Halloween; History and Traditions

Halloween, How much do you really know?

This is a fun page to visit, go to www.halloween.com.

Halloween is an annual celebration, but just what is it actually a celebration of? And how did this peculiar custom originate? Is it, as some claim, a kind of demon worship? Or is it just a harmless vestige of some ancient pagan ritual?
The word itself, "Halloween," actually has its origins in the Catholic Church. It comes from a contracted corruption of All Hallows Eve. November 1, "All Hollows Day" (or "All Saints Day"), is a Catholic day of observance in honor of saints. But, in the 5th century BC, in Celtic Ireland, summer officially ended on October 31. The holiday was called Samhain (sow-en), the Celtic New year.
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One story says that, on that day, the disembodied spirits of all those who had died throughout the preceding year would come back in search of living bodies to possess for the next year. It was believed to be their only hope for the afterlife. The Celts believed all laws of space and time were suspended during this time, allowing the spirit world to intermingle with the living.
Naturally, the still-living did not want to be possessed. So on the night of October 31, villagers would extinguish the fires in their homes, to make them cold and undesirable. They would then dress up in all manner of ghoulish costumes and noisily paraded around the neighborhood, being as destructive as possible in order to frighten away spirits looking for bodies to possess.
Probably a better explanation of why the Celts extinguished their fires was not to discourage spirit possession, but so that all the Celtic tribes could relight their fires from a common source, the Druidic fire that was kept burning in the Middle of Ireland, at Usinach.
Some accounts tell of how the Celts would burn someone at the stake who was thought to have already been possessed, as sort of a lesson to the spirits. Other accounts of Celtic history debunk these stories as myth.
The Romans adopted the Celtic practices as their own. But in the first century AD, Samhain was assimilated into celebrations of some of the other Roman traditions that took place in October, such as their day to honor Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit and trees. The symbol of Pomona is the apple, which might explain the origin of our modern tradition of bobbing for apples on Halloween.
The thrust of the practices also changed over time to become more ritualized. As belief in spirit possession waned, the practice of dressing up like hobgoblins, ghosts, and witches took on a more ceremonial role.
The custom of Halloween was brought to America in the 1840's by Irish immigrants fleeing their country's potato famine. At that time, the favorite pranks in New England included tipping over outhouses and unhinging fence gates.
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The custom of trick-or-treating is thought to have originated not with the Irish Celts, but with a ninth-century European custom called souling. On November 2, All Souls Day, early Christians would walk from village to village begging for "soul cakes," made out of square pieces of bread with currants. The more soul cakes the beggars would receive, the more prayers they would promise to say on behalf of the dead relatives of the donors. At the time, it was believed that the dead remained in limbo for a time after death, and that prayer, even by strangers, could expedite a soul's passage to heaven.
The Jack-o-lantern custom probably comes from Irish folklore. As the tale is told, a man named Jack, who was notorious as a drunkard and trickster, tricked Satan into climbing a tree. Jack then carved an image of a cross in the tree's trunk, trapping the devil up the tree. Jack made a deal with the devil that, if he would never tempt him again, he would promise to let him down the tree.
According to the folk tale, after Jack died, he was denied entrance to Heaven because of his evil ways, but he was also denied access to Hell because he had tricked the devil. Instead, the devil gave him a single ember to light his way through the frigid darkness. The ember was placed inside a hollowed-out turnip to keep it glowing longer.
The Irish used turnips as their "Jack's lanterns" originally. But when the immigrants came to America, they found that pumpkins were far more plentiful than turnips. So the Jack-O-Lantern in America was a hollowed-out pumpkin, lit with an ember.
So, although some cults may have adopted Halloween as their favorite "holiday," the day itself did not grow out of evil practices. It grew out of the rituals of Celts celebrating a new year, and out of Medieval prayer rituals of Europeans. And today, even many churches have Halloween parties or pumpkin carving events for the kids. After all, the day itself is only as evil as one cares to make it.

The Gladiator Diet Volume 61 Number 6, November/December 2008

Check out this article from the current issue of ARCHAEOLOGY magazine. www.archaeology.org.

How to eat, exercise and diet and die a violent death.

