed cameras: two on Route 108 by St. John's Episcopal School and two on Bowie Mill Road by Sequoyah ES. Even my husband phoned (hopefully not while driving) to warn to me on the day he saw the speed cameras set up by Sequoyah ES. Everyone has become so vigilant; I have become paranoid. Whenever I see a light flash beside the road, I don't think of something negative (like a gunshot or an explosion) or preposterous (a disco ball? paparazzi? where's the party?) No, I think: Uh-oh -- did I (or please, someone else) just get a speeding ticket?

On morning while traveling eastbound on Route 108 en route to the post office, I concentrated so hard on slowing down in front of the speed camera that I forgot about the post office ... and drove right past it! I made a (legal) U-turn to backtrack to the post office. I focused so intently on Route 108's westbound side's speed camera that I barely noticed the flash on a car in front of me which had actually sped up as it passed the speed camera.

Last week, when I trekked up Georgia Avenue to the Howard County's Glenwood library (about which I raved in the post "Library Traitor" on 2/19/11), I saw "Photo Enforced" speed limit signs posted by Glenwood Middle School and Bushy Park Elementary School, both just south of the library. By now conditioned like Pavlov's dog, I automatically slowed down and quickly scanned everywhere for an ominous white box or at least a camera perched atop a pole. Strangely, I saw nothing ... or was I missing something? Then I realized I was in Howard County, which uses mostly mobile speed cameras. With no white speed camera van in sight, I breathed a sigh of relief and sped on. Just kidding -- I didn't speed up.

One of us has to go - the spider or me

I'm beginning to wonder who really lives at my address. I thought it was me and my family. We pay the mortgage, we mow the grass, we take in the mail. But after yet another morning attempting to sweep away the spider cob webs (of my mind - couldn't resist) along my front porch, I'm beginning to wonder.
There's not just one cute little spider web. There's an entire family system in every corner of my porch - at the eaves, around the light, at the window, in the seams. I'll confess I'm not a big spider fan though I always appreciate the beauty and intricacies of a complex spider web. But when there are bug carcasses, spider pods, spider webs and little and big spiders at every turn - making my house look like something out of the Adam's Family - I have to protest! Help! Why is this happening?
I already feel badly about the dead deer. They're dead because we built on their land (poor Bambie!!) Is our house built on a spider cemetary ala Poltergeist? Do I have to move?

I would love to hear if anyone else in Olneyland has the same problem and has a suggestion for how I can safely move this spider family to another location so I don't have to sell my house!

Out-of-County Experiences

Taking advantage of Maryland's tax-free week, my kids and I went shoe shopping yesterday. Although Olney boasts multiple grocery stores, banks, fast food restaurants, salons and yoga studios, a person needs to leave town in order to find shoes. So up to Columbia Mall in Howard County we trekked.

After perusing small shoe stores in the mall, we finally found what the kids needed at Nordstrom. After ringing up our sale, the clerk was about to put the new shoebox in a paper shopping bag when I quickly offered her my reusable shopping bag. The clerk smiled knowingly and asked, "Are you from Montgomery County?" I guess our county's bag tax and my desire to be environmentally friendly have conditioned me to bring cloth bags (almost) everywhere.

Shoe mission accomplished, we contemplated stopping at JCPenney when we heard loud (even louder than me, my kids claim) exclamations of two thirty-something women gawking over a clothing purchase from ...  JCPenney: "This fabulous find was marked down and I had a great surprise at the register!" "Oh -- let me see!" Squeals of delight echoed through the mall as one woman pulled out a red striped shirt out of a plastic bag (remember, no bag tax here).

My kids and I whirled around to see what all the excitement was about. "Are they commercial people?!" my 10-year-old exclaimed. I expected to find myself either on Candid Camera or on the set of advertising shoot. Commercial or not, we then decided not to go to JCPenney, but to return home to Olney. Enough out-of-county experiences for one day.

