And Zen What

The pumpkins were usually carved the day before. Mostly my Dad did it, though we "helped." He used a kitchen knife ("No, not my GOOD knife!" my Mom would always beg; he would always ignore the request). We scooped with spoons onto newspapers. No doubt my Mom cleaned up the mess--I of course have no memory of any of that part of it.

Halloween was always FREEEEEEEEZING. It was Minnesota, after all. Outside, the air was sharp, crisp, often smelling like snow about to happen. We'd always have a warming-up kind of dinner. The house would smell warm and delicious and kind of steamy; the lamps would be glowing and my Dad would be trying to light the candles in the jack-o-lanterns without burning himself (never happened). Hot, rich, delicious-gravied stew is what I most associate with Halloween, though no doubt there were other menus.

Then we'd get the costumes on. Often enough, they'd be improvised on the spot from the Halloween Box. There was stuff in there that could turn you (any "you"--the same stuff worked for all the kids, every year, and my parents used it too) into a ghost, a hobo (including stuff to black out your front teeth and make big black freckles on your cheeks and a twine belt with cooking utensils hanging from it--wayyyy cool back in the day!), a devil, a witch, an old lady (generic), a policeman, a cowboy, a bobby-soxer, a greaser. Most of the component parts could function in more than one costume. The box also contained pillowcases that not even my laundry genius Mom could rescue--those were, of course, the trick-or-treat bags--and the carefully preserved cut-outs of witches on brooms and ghosts and pumpkins that we had made ourselves that got taped up on the front windows before supper.

Only one house would be dark, always the same house. Nobody was quite sure who lived there even on days that were not dedicated to nabbing pillowcases full of candy. That, of course, became, on Halloween, the Witch's House, the scariest house in the neighborhod.

Our neighbors would open their doors, sometimes wearing a mask or scary hat, sometimes holding a glass of grownup Halloween brew (but mostly the grownups would have their own parties on the weekend, not imposing on the kids' Halloween), and empty fistfuls of candy into our pillowcases. There'd usually be one house that had apples, sigh, and toward the end of the evening sometimes one or two houses would be down to pennies (or even nickels!).


That's mine.

Now, for theirs.

First of all, Halloween seems no longer to be one glorious thrill-packed night. Now it lasts a week, maybe more. I think that dissipates, even as it prolongs, the excitement. It also makes for an impossible-not-to-disappoint anticipation; the build-up just can't deliver enough.

They clamor for costumes from the stores. Decorations come from stores too. The candy's gotten miniaturized and bagged by type. The schools have "events" where they try to guilt the parents into contributing "party favors" rather than candy. Every 4th house, maybe, in our neighborhood has its lights on. If we are lucky.

I know, I know. Things have changed. Boy, have they changed! And I've changed too. I buy the store costumes for the little kids (the big kids have to think up their own--they grumble at first, but they do come up with great costumes). I even own those pumpkin lights marketed on the Christmas tree light principle. I buy the "pumpkin carving kits," though I have so far refused to go so far as to purchase the ones with special plastic table-cloth thingies to scoop the goo onto--we still use newspapers. We go to the school "events" (but I always contribute candy, CHOCOLATE candy, not "party favors"-ugh) and the parties. And I do try to have some savory, warming something or other for pre-trick-or-treat dinner (they always want pizza delivered, but I'm still a hold-out).

Maybe it's not so much worse as it is "different."

But I do miss my Halloween.