Contemporary accounts of gladiator life sometimes refer to the warriors as hordearii--literally, "barley men." Grossschmidt and collaborator Fabian Kanz subjected bits of the bone to isotopic analysis, a technique that measures trace chemical elements such as calcium, strontium, and zinc, to see if they could find out why. They turned up some surprising results. Compared to the average inhabitant of Ephesus, gladiators ate more plants and very little animal protein. The vegetarian diet had nothing to do with poverty or animal rights. Gladiators, it seems, were fat. Consuming a lot of simple carbohydrates, such as barley, and legumes, like beans, was designed for survival in the arena. Packing in the carbs also packed on the pounds. "Gladiators needed subcutaneous fat," Grossschmidt explains. "A fat cushion protects you from cut wounds and shields nerves and blood vessels in a fight." Not only would a lean gladiator have been dead meat, he would have made for a bad show. Surface wounds "look more spectacular," says Grossschmidt. "If I get wounded but just in the fatty layer, I can fight on," he adds. "It doesn't hurt much, and it looks great for the spectators."
The existence of the four-pointed dagger (replica pictured here) was known from inscriptions, but its function was a mystery until this crippling quadruple knee wound was identified. (Courtesy Karl Grossschmidt)
But a diet of barley and vegetables would have left the fighters with a serious calcium deficit. To keep their bones strong, historical accounts say, they downed vile brews of charred wood or bone ash, both of which are rich in calcium. Whatever the exact formula, the stuff worked. Grossschmidt says that the calcium levels in the gladiator bones were "exorbitant" compared to the general population. "Many athletes today have to take calcium supplements," he says. "They knew that then, too."
That's not to say life--or death--as a gladiator was pleasant. Many of the men Grossschmidt's team studied died only after surviving multiple blows to the head. "The proportion of wounds to the skull was surprising, since all gladiatorial types but one wore helmets," says Harvard's Coleman. Gladiators usually fought one-on-one, with their armor and weaponry designed to give opposite advantages. For example, a nimble, lightly armored and helmetless retiarus with a net and trident would be pitted against a plodding murmillo wearing a massive helmet with tiny eye slits and carrying a thick, long shield. Three of the Ephesus skulls had been punctured by tridents, weapons used only by gladiators. Ten had been bashed in with blunt objects, perhaps mercy blows with a hammer. Other injuries illustrate the gladiator's ideal death, finally accepting the coup de grâce. Cut marks on four of the men were evidence of a dramatic end. "When they lost and were lying on their stomachs, their opponent stabbed them through the shoulder blade into the heart," Grossschmidt says. "We also found vertebrae with cut marks. They would have been from a downward stabbing sword wound through the throat into the heart."

Down Memory Lane

Down Memory Lane, a short story of life covering 18 years (really, really short).

Summer is well on its way in Lenexa, Kansas and I am able to sit out in the fresh air and sunshine with my morning coffee. That means time to go over memories of the past as I wish I could visit family and friends from the various places they have scattered to. First I think about my grand daughter I see only once every few years and my four grandsons, one I have seen twice, two I have seen one time and a new grandson I have not seen at all. When you start thinking about your life, memories fly around in your head with pictures and events so clear, often some you have forgotten about. Even now they are popping up fast, flitting from one to another related memory, I don’t know how I will put them all together.


I am the oldest of seven children; three girls and four boys; of parents Caryl and Don.
My mom said I could not possibly remember some of the things that I do but even from the age of four when I started kindergarten my memories are clear. I consider myself to be the shyest person ever born so my first week in school was traumatic. I was born in December so I was 4 years old when I started school. Every morning I had to walk several blocks to school and after I left the house I would find a spot under a tree and sit there until I saw the kids coming back home. My mom never suspected until the truant officer came to our house and gave me up. I remember when the pond near our house flooded and our first floor was under several inches of water. There were four of us then, Donna, Melanie, Stephen, Deborah (Mel, Steve, Debbie). I don’t know about the others but I was thrilled to be carried out of the house and going to spend some time with our grandparents until the water went down. For awhile I think we had bits of grass sprouting in some of the rooms until everything dried out. There was a minor fire with Dad rushing us out of the house, the neighbors collecting to watch. I don’t remember what happened after that, I don’t think it was a big problem because we were not displaced

Most of my childhood was spent living in a “country” setting. The closest we came to city living was when we lived in the middle of town in Central Square when I was about eight years old. That house is still there although I think it is either a business or a two apartment home. My brother Steve owns a mobile home business in the town.