The Donation Jar Dilemma

Before the swimming season ended, our team held a informal barbecue dinner where each family donated $10. I entered the team's kitchen area to contribute my share, spied a jar labelled "Donations" and told the mother in charge of food that I was donating my money. Waving a $20 bill, I was just about to put it in the jar and take out $10 in change ... when she turned around to answer a question in the kitchen.


I paused awkwardly, not sure what to do. I couldn't leave all $20 in jar, but I also didn't want to rummage for change and look like I was stealing from the jar. Glancing around self-consciously, I cleared my throat and asked, "Uh, I have this $20 bill. Can I get change from the jar?" The food mom turned around briefly and smiled, "Sure." Then I repeated for good measure to everyone within earshot, "I'm putting in $20" so I'd feel less foolish/look less guilty fishing $10 out of the jar.


Then I realized that I was having a Seinfeld moment -- like George at the pizza store in "The Calzone" episode. Just when George puts cash into a tip jar, the cashier looks away to answer a question in the kitchen. Of course George then tries to grab it back but the cashier turns around, thinks that George is stealing from the jar, and then chases him from the pizza store waving a huge metal pizza spatula. 


These incidents bring up the familiar philosophical question of "When a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" Well, if a person puts money into a donation/tip jar when no one is looking, does it count? I think so but obviously George didn't. Bon appetite! 

The Swim Meet Will Go On and On ...

We returned from a family cruise on July 1, just hours after our house regained power. To strains of the Titanic movie's theme running through my head, I cleared the refrigerator/freezer of rotting food: "My heart will go on and on ..."

We were out of town on Saturday June 30, so my kids were not scheduled to be in that day's swim meet. Of course without electricity from the high storm on June 29, pools could not operate and the swim meet was postponed to Tuesday July 3 ... and my kids could swim in it after all, yay!

The rescheduled swim meet began at 6pm under blazing sun. By around 8pm, two-thirds of the way into the meet, dark clouds rolled in and a lifeguard heard a distant rumble of thunder. Grumbling, the parents and swimmers obediently shuffled into the clubhouse to wait. After the required 30 minutes of thunder/lightning-free (but now more ominous) skies, we resumed the meet, hurrying swimmers through 3 breaststroke heats when everyone heard a second, even louder roll of thunder. Back to the clubhouse everyone regrouped to wait. After just 10 minutes, we groaned at a third crackle of thunder and officials decided to postpone the rest of the meet to the next morning, July 4 at 7:45am.

My kids were still jet-lagged (having returned from Alaska less than 48 hours earlier) as we drove back to the pool early the next morning under gray clouds. Raindrops began drizzling on the windshield. Would we ever be able to finish this swim meet?

Luckily, the rain let up gradually. When I commented, "Great, the rain is lightening up!" another parent jokingly admonished, "Don't say anything involving 'lightening'!"

Around 8:30am, we finally lost (I think -- at this point who cared? Just kidding :) the meet. Unlike Celion Dion's voice still ringing in my head, the swim meet did not "go on and on".

Spring's Nursery

This spring, our backyard has turned into a maternity ward. We first discovered the dove's nest. A dove! Okay, not the pretty white ones, the brown ones, but they are still pretty. Those eyes! My husband stumbled upon the nest while trying to reposition an out of control vine when a bird suddenly sprang from a nest - the sight of which nearly knocked him off his ladder! Now we were curious. We looked in and there were two fairly large eggs. We check on the nest periodically and sure enough mamma (we presume) is on the job warming those eggs. We can see another dove watching from a distant tree which we assume is the papa. My husband says it's our own Decorah Eagles! But that's not all...

As part of our spring cleaning, my husband went to clean out our much neglected shed. He was about to lift off the tarp that was draped over our patio chairs when a small bird darted out and flew to a shelf. Again startled by an unexpected birds nest, he looked in the tarp and sure enough there was a nest with 5 small eggs! We're not sure what the bird is yet but it looks like a chubby finch. We checked on the nest today and the eggs have already hatched! Could the dove eggs be far behind? It got me thinking about spring renewal, nesting, and watching over babies. The backyard is alive with chirping and newborns. Even though my own babies are not babies anymore, I'm feeling protective of my little bird mothers and their offspring. Happy spring!