Confessions of a Candy Addict

I have a love-hate relationship with Halloween. I love it because, as an elementary music teacher, I get to sing fun Halloween songs with all of my cute students.

I hate it because it reveals my darker alter ego: Becky the Candy Addict.

I have always had a sweet tooth. I probably inherited it from my grandmother who always ate her dessert first.

Last month, I went on a sugar fast and limited my dairy intake to only non-fat varieties (I already eat mostly vegetarian) right before my annual doctor's appointment. My numbers were fantastic this year, and I felt really good too.

But then Halloween rolled around, and the candy showed up in the faculty room.

The faculty and staff put on an event called "Ghouls at School," and the students return to school in the evening to trick-or-treat at all of the teachers' classrooms. A few hours before, a huge box of candy is delivered to our doors, and we, teachers, have been know to partake before the kids show up.

The morning after Ghouls at School, I found two of my choir students pointing to my trash can with looks of amazement.

"Mrs. Duggan, look at all of the candy wrappers!" one of them exclaimed.

"Um . . . yeah?"

"Have the kids eaten that much candy already this morning?" she asked. (Several of my choir students had smuggled candy into the music room that day.)

"I think that may have been from last night . . . You know, the teachers eat candy too sometimes."

And by "teachers," I meant "your music teacher, Mrs. Duggan."

"You guys ate a lot."

I sighed, "I know . . ."

That afternoon, I realized I had a problem. I was having a pleasant conversation with our custodian, but I wasn't listening.

All I could think about was, "When is he going to leave so that I can eat all of that leftover candy in my desk?" I couldn't eat it in front of him because that would be embarrassing.

When I walked out to my car at the end of the day, I thought for sure that people could tell how much candy I had eaten that day just by looking at me. I felt ashamed. So I did what any reasonable person would do.

I took the rest of the candy home to my husband.

I may look healthy in my mountain biker costume, but that pumpkin full of candy was not safe around me. My husband, Dan, and I have already decided we will start avoiding sugar again the day after Halloween.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

The Ghost in the Music Room: Part 2

 

Halloween is upon us, and the school ghost is wreaking havoc once again. Last year, I told you about "The Ghost in the Music Room (also re-posted last week)." Well, as it often happens with our paranormal counterparts (I guess), she is still hanging out.

One second grader, new to our school, insists that a ghost follows him from the music room. When his teacher picks up the class, we watch him slowly turn his head and warily glance at the empty space behind him, as he tiptoes away from my classroom.

"Okay, that's creepy," the second grade teacher whispered hoarsely one afternoon.

"And I haven't even mentioned my ghost to your kiddos," I hissed. "I quit doing that a year ago when I realized I was traumatizing the classes."

Two of my teacher friends were alone in the building one weekend. One of them walked down the hallway and turned on the laminator. She heard a male voice coming from the third grade classroom down the hall, but when she reached the room, the door was locked, and everything was off.

(The next Monday, she and the third grade teacher made sure nothing electronic had accidentally been left on over the weekend. Everything was completely shut down.)

She raced to the other teacher's classroom, and the two of them ventured back down the third grade hall. On their way past the room with the laminator, they realized the door, that had been open just minutes before, was closed and the machine was off. Nobody else was working in the building that weekend.

The night custodian swears that, every once in a while, she hears someone press the handicap button on the playground doors. When she goes to investigate, one of the doors has opened like someone has exited the building.

But she is the only one there at that time.

One morning, I came to school to find the lights flipping on and off throughout the building. In my classroom, the top bank of lights went off, while the bottom bank stayed on.

Another day, the surround speakers in the music room wouldn't work unless someone held down the button on the sound box the entire time.

Oh, and the LCD projector turned on by itself when I walked into my room one day. At least, the ghost is trying to be helpful.

I have a friend who does some amateur ghost-busting. She says it sounds like a manifestation of certain energies rather than a specific benevolent (or malevolent) spirit. She even offered to ghost-bust our school. But I was too scared to asked the principal for overnight access. He already thinks I'm kind of crazy.

Maybe someday though, my school will end up on Ghost Hunters or something. How cool would that be?

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

The Ghost in the Music Room (RE-POST from 9/13/14)

I thought this would be an appropriate with Halloween approaching. Enjoy! (Originally published 9/13/14)

I have a ghost in my music room. I'm not kidding. I don't even believe in ghosts, and my school is only six years old. But there is seriously a ghost in my music room.

A couple of years ago, I was teaching preschoolers. Two other teachers were also in the room. My guitar sat on its stand near my far wall. No one was near it. We weren't bouncing around or doing anything that would have caused sympathetic vibrations. All of a sudden, the guitar played. It was as though someone strummed his/her fingers right over each string.