As kids living in the country we were our own friends. Life away from home was still dangerous but not quite as bad as today. Criminals of any sort were given a heavy dose of justice instead of the spoiling and pampering they get today in the systems we are paying for. My brothers and sisters traveled together as much as miles away from home at young ages to visit friends, explore the woods, swim in the “crick”. We were more in danger of poison ivy or a broken arm from falling over a tree trunk (which I did) than we were from pedophiles or street gangs. Today I would be in a panic if my grandkids wanted to go into the woods to build a fort, wanted to take their bikes out into the street or walk the mile to the store. There are so many registered sex offenders in our zip code alone that they could barely get to the end of the street without my watching them. Rarely do I see the speed limit followed even by people on their own street.

We lived in small towns where we sat on the steps of the local shops to “people watch” and occasionally buy a 35 cent donut, we lived in the country where we walked the roads and played in the woods daily, played in puddles when it rained, checked out abandoned houses, rode on our farmer neighbors Clydesdales and fed the enormous pigs. Not one time did we need or have a grownup with us to protect us from harm except for the farmer that helped us up onto the work horses. Over the years we lived in Mattydale, Manlius near Pratts Falls Park, Mallory, Central Square, Minoa, then back to Central Square when I was about 14 years old. This is where we all settled and I and all of my brothers and sisters graduated from Paul V. Moore High School.

My Mom was 15 years old when I was born, she was the mother of four small children by the time she was 21 years old and later there would be three more added to the mix. There is no doubt that it was a challenge to care for a large family but I do not remember feeling different or realizing we were very close to being what people call “poor”. We always lived in our own home, never went hungry that I can remember ( although salt pork and gravy still haunts me ) and we certainly were comfortably clothed. Peanut butter is still my favorite food ( pizza is a close second but we did not have pizza during my childhood ), I still enjoy bologna sandwiches and bean sandwiches with honey or catsup.

We were a scruffy bunch of kids but darn we had fun. Lots of fun. We usually lived in the country but my Grandparents lived in the country and my aunt lived in Syracuse so we had a well rounded choice of things to do and places to go.
If we went to our gramma and grampa Simmons house in Pratts Falls we could swim in the “crick”, find arrows from the archery range in the woods, check for fossils in the park, confiscate corn from the neighbors field and cook it with the frogs legs my uncle Buster freed from frogs he caught in the “crick”. My sister Melanie, my uncle Buster and I were the only kids old enough to play outside independently. Believe it or not; I was eight years old and driving the jeep around the back lots, firing a 30 odd 6 rifle, a 22 caliber rifle and a 45 handgun that lifted me off my feet. We made campfires in the back lot near the stream and cooked hot dogs or whatever, walked the roadway behind our neighbors cart and picked up the stray pea pods that fell off so gramma Doris could can or freeze them, and walked miles to visit friends. I know my parents did not worry about us and we never felt fear of anything that I can recall. The closest we came to danger was when my uncle Buster brought his rifle into the mobile home we lived in and it went off accidentally. Wow! We were all so scared. Buster was about ten years old but we all handled the rifles at times so we said nothing and hoped my parents would not see the bullet hole in the ceiling. I have no idea what was done about it.

When we visited my aunt Georgianna it was always my sister Mel and me. With aunt “George” we went to church ( I usually managed to have a headache so I could stay home), we shopped at the Ben Franklin store and my personal favorite was the trip to Pennsylvania for the Laurel festival. As young teens Mel and I would go to Onondaga park and check out the boys.

Visiting gramma and grandpa Cornell was somewhat different. Again, it was usually my sister Mel, myself and very often our cousins Sharon and Pat since we were the same age. We still had lots of fun but gramma Cornell was more strict and we spent some of our visit cleaning, doing dishes, and grammas favorite thing for us to do was to wash windows. For many long years every Sunday aunts, uncles and cousins joined my family at gramma and grampa Cornells house for dinner. Christmas Eve would be with gramma Doris and grampa Elmore one year and with aunt Georgianna the next, Christmas day would always be with gramma and grampa Cornell. I remember very well the time the entire family got together to do a “barn raising” for grampa. Their home was in Bridgeport then. When we stayed for a few days we would go to ice cream socials, rummage sales, small restaurants with them, grampa liked to eat out.

