How I Rocked Halloween This Year

I used to hate Halloween. I mean, it was fine when I was a cute kid. Once you enter that self-conscious adolescent phase though, it's hard to know what to do with yourself on Halloween.

Teenagers in costumes, holding out pillowcases like they expect pounds and pounds of candy, aren't cute anymore. I didn't want to be one of those. I also didn't want to smash pumpkins or throw eggs, not out of some sense of civic duty. I just didn't like the mess it made.

Then I became a teacher at an elementary school, and Halloween became fun again.

My school sponsors an event called "Ghouls at School" every year prior to Halloween. The kids parade through the school, dressed in their costumes, trick-or-treating at the teachers' doors. Several of us teachers even dress up.

It reminds me of trick-or-treating at the mall in Ohio when I was a kid. The store clerks would lock up their businesses and hand out candy, and our parents didn't have to worry about crazy people putting razor blades in caramel apples and popcorn balls.

Ghouls at School is like trick-or-treating at the Ohio mall except we're teachers, and we actually know the kids because they are our students. It's super fun.

This year, I even came up with a rock-star theme. I decorated my door for Red Ribbon Week with rock 'n roll stuff, and I dressed up like a rock star for Ghouls at School. I am the music teacher, after all. My next door neighbor joined me both in decoration and costume, and we were rock stars together.

I was dressed up, ready to go, and I had to attend a meeting at another school (in full costume) before the festivities. They were fellow music teachers. They would understand.

One new-to-the-district colleague did say, "Um . . . don’t take this the wrong way . . . but I don’t know you that well. Are you supposed to be from the ‘80’s . . . or do you always dress like this?"

Best. Question. Ever.

Of course, handing out candy meant I was standing by a full box all evening long. I love candy. What else am I supposed to do between trick-or-treaters?

This year, I couldn't eat any candy because I was fasting for a blood draw. To get decent numbers, I have to practically go vegan for a month, shunning sugar and saturated fat.

Here was my situation: I was fasting, and I couldn't eat any candy even though it was right in front of me, and I was still starving after my meager dinner salad. In other words, I was one step away from bitchy.

I pulled myself together and ended up having a nice evening.

The kids asked, "What are you, Mrs. Duggan?"

And I asked, "What do you think I am?"

And they answered, "A rock star!"

And I said, "Yes and yes! I'm dressed like one, and I am one!"

Then I mumbled as they walked away, "Actually, I'm an opera singer, but who's keeping score?"

 

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

Confessions of a Candy Addict (RE-POST from 10/31/15)

This year, I am having blood work done the morning after "Ghouls at School," so I won't be able to eat a bunch of Halloween candy that night. I wonder how that will go . . . In the meantime, enjoy re-reading this confession I wrote last year about my slight addiction to sugar.

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 Night I Was Visited By a Snake, a Pig, and a Vampire

Many of my faithful readers know I recently jumped on The Walking Dead bandwagon. Yes, I am still watching the show. No, I am not sure how long I will be able to stand it because my sleep is suffering.

My husband, Dan, doesn't believe that The Walking Dead is causing my weird dreams. He points to all of the night terrors and strange issues that have plagued my sleep for years. But I know The Walking Dead is playing a role in unleashing my dormant anxieties. Take, for instance, last night. I had three odd dreams, back-to-back.

"You can't blame The Walking Dead," Dan insisted. "None of these dreams were about zombies."

They were WEIRD though.

DREAM #1: Snakes (or something)

I was a teenager again (unfortunately), and I came home from school to find out that my mother and father had decided we needed five snakes. These were not normal snakes. They seemed somewhat prehistoric and made this sound, "rarr, rarr, rarr," as they hopped up and down in their cage, which was way too small for them.

"Those aren't snakes. They look like they belong on Medusa's head," I said. "Don't look them in the eyes. You may turn into stone." (Apparently, I make mythological allusions in my dreams.)

The cage was way too small for them. One snake hopped out. Everyone in the house freaked out. The snake shape-shifted into something resembling a scaly-skinned poodle and hopped over to me.

"Rarr, rarr, rarr!"

I held still so as not to alarm it and waited for it to go away.

According to my dream dictionary, snakes mean you are about to be seriously betrayed.

"It also says snakes mean you are enslaved by sexual passion," Dan read. "I like that interpretation better."

