Halloween: "Thrills, Chills or Other Zany Ill's."

In 2014, two-thirds of all Americans had plans to celebrate Halloween, spending an average amount of $77.52 on candy, costumes, and decorations. Half of Americans planned to give out two pieces of candy to 42.1 million trick-or-treaters, ages 5-14 (CNN.com). In other words, Halloween in America remains a significant celebration. But what is it about Halloween?

What is it about being terrified and fascinated at the same time, like watching for Freddy Krueger peeking from behind a door, fearing someone will die, but fascinated by the method to be used in the process? Halloween is a celebration that holds a similar mystique not only for children, but for adults as well.


With 66.7 percent of Americans decorating their homes and offices, Halloween exceeds Thanksgiving Day for most interest and creativity in the way it is observed. Only Christmas creates more interest and candy sales. "As one of the world's oldest holidays, Halloween is still celebrated today in several countries around the globe, but it is in North America and Canada that it maintains its highest level of popularity"(www.novareinna.com/festive/world.html).


When I was a child, we were not allowed to go outdoors on Halloween, but Trick-or-Treat happened the night before, and whatever distance we could travel before returning home by midnight was acceptable. We spent weeks eagerly planning which outfits we would ask our mother to make. On this important occasion before Halloween, my siblings and I would leave home, dressed to impress. We would then scout the best neighborhoods near our side of town in order to fill large decorated brown bags (made strong especially for trappings of Halloween like candy apples, oranges, bags of marshmallows, bubble gum, and candy bars of all types and sizes). We'd start out at dusk and return home by midnight, a tribe of five older children who brought home enough snacks to share with those too small for trekking through dark streets and following porch lights that signaled it was okay to knock on the doors and request, "Trick or Treat."


After returning home, it was a quick bath and off to bed, but in the morning, it was finding a separate corner in which to examine and categorize the goodies before deciding which treats would be shared and which would not. In separate areas of a bedroom, each of us would discard any unwrapped treats, tossing them into the trash no matter how delicious they looked. If caught eating anything unwrapped, the entire bag of goodies would be confiscated. Eating as much candy and junk food as a body could handle was gluttony, which was considered a sin, but on Halloween, it was allowed.


It was a frightening experience, following our brother and his twin sister because all we could see in the darkness was their backs and the houses on opposite sides of the street, so we simply followed and prepared for the worst as the two eldest led us through winding streets, around creepy corners, and past noisy, barking dogs. We expected giant spiders and gooey spider webs; green-faced witches and grotesque goblins; big, angry black cats trying to cross our paths; drooling monsters of all kinds. Along the way, we saw many action figures and superheros, and a few real-life bullies hoping to steal bags of goodies from the smaller children without doing any of the hard work. The only surprise was having a heavy bag split open, spilling candy all over the sidewalk and ground like gummy bear guts.


Arriving home with a bag of treats intact was a miracle in itself, and arriving home with no poisoned treats was even more so. That was the way it was throughout our years of trick-or-treating on our own--kids and the neighbors celebrating together--until somebody gave poisoned fruit to some kids and taking treats from younger children led to warnings and curfews being put into place. 

For me, Trick-or-Treat is an event that conjures fond memories that are as vivid today as they were yesterday, and even with all of the mystery and element of surprise, I wouldn't change a thing. What are your best memories of Halloween? 

Can love in intimate relationships exist without sex?

Can love exist without sex?

If you really think about it, love is a combination of subtle emotions, but the essence of love is a feeling of completeness. When we say we love someone, we are trying to describe an emotion that defies definition or description: completeness. "Completeness" is more a strong sensation than an emotion because it is different for each individual.  When someone fulfills our physical and emotional needs, we feel "complete" because important human needs are being met. 

According to Abraham Maslow's "Hierarchy of Needs," feelings of trust, safety, intimacy, and acceptance reflect important human needs, and fulfilling needs creates feelings of well-being, especially when combined with sexual fulfillment. But sexual intimacy creates a different set of needs, including the need for safety or permanence in the relationship based on feelings of love.

Love is defined as "an intense feeling of deep affection," and because of its level of intensity, such deep affection creates a desire for emotional and physical "completeness" or sexual intimacy. But once a relationship becomes sexual, there are hormonal changes that often lead to a need for greater emotional attachment, more often for women who usually work harder to ensure their object of affection remains connected and dedicated to the relationship. 

Sexual intimacy is reassuring and it creates an emotional bond, but it also can create anxiety or insecurity. Fulfilling our need for love or emotional "completeness" is a human need, but must it include sexual intimacy? Can love exist without sex? 

-mhjohnson

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See Also: Oxytocin: The Love and Trust Hormone Can Be Deceptive | Psychology Today https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/love-and-gratitude/201310/oxytocin-the-love-and-trust-hormone-can-be-deceptive

Do you know someone who needs her story told? I do. Her name is Martha.

Hi, My name is Martha, and I am a twin. My sister and I bonded in our mother's womb, and we kicked and played like any normal kids, despite the fact that our mother suffered physical, emotional, and verbal abuse and despite the fact that she even fell down on the porch in her eighth month of pregnancy.

It's been said, she was huge and we were a heavy burden, but she was proud to be having two of us, despite the fact that he worked late hours and sometimes stayed out all night after the restaurant closed. I could taste the bitterness of stress whenever she was upset, but after all was said and done, the three of us survived. 

I was born first and my sister followed, and all seemed well, but it wasn't long before they realized, something was wrong.  My speech wasn't developing, and I couldn't follow instructions when I was given something to do.  My appearance was normal (I think I looked prettier than my twin sister but she was pretty, too). My body was perfect. I had strong legs and a perfect shape for a little girl.  

My sister and I played and made cooing sounds in the baby bed all day and sometimes at night. We'd awake and one of us would start cooing, then it was both of us, then one of my big sisters along with my big brother would arrive to change the sheets, change our diapers, and feed us a bottle of milk while our mother tried to catch some rest. Those were the glory days, the land of milk and honey with a mother, father, and a houseful of kids who played with us and fed us when our mother was too exhausted.

Then one day it happened. I had to go away because I couldn't attend school and my mother had to work while the other kids went to school. They said I would never achieve more skills than a four-year old, even if my mother followed the doctors' instructions and treated me like any normal kid. But my mother didn't because she couldn't force me to do what didn't come natural. Even though I was just as big as my twin sister and old enough in years, I was still a baby in my mental abilities.

So they sent me away and my mother visited every week until I had to move two hours north. Then she saw me once a month. I'm fine, now and if you let me tell it, I don't think anything is wrong. In fact I'm better than many kids who were damaged at birth because at least, I don't know I'm mentally retarded (or mentally "disabled" is what they like to say), and at least I don't know about being normal coming out of the womb when that inexperienced intern applied too much pressure and used the forceps incorrectly as I was being delivered.  We didn't find this out until it was time for me to be admitted into my new home at age nine. My mother read the new doctor's report and cried, but I never knew why.

That's my story, and I think people like me need to be heard about. I can't write. My sister writes for me, but if you know someone who needs you to write their story, you can write it anytime. They'll appreciate it as much as I do.
Post her story here or at www.emomastery.com. mhjohnson