I was ten years old when we moved to Minoa. Hard to believe but our house was a converted “chicken coop”, long, narrow and not big enough for two adults and six children. Mom and Dad slept on a sofa sleeper and we had bunk beds and cribs for the rest of us. We also had rats the size of cats but they did not last long with the poison Dad put out. We had our first puppies in Minoa, I had my first bike and I learned how to swim and dive in the “crick” down the road. I was ten, Mel would have been eight, Steve six and Debbie four. Don was about two and Bruce just a baby. I was in sixth grade at ten (remember, I started school in June at four years old) and I went out on my first “date”. Teddy Hills asked me to go to a school play with him, his father chaperoned, and we had ice cream sundaes after the show. The Mickey Mouse Club was fairly new, I loved the cartoon “Speedy Gonzales” and when I went into junior high I stopped getting straight A’s. Dad worked in Massena on construction, Mom, as usual, looked after the family, our family car was a 1955 Dodge Coupe with no back seats. Again, the closest we came to danger was when Mel, Steve and I climbed into the attic and, not realizing how fragile the floor/ceiling was, we came crashing down through the ceiling, one on top of the other, scaring the pee out of mom.

When I turned fourteen we moved back to Central Square. We had a nice little house with an attached enclosed porch. One wall in the living room had a mural of the Everglades and it was so beautiful, we all loved the flowers and trees living on our wall. The next four years were fairly humdrum, my brother Jeff was born while we lived in this house,(Mom wanted a girl so the closet was filled with tiny baby dresses), my Moms best friend was Claire Gugliotto, Mel and I had slumber parties at Marie’s and I learned how easy it was to climb out my bedroom window to meet a boyfriend. Home games, away games, dances, dating, swimming at the Brewerton Docks, going to the races at Archies Speedway Inn. I was very shy so I tended to hang out with Mel, her friends were often my friends as well. I graduated high school when I was seventeen and did some babysitting to make money until I turned eighteen

At that time I went to work at the GE plant in Liverpool, NY and moved into an apartment with my cousin Sharon. During that time I met my future husband and life went in an entirely different direction.

That is the end of this story for now.

Unlocking A Civil War Prison, AIA feature

The history of the founding of the United States of America is fascinating when you focus on the reasons why we are here and how we worked and sacrificed to achieve our freedom. Anytime we are at war with another country or culture is a time for Americans to reflect on the "blood, sweat and tears" our ancestors shed and then shiver with fear at the thought of living in countries in near slavery with hellish leaders and the daily threat of having family members disappear never to return (unless it's on the doorstep in pieces).

One of the worst tragedies Americans have suffered is the American civil war in which men and women, brothers, parents and spouses, fought against one another over an issue that has yet to be resovled. In one manner or another Americans still have prejudices concerning color, culture and gender.

The Archaeological Institute of America (AIA) www.archaeological.org is North America's oldest and largest organization devoted to the world of archaeology. The AIA promotes an informed public interest in the cultures and civilizations of the past, supports archaeological research and fosters the sound professional practice of archaeology.

In 1999 excavations were started on a Civil War prison on Johnsons Island in Ohio. The continuing excavations offer a revealing insight into the workings of the barracks, the hospital and, of all things, the latrine of what once housed Confederate POWs. If you are a Civil War buff as I am this is a must see and read account of just a small piece of the time.

There is more to the AIA than I can describe here so it would benefit you to visit their website at www.archaeological.org and consider being a member. You can also check out AIAs Heather Pringle at www.heatherpringle.com and her blog in AIA is always so informative and interesting reading. Heather can be found in AIA at "Beyond Stone and Bone".

My daughters "fight" and "life" with Huntingtons Disease (she's winning, you can too).

Tamara at age 32 in 2004 during a family reunion in New York.

Tamara age 36 at home in Lenexa, Kansas on her tricked out scooter.

My daughters "fight" and "life" with Huntingtons Disease started when Tamara was 18 yrs old and began to have episodes of anxiety followed by long periods of depression. We assumed this was because of a failed relationship and she was pregnant. Tami had always been a happy, outgoing person so we knew this would be temporary and we sent her to all the appropriate doctors for her condition.

