everybody dies

Holidays are subjective, classified by religion and relevance and interest. They're pushed, prodded and shaped by PR and PC. It's by no means safe to assume your neighbor will light up a Christmas tree or a menorah, or even a festive yard-Snoopy.

But Americans love Halloween.

I have wondered why this is true. Do we want to be someone else? Many of us, young and old, do seem to repress a desire to dress up and wear someone else's hair...why else go crazy on the one day it's approved?

But no, I think it's something more fascinating, more darkly compelling, more universal: everybody dies. Believe what you will, pray how you wish, expect the worst or the best...still, death will come to you. Why not celebrate, or at least commemorate, what we all share? Around here it's a community affair; there is an unspoken agreement that we'll all participate to some degree. The decorations start appearing early, the neighborhood glows orange by degrees, and the mood is infectious.

One night in early October when we were out for a walk, Ally was so taken with the decorations at one house that she insisted we stop and tell them. She marched up to the door, knocked, and introduced herself to the woman who answered the door (whom we now know as Lisa). 'Nice decorations!' Ally said. Lisa came outside and sat on the porch to chat for a minute. Let me be accurate: Ally did most of the chatting. She made Lisa go inside for paper and pen to write down what she and Liv were going to be for Halloween. This turned out to be excellent planning on Ally's part, because three weeks later on Halloween night, Lisa spotted our peacock and bunny/lamb and brought out gifts she had made especially for them.

Maybe the yards where you live weren't lit up like the ones here. Maybe you live in a high-rise and saw no special change on Halloween night besides an increase in the numbers of apparent lunatics and strumpets on the streets below. Maybe the night passed uneventfully and you didn't give or receive a single fun-size piece of chocolate. It's a free country. But i'll bet you know lots of people who did.

he cut off their tails with a carving knife

skyping with Grandpa Tom

And while we're on the subject of candy, let's talk about a trick-or-treating legend: the myth of the full-size candy bar. You've heard about it every year since you were old enough to carry a plastic pumpkin bucket. Maybe you're one of the lucky few who have actually seen one. Not I. 

Go to the mall! they said. JCPenney is giving out full size Snickers bars! But by the time you get there--if your parents will consent to drive you--it's closed. 

Hurry! Go to the third house on the second block! All you find is an empty bowl on a dark porch. 

This year I came as close as I've ever come to seeing it in real life. The couple at the end of our block had a stash of giant Kit-Kats they were clearly saving for the neighbor kids they know. As Ally and Liv approached, I saw one of them reach behind a pumpkin on his porch and get the big ones. They put them in the buckets. It was happening. It was really happening! I couldn't have been more transfixed if I'd seen The Great Pumpkin himself rising up out of the pumpkin patch to bring treats to all the good little boys and girls.

Fast forward about an hour (the girls didn't trick-or-treat for very long this year--they were too excited to get home and drink milk (Liv) and sort their candy (Ally)). Halfway through the inventory I remembered the giant Kit-Kats. We emptied the buckets feverishly and combed through the loot.

But, alas. They weren't there. And that, friends, is a true ghost story.

waiting for 'customers'

try to remember that kind of november

Quoth Ally, at the bakery, munching on her croissant: "Mom, are there people in the world who let their children have what they want?"

::          ::           ::

Ally, while doing homework, distractedly:

"oh, mom! i forgot not to be silly!"

"no! mrs. s doesn't like us to do that!"

"this is like a design. i call it an elf swirl because it kind of looks like an elf and it's stuck in a stocking so it's an elf swirl. and you never stop making cool designs. See that one? It's called a Flower L. And this one is called a hearted E. That's the Swirly B."

                                                           ::          ::           ::

Liv, spontaneously, from the back seat of the car yesterday: "America! Oba-Obama! I cheer for dose two fings!"

this i think she learned from Big Sister, whose reaction to the election results Wednesday morning is captured in the picture below. no doubt we are all influenced one way or the other by our parents, but no, I did not indoctrinate--nor even educate--her about the candidates this year. i like to see what she comes up with on her own.



We spent the last hours of daylight on election day here. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was Liv's idea.

Happy "America's Choosing Day"

voting at Liv's preschool

Election Day, November, 1884 

by Walt Whitman

If I should need to name, O Western World, your 

   powerfulest scene and show,
'Twould not be you, Niagara--nor you, ye limitless 

   prairies--nor your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,
Nor you, Yosemite--nor Yellowstone, with all its 

   spasmic geyser-loops ascending to the skies, 

   appearing and disappearing,
Nor Oregon's white cones--nor Huron's belt of mighty 

   lakes--nor Mississippi's stream:
--This seething hemisphere's humanity, as now, 

   I'd name--the still small voice vibrating--America's 

   choosing day,
(The heart of it not in the chosen--the act itself the 

   main, the quadriennial choosing,)
The stretch of North and South arous'd--sea-board 

   and inland--Texas to Maine--the Prairie States--

   Vermont, Virginia, California,
The final ballot-shower from East to West--the 

   paradox and conflict,
The countless snow-flakes falling--(a swordless 

   conflict,
Yet more than all Rome's wars of old, or modern 

   Napoleon's:) the peaceful choice of all,
Or good or ill humanity--welcoming the darker 

   odds, the dross:
--Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to

 purify--while the heart pants, life glows:

These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships,

Swell'd Washington's, Jefferson's, Lincoln's sails.