"Were they safe?..." This was a question that not only our household pondered, but many of our neighbors as well. The fear of "nuclear radiation" leaking out while heating up one's Tater Tots was one of the stigmas attached to microwave ovens. In 1974, when Amana produced their newest "Radarange" model, my Mom refused to even consider having one in the house. She was still using our conventional oven to heat up our Banquet chicken and TV dinners. 30-45 minutes was the cook time, and we'd learned to be patient as there was no other way to heat up frozen dinners. Though the Radarange has its roots in the market as far back as 1967, they were still a relatively unknown product in our corner of the world.

Rumors circulating of a super-oven that could cook sausages in 30 seconds as opposed to the 6-10 minute stove top cook time made many American households want one. There were also rumors of radiation poisoned food that came out of a microwave oven that prevented our house from having one. However, as they grew in popularity, (and no news reports of people dying from radiation poisoning or radioactive leakage), they were far more acceptable in our neighborhood. I believe we got our first microwave in the late seventies, or early eighties. "Just nuke it for 10 seconds" was the perfect instruction on how to warm up a cup of coffee.

There were rules to microwave ovens though: do not put anything metal in them; they may explode and turn you and your family into 50-foot tall super freaks with X-ray eyes! Don't leave a fork on a plate, and make sure the plate doesn't have any gold trim to sizzle and spark on the platen. (Also, if you were wearing braces on your teeth, don't stick your head in the oven). Ah, such were the days of great inventions, and the wonderful memories they provide.

There were evenings I spent with a friend after dinner who lived about a half mile away. By October the nights came quicker than before, and there were a few times I decided to break the monotony of my usual walk home by taking another way. My foot steps always picked up and went at a quicker pace when I wasn't in completely familiar territory, or near a street light. Shadows in strange places seemed to take on a life of their own.

I knew for a fact that two driveways and three garbage cans down the street was where monsters waited for me.They lurked behind the laurel hedges, behind bushes, or high in the tree tops. I could almost hear them slithering slowly down the trunks of dried bark and dying branches. They landed on crunchy dead leaves creeping in the blackness of night. I wasn't stupid enough to try and find them, but instead, I picked up the pace. Whenever a straight section of road, or path appeared, I ran like the wind.

Every slip in gravel, every crunch of dead leaves in the grass, and every whistle a night wind made told me they were close. It was only by the time I reached our front porch that I knew I could afford to look over my shoulder. What a relief it was to know that I was in a monster-free zone. Still, they were out there, somewhere...

What a wonderful season!