When her son died hours after birth her symptoms became more severe and for the first time I worried that she might actually be showing the emotional problems her father had suffered with since his early teens. For six long years Tami dealt with severe and debilitating drpression, anxiety and various attempts at suicide. All of her hours, days, weeks, months and years were spent with doctors and counselors, drowning in the drugs they prescribed, her social life was in her bedroom with her TV. She went from a junior size 4 in clothing to a womens size XL, had chronic nosebleeds, stomach pain, lost her sense of smell and taste and cried for hours every day. During these years her doctors and counselors told her to "get a job, learn to meditate, stop thinking about yourself, get a boyfriend, get out more." As a family we were led to believe she was an attention seeking sociopath wanting to be taken care of. Knowing her grandfathers and father's history, the medical profession let her down severely, she lost many years of her life and came close to death countless times.

In 1999 we moved to Kansas and started her right away with the local mental health community in Overland Park. On her first visit I was stunned to hear the doctor say he was fairly sure he knew what was wrong and it was not something she was doing to get attention, she has a real health problem. He sent her to KUMC (Kansas University Medical Center) http://www.kumc.edu/ for tests and very quickly they confirmed his suspicions that she had Huntingtons Disease. I wish I could say I was relieved to finally know the problem but after going to the HDSA http://www.hdsa.com/ web site and reading only the first paragraph, I was sick with fear for my daughter. Kansas has one of the few Huntingtons research hospitals in the US so she was started on what they considered the appropriate and necessary plan of care. How horribly wrong that would be!

Huntingtons Disease wasn't known in the 1960's and 1970's when I was with Tami's father so his diagnosis and treatment of "manic depression, obsessive compulsion, and paranoid schizophrenia" was simply accepted because I didn't know better. He was tested at the age of 57 and has the disease; now we have a greater fear than mental illnes or alcoholism, how many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren have the disease!

It would be painful to go into the long history of neglect Tami suffered at the hands of doctors, psychiatrists, nursing home staff and ultimately the staff at Osawatami State Hospital. The collective answer for all of her symptoms was; "she has Huntingtons Disease, this is what it does, there is no cure, this is the way she will be until she dies." The amount of drugs put into her tiny body was horrific to me, just a plain aspirin person. Research using books, videos and the internet told me quickly that 90% of her symptoms were not the disease; they were the result of the drugs. Chronic nosebleeds, diarrhea, stomach pain and headaches were not part of the disease. The drugs were being used to alleviate the anxiety, depression, aggressive behavior and the movement disorder. The drugs were causing anxiety, depression, aggressive behavior, nosebleeds, diarrhea, stomach pain, headaches, loss of appetite resulting in gross malnutrition, loss of smell and taste.

When she looked like a holocaust victim, I asked if I could bring her nutritious "power" drinks and vitamins. The answer was no! with no real explanation. Could you cut back on some of the redundant drugs? No, she needs them! If she misbehaved she was given more drugs until finally she was overdosed and had to be taken to the ER. There the doctors found what they described as a "raging" urinary tract infection and her body overdosed on Haldol. She had pin pricks on her legs, rug burn on her knees and shins, bloody gums and lips, petechial hemorrhaging on her chest and shoulders. The ER staff called the state hospital to berate them but apparently that was all they could do. That did make me realize what had happened was not usual and I needed to act on it. I contacted every state, federal and local agency dealing with nursing home and state hospitals, talked with social workers and her doctors including her neurologist. I think by now you know their answer; "she does have Huntingtons you know."

Tami was sent to Osawatamie State Hospital because her aggressive behavior was dangerous to her and anyone around her. I was told she was on her last legs and probably did not have much time left. At this point she would sit in her wheelchair and respond to very little, just droop and drool. I decided it was time to take her home before she was killed with drugs, physical restraints and unconcern.

As you would expect, I was opposed by everyone including Tami. She was afraid to be away from the environment she had known for 5 years where she felt safe knowing someone was there to give her a drug or put her in restraints and into a room where she couldn't hurt anyone. I was taking a huge chance but I needed to try. I could never recommend this as the right thing to do for everyone.

