Month: October 2022

My least favorite holiday is Halloween. I am glad when it is over each year.

I do like carving pumpkins, candy corn, images of black cats, and festive autumn colors. Beyond that, however, little endears me to the holiday.

Halloween began over 2000 years ago in the pagan festival of Samhain among the Celts of ancient Britain and Ireland. On November 1, the new year marked the beginning of the winter period. It was often associated with death and warding off evil. Traditions around those concerns developed on October 31 and remain today.

I didn’t go trick or treating as a child since we lived in the country. The alternative was a Halloween Party at our church. I am not blaming my feelings for Halloween based on my upbringing. On the other hand, I did not get overly excited about church Halloween even though we did activities like wear costumes and bob for apples. I will, however, always remember (circa 1956) when my cousins dressed up at Elvis Pressley and a hound dog at the Halloween party.

I am one of those curmudgeons who turns off all the lights on Halloween night and retreats to the back rooms of my house so children will NOT come to beg at my door. Candy rots teeth and makes people chubby—how is that for being a Halloween killjoy?

My biggest problem is the focus on horror, scary things, creepiness, and the grotesque. I went to one horror movie in my life when I was in high school. I pulled my coat over my head the whole time and have never gone to another such movie. I find it offensive that Halloween regalia can make fun of people who are “different.”

Costumes do not have to be ugly and grotesque. I have had fun seeing the outfits that creative people can put together and wonder why I didn’t think of that. However, Halloween creativity is a stretch for me, except for my Fat Bear costume in 2019 (see photo).

I am glad that I live in a community that has a fun Halloween tradition. In Estes Park, residents come to the main street blocked off for 2-3 hours. Children as well as adults (and sometimes dogs) dress up in costumes and go store to store to garner free treats. Local organizations and businesses serve complimentary hot dogs, chili, and cocoa. People stroll on the streets and greet each other along the way.

Halloween is what it is. I do not disparage people who look forward to Halloween rituals–Happy Halloween! It’s just not for me…

Richard Lingard stated, “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” I agree with this conclusion after years of observing people and their play and leisure habits. I sometimes project an (in)ability to play.

Watching animals play brings me extraordinary joy. I love seeing children engage in spontaneous play behavior. As I think about play, however, I realize that I am not exceptionally good at it. People watching me “at play” might conclude that I am mostly purposeful and not playful.

Play means to take part in activity for enjoyment rather than for a serious or practical resolve. I take immense pride in the leisure activities that encompass my retirement. However, my play usually involves purpose. If I hike, I have a destination. Band rehearsal is in preparation for upcoming concerts. I volunteer to be helpful. I am not necessarily playful in these activities.

Nevertheless, play is ubiquitous in my world. It brings great enjoyment. As someone who has devoted my professional career to understanding leisure and play behavior, and now encouraging responsible play in the outdoors, I think often about the meanings and value of play. I am concluding that play is leisure but not all leisure is play as I reflect on my life.

The developmental attributes of play for children are well documented. Fred Rogers noted that “Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children, play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” Because I have the privileged means, I have found for myself that leisure is the play of retirement with purpose.

The anticipation and involvement in play or any type of recreation involves fun and enjoyment. In my research and systematic observations over the years, as well as in my personal life, I know that enjoyment leads to people’s motivations. For individuals to act often requires the anticipation of pleasure. Jogging and dancing are ways to be active and may have different meanings for the play of individuals.

Play may be something that does not need definition. It just needs to be enjoyed an hour (or a minute) at a time.

I am learning about communication and visitor behavior as a volunteer at Rocky Mountain National Park. Managing expectations is a key idea.

Expectations are assumptions about something in the future. They are usually positive and based on prior experiences and present desires. Expectations, however, may not be reality grounded. Managing expectations is the practice of communicating information to prevent gaps between people’s perceptions and situational realities.

A fine line exists between encouraging people to visit the park and advising them about what they need to know as they anticipate the visit. Naomi Karten described the challenge as managing people who want more, better, faster, easier, and NOW. Those expectations may not be possible. Under promising and over delivering may be a good strategy.

People set both intentional and unintentional expectations. Everything we do, everything we say, everything we don’t do, everything we don’t say connotes expectations about upcoming events. For these reasons, expectations require managing to ensure that individuals hold realistic and intentional hopes.

Expectations clearly go two ways in any relationship. For example, park rangers and volunteers expect people to read signs and obey the rules. Visitors expect that they will be able to enjoy the park freely without impediments. Mismatched expectations can create disappointment. Honest messages about being PATIENT are necessary.

I have been thinking about the expectations I have in my personal life. I realize that I am happier if I keep my expectations lower. I am also discovering that my life is less frustrating if I don’t expect perfection from myself or others. I want to set the bar high for my behavior as well as from others, but I also aspire to be patient and forgiving when things do not go as hoped.

Planning for the worst outcome and yet hoping for the best helps me level my expectations. If I don’t expect certain things to happen, I am more likely to be surprised than disappointed. Managing my own expectations is an ongoing challenge. I hope my work in the park also helps others recognize that better, faster, and easier positive recreation experiences require patience.

Dad wanted a farm dog—one that would help him in herding livestock and be a watch dog on the farm. He wanted a dog not coddled by his daughters.  

Once us girls were in college, Dad had a chance to train his desired loyal hard working furry companion. He found someone giving away a puppy—a yellow lab/German shepherd motley mix. The pup slept in a nail keg when he arrived. Thus, he was named Kegger.

Everything started out well for Dad who thought he could train this dog. Kegger was not a quick learner, but he was only a puppy. He mostly followed Dad around and got into typical puppy curiosity troubles.

Farm dogs did not live indoors. Our dogs, however, spent nights in a warm enclosed porch. During the day, they were free to roam but usually stayed nearby waiting for a human to emerge.

One summer morning when he was a couple years old, Kegger went with my dad to do chores and then disappeared for several hours. Dad was concerned hoping that Kegger had not been hit by a car. Midafternoon mom got a call from the YMCA camp that was two miles down the road. The director said a yellow dog showed up and one of the neighbors thought it might belong to the Hendersons. Kegger had endeared himself to every child he encountered at camp that day. Dad retrieved him, apologized, and promised Kegger would not return.

He kept a close eye on Kegger for several days and tied him up if he was away hoping that Kegger would be cured of his roaming and forget the campers. When Dad thought Kegger had learned his lesson, he was under less scrutiny. Within days of Kegger’s freedom, however, the camp called and said Kegger had come for another visit. Camp was over in two weeks so Dad thought the problem would end once the children went home.

All was well into the fall and Kegger kept by Dad’s side. One late autumn day, however, my mother who was a reading specialist at our local elementary school, was assigned playground duty. When she went outside, she found Kegger nuzzling every child that would pay attention to him. Dad came to town and took him home.

This day at school was not isolated. Kegger set off to school (or camp) whenever he had a chance. He was addicted to children who would love on him.

Kegger was loyal to Dad but not committed enough to stay home willingly and tend to farm activities if children were an option. He lived a long life as a lovable mutt who eventually abandoned his wandering ways. My Dad adored Kegger, but Kegger never became a hard-working farm dog.

Footnote: My father turns 99 this month in heaven. I love remembering stories about him and his adventures, especially with animals.