For starters, Halloween is the birth date of an older brother I absolutely adored. He was tall, dark, and handsome, and I loved him with all my heart. Paul Edward Poston, Jr., the second-born in our family of eight, was "my" big brother, the guy who looked over me, his chosen little sister, my surrogate father when Dad couldn't be around. I recall Paul walking me to my music lessons at Wagner's Music Store in downtown Elyria. The first instrument I played was an accordion, and I have vivid memories of Paul carrying my accordion in its case as I trotted at his side, trying to keep up with his long stride. I thrilled to Paul's escapades as a football player for Elyria High School and Marietta College. A formative experience was being a bridesmaid when he married the one and only love of his life, Cheryl Ann "Cheri" Pasky. They were crazy in love right up 'till the day in April 2000 that he was killed in a car accident. I miss him every day, but never more than on his Halloween birthday.

My Halloween memories are also tender because my mother lavished attention upon all of her children in pulling together Trick or Treat costumes that made us feel good about ourselves. I recall one preschool costume that incorporated my special lovey, a squishy-soft, plastic Lamb. My mother got out the sewing machine and whipped up a ruffly Little Bo Peep costume. Another year, I was a gypsy, and I felt so special wearing nearly every piece of jewelry she owned. What was remarkable is that she put this kind of energy into all of us. By the time the bewitching hour arrived, all of the Poston kids had been transformed into something exotic, and we trooped out the front door with our pillow cases and our high hopes that KitKats, Snickers, and Almond Joys would tumble in piles on the living room floor when we upended our sacks.

I honored my mother's efforts by pouring the same kind of energy upon my children. Those years were even more fun for me than my childhood Halloween celebrations. Seated at my own sewing machine while whipping up costumes for my own little bears and scarecrows and cowgirls and doctors and nurses, I ruminated on an indebtedness to my mother for having taught me the art of Halloween Love.

Sadly, my costume-making days are over. But I have a new and superb addition to my Halloween traditions. This year, I will re-read Gary Jansen's fabulous book, Holy Ghosts, which was released last year. This year, I'll read it in a paperback version and I'll make a whole new set of highlightings on the pages. The Sunday Night Solstice Book Club will be meeting to discuss Holy Ghosts on October 16. It's a perfect read for this time of year.

Holy Ghosts is the true story of how Gary came to understand that there were presences who resided in his Long Island home, whom he consulted (Mary Ann Winkowski) for advice on the problem, and what he did to get rid of them. These unseen presences were interfering with his home life and bothering him and his family. The book details Gary's journey from total cluelessness about earthbound spirits to an informed and respectful appreciation for another dimension of this thing we call life. The book also lays forth a cohesive tutorial on the relationship between religion and the paranormal. Gary shows how these two concepts are not as estranged as recent church teachings would have us believe.

Bottom line:  this guy has made religion his career. He knows what he is talking about. From my own experience in observing the Holy Spirit at work, I rather believe that the Jansen household was inhabited by two earthbound spirits precisely because it was God's intention to use somebody with impeccable credentials to tell a ghost story in exactly the way that Gary has told it. Because of this fun, well-written, and informative book, even skeptics will arrive at a moment when cascading goosebumps open their eyes to a new appreciation of a comprehensive God whose creation lacks nothing. He has provided this earthly world for us; Heaven for my Halloween-born brother; and a place between for those we thought existed only in our imaginations.