The first few weeks were a nightmare. I had no one to help me but myself, the medical and mental health system would not help because I had taken Tami home without their approval.

I brought Tami home on Nov. 19th, 2002 and filled her with all the power drinks I could. They were made with ice cream, yogurt, eggs, vitamins and bananas. She loved pancakes and ravioli so her diet was limited but nutritious. When we went out to eat she would enjoy oatmeal with raisins and lots of sugar. Within weeks she lost the hollow cheeks and gained weight around her ribs. In January, 2003 I started taking away miniscule amounts of her drugs without telling her so she would not be afraid. Each month I would let her know what I had done the previous month so very quickly she went along with the plan. It took two years of cutting back but by 2004 Tami was 100% drug free and feeling like a new person. I took her to see her neurologist so he could see how well she had done, she could walk now and laugh. Can you guess what his reply was? Of course; "Tami, you know you are going to die of this disease, you cant't change it. Not a word of encouragement, no smile and a pat on the back for how she had pulled herself away from the drugs and was a better and healthier person. Tami smiled and stood up, we left and will not go back.

Tami has been drug free for 4 years, she has gone from droop and drool to feeding and dressing herself, with the help of the in store scooter she does her own shopping. Her physical and emotional health have improved to a point where she does her own yearly interviews with her resource counselor Kristin. She has a battery operated scooter and travels our neighborhood, rides the trails and visits with anyone she sees. With a huge yellow umbrella and a horn, she lets herself be known.

This has been a dangerous journey, it has not been anywhere near fun, but the outcome has been all that I could have hoped for. Tami would like to be cured but I know that will not happen. The rest of the story has yet to come.

stop child abuse, dont be afraid

We all have a setting in our e-mail that lets us filter out mail we don't want to receive. Often, I get e-mail from sites that have amazing photos so I keep the address even though there will be "stuff" I don't want.

Several months ago a series of photos came through that were labeled as "cute". When I saw them I thought just the opposite, they were not cute, they were photos of small children that appeared to be very frightened and all were crying. Every child was also naked from mid-chest up.

I fired off an e-mail to the local FBI child abuse link and waited. At first I heard nothing and decided it did not sound bad enough for them to worry about. Months went by and I did wonder and then, just one week ago, a message on my voice mail from the local office.

I was asked to send the link with the photos which I did, and I told the gentleman I spoke with that even if these were innocent, I would like to get my hands on the photographer that would post photos like this to the entire world and think they were cute.

It's been only one week since the phone call and on our local news last evening there was a story of breaking events, a major child porno ring web site had been exposed and hundreds of photos had been posted on the site from computers in our state.

As Joe Leaphorn often states ( from the Tony Hillerman novels ), "there is no such thing as coincidence." I sure hope I had something to do with finding this ring.

If you ever come across something in your e-mail or on the web that you think is very unacceptable, do not be worried about contacting the authorities.

Hey, it's me, Donna

hi, i guess its obvious my name is donna and i seldom resort to capital letters unless i need to be formal.

to know me is to know i am a mom four times, a gramma three times and a great-gramma four times. since two of my grandkids and all of my great grandkids are very young i expect to be about 83 befor i have another great grand kid.

i truely love photography and have been teaching my grandkids some of the art of using a camera. i am a devoted bookworm as are two of my kids and my grandson aidan.

if i had the time earlier in my life before so much time was devoted to children and family, i would have chosen archaeology as my career. i continue to study and belong to the Kansas local Archaeological Society and the Archaeology Conservancy.

i retired early, nearly three years ago, so to keep busy when not being with my grandkids, i have an online store where i sell "stuff". i bought a web site and using their basic template, created a store front, added photo, text, product and learned more about computer headaches than i could have imagined. I love my finished store, it is beautiful, come on over and visit, http://www.roseznlace.com/.

i take endless photos with my sony digital camera and i am now ready to upgrade, i just have to find the one i want. i have more than 10,000 photos saved on CD and use them for greeting cards for birthdays and other events. i enjoy creating a card for my family that is unique. since i have a photoshop program i have a lot of fun putting together photo art and i am working on restoring old family photos.

i am looking forward to finding other "bloggers" with my interests, especially in photography and archaeology.

later, donna