Halloween's ebb and flow
This is the first year I can remember not having a jack-o-lantern for Halloween, probably because Jonathan is the carver, and he didn’t make it home until most trick-or-treaters were home counting their loot.
We used to decorate the whole house, carve giant pumpkins, create full-sized dummies to sit scarily on the front porch, draped in cottony spiderwebs. We ate a light dinner to save room for candy. Elaborate costumes were another forte of Jonathan’s. He constructed a cardboard box fire truck, an ambulance, a unicorn, the Three Musketeers, Thing One, Thing Two, and the Cat in the Hat. We had the requisite ghosts, witches, and black cats, but also lions, fairies, devils, ballerinas, a Davy Crockett, a ninja, a gypsy, a mime, and a banana.
Last night I sat in the dining room with the dogs, nursing a beer. An unsmiling pumpkin sat whole and round on the front stoop. Clara and I greeted a few neighborhood kids. Kate couldn’t hear them, which is just as well, since she’s scary.
Maybe next year we’ll be re-energized. Perhaps we’ll head to Portland and celebrate with a tiny little girl, who will be starting the whole thing all over again.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 66: 199 words, TOTAL = 10,901; 49,099 remaining
**NOTE** for every day readers: I’ll be off the grid this weekend, so I won’t be able to post my daily writings until I return. Thanks for reading!
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Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.