"You would," I said. "Besides, the sexual thing is only if the snake coils around you. There was no coiling. Just, 'Rarr, rarr, rarr.'"

DREAM #2: Baby Pig

In my next dream, I was an adult again and attending a class where we were learning how to herd escaped pigs into a pen. I don't even know if that's a thing, but in my dream it was. I picked up a baby pig, and I held it and cried and cried. I couldn't stop thinking that this cute baby pig who just wanted to run around and play would have to be confined to a pen. I couldn't stop crying. I woke up from this dream for a moment and was actually crying in my bed. I am still tearing up right now just thinking about the overwhelming sadness I felt.

My dream dictionary says pigs are bad news for work but good news for the family. Maybe Dan will get laid off at work, but we'll get to move somewhere fun like Portland or Seattle (or Canada if a certain orange-faced reality show star gets elected as president).

DREAM #3: Vampire With a Gun

In my third dream, I ran into a vampire I had dated a long time ago. It must have been a bad breakup because he was not happy with me. (I don't know what I did. This dream started in medias res.) He pointed a gun at me. It seemed unnecessary since . . . well . . . he was a vampire and could just drink my blood if he wanted to kill me. Love won out though, and he decided he liked me again. I don't know where Dan was in all of this.

"These dreams are not about The Walking Dead," Dan said the next morning. "Besides, you're reading a book about vampires right now."

(I am. My friend wrote a book. You should read it too.)

"The dream dictionary says a vampire means, 'You are full of fears for the future,'" I told Dan and then added, "of your husband losing his job."

"Where does it say that?" Dan said.

"Well, it doesn't say that last part, but it does say I am full of fears for the future."

"Becky," he said with a sigh, "that just sounds like your regular neurotic self."

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

The Day My Husband Was Proven Right

My husband, Dan, and I went for a fall bike ride on Boise's Greenbelt last week. It was beautiful. We will probably go for another ride this weekend. But this story is not about what a gorgeous city Boise is during the fall or how lucky we are to live in a community with so many wonderful trails and recreational areas. All of that is true, of course.

But this is a story about the day my husband was proven right.

Dan has been bugging me for years to raise my bike seat. I like it when my feet touch the ground. I am short, and my feet don't touch the ground very often when I sit on things. It's kind of nice that my feet touch the ground when I am sitting stationary on my bike.

But, alas, you are not supposed to be able to do that.

Dan and I were attempting a selfie on one of the Greenbelt bridges, when a woman walking a cute bull dog offered to take a picture of us.

"You need to raise that saddle," the woman said to me. "I used to own a bike shop. You're not getting enough extension." 

She turned to Dan, "You're extending perfectly. She needs to raise that saddle."

"I tell her that all the time," he said with a satisfied (but slightly hesitant What-Will-Becky-Do-To-Me) smile, "don't I?"

I nodded.

"Seriously, you'll have more power. Your legs won’t be as sore. You'll have better extension in your knees. It will feel weird at first," she said, "but you'll be able to keep up with him."

She gestured toward Dan.

(Unlikely. I’m too chicken to keep up with him.)

“Raise that saddle!” she recommended one last time before she left us.

“I think it’s been sinking," I said to Dan as we started to ride off. "It wasn’t always this low."

Dan rode behind me in silence.

"Okay! You can raise my seat but only because she had me at my legs won’t be as sore. And only because she told me as an expert, not because of anything you said.”

He continued to ride behind me in silence, but I could feel the grin creep across his face.

We raised the saddle as soon as we got to the parking lot. Another downside to raising the saddle? I slam my crotch against the seat every time I stop.

“How does that feel?” Dan asked after I had ridden around for a few minutes.

“Fine. My vagina feels fine.”

That night, Dan caught me taking notes on my laptop about our encounter with the bike shop lady.

“Are you writing a blogging idea?" Dan asked, "about how your husband is always right? He is often right. You must admit that.”

I groaned. 

Biking experts, don’t judge me by the saddle height in this picture. It’s adjusted now!

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

The Ghost in the Music Room: Part 2 (RE-POST from 10/24/15)

 I overheard a conversation in my school hallway the other day. Apparently, our little ghost friend has been freaking out some of the new staff members. It made me think of my experiences with the school ghost over the years, although I will say my room has been relatively quiet lately. But have fun rereading about my past paranormal encounters in this post from 10/24/15!

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.