No joke.

I have credible adult witnesses.

Something played a glissando on one of my glockenspiels while I was alone after school one day. Again, all of the instruments were tucked away safely on the shelves. No one was even near them.

One spring afternoon, my third grade students were dancing "La Raspa," and the CD player started slowing down like a warped record on a turntable. (I'm sure some of you remember those old things.) The kids froze and stared at me. Normally, they would have giggled at the silly sounds coming from my stereo.

But my students take the ghost very seriously. In fact, after telling them the hilarious story about my guitar playing on its own, I realized, from their anxious expressions, I might be freaking my kids out. So I named the ghost "Fred."

That was until the opera singing incident.

"I swear I heard a woman's voice coming from your room at around ten o'clock," one of the night custodian's told me last year. "She was singing opera. She sounded just like you, but no one else was even here."

So it's unlikely that the ghost would be a "Fred," unless he's a countertenor.

Our current custodian told me she was cleaning near my room when she heard someone whisper her name and then break into laughter. Again, it was late evening, and no one else was in the building.

"I've been cleaning your room for a week, and I haven't heard anything," scoffed the other night custodian who was listening in on our conversation.

"Just wait," we said in unison.

This week, I've heard a knock on my exterior door twice while teaching class. Both times, the kids and I looked out the window, and no one was there. No wayward children were wandering around the courtyard either or running away guiltily after playing a little ding-dong ditch.

My husband, Dan, thinks that the music room might have an opening to a parallel world.

"Think about it," he said. "The woman is an opera singer who sounds just like you. She laughs, which you do a lot. She likes music and hangs out mostly in your room. The ghost could just be another you."

"Because that's so much more believable than a ghost," I said.

"It's quantum physics," he said. "You know, string theory?"

"You mean like Fringe?" I said. "Are you the Peter Bishop to my Olivia?"

"Do you want me to build you a window to the other universe?"

 

For more school ghost stories, check out "The Ghost in the Music Room: Part 2."

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Latte With Love

My husband, Dan, and I finally bought an espresso machine. After realizing how many punch cards we had at every coffee shop in Boise, we decided it was time. In other words, we were spending way too much money on four-dollar lattes.

We have been researching machines around Christmas. That's how long it took us to make a choice . . . just shy of one year. And by "we" and "us," I actually mean "Dan."

Dan was originally going to surprise me with a new espresso machine when I got home from Chess rehearsal one night. But he kept telling me about research findings, and in the end, it wasn't much of a surprise.

"I thought maybe we should get the [insert any coffee/espresso machine here because we considered all of them], but then I watched a video, and the [again, insert any machine] has a built-in frother."

This was the conversation every night until a machine magically appeared on the kitchen counter upon my return home.

We (mostly Dan) settled on the Mr. Coffee Café Barista. He had also picked up a package of Dawson Taylor coffee. But he was worried that the drip grounds he had bought wouldn't be fine enough for an espresso machine, and we were holding off on purchasing whole beans until our grinder, also an extensively researched piece of equipment, arrived in mail.

The other evening, I found Dan watching an infomercial about another coffee maker, "The Ninja Coffee Bar."

"What if that's a better machine?" Dan said. "And it's called 'Ninja!'"

"It's not better."

"What if it is?"

"It isn't."

Of course, despite all of my husband-teasing ways, our machine (and Dan) makes very good coffee every morning. Since Dan is the only one who knows how to use it, and I haven't bothered to learn yet, he has my mug waiting for me every morning.

"Here is your 'Latte With Love,'" he says as he hands it to me on my way out the door.

One day, I asked if I could try a cappuccino.

"But I don't have an alliterative name for it," he said.

"How about a 'Cappuccino With Care?'"

"That doesn't sound as cool."

But I've noticed he has started using it anyway.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Banned Books Week

Last year, I wrote a blog post about a book banning controversy going on in one of our local school districts.

This year, to mark the end of "Banned Books Week," I thought I would challenge my blog readers to take the quiz, "Which Banned Book Fits Your Personality?" just for fun . . .

Then let me know your result in the comments!

I got Slaughterhouse Five. 

"Slaughterhouse-Five has been banned for being everything from psychotic to vulgar. The book continues to be banned in schools, most recently in 2011 in a Missouri school district. The book follows unreliable narrator, Billy Pilgrim, who is a Chaplain’s Assistant before being brought into World War II. The science fiction book takes the reader from psych wards to outer space and is perfect for the open-minded bookworm."

I do love this book, but I'm not sure what it means that it "fits" my personality. Psychotic? Vulgar? Makes me sound pretty edgy. I do have issues. But that is another blog post for another time.

I am interested to know what banned book fits your personality.
‪#‎BannedBooksWeek‬

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.