Halloween

A box of spaghetti walks up to a space princess … and twenty years later I’m helping them move their stemware from one dwelling to another. It’s said that Halloween has become American adults’ favorite holiday of the year, with perhaps more money spent on costumes and party supplies than even for Christmas. That seems to be a stretch of the imagination considering all the ugly sweaters and inflatable rooftop sleighs and pop-up snowmen one sees in December. Yet that’s what is advertised every October. Maybe it’s just clever advertising, prompting you to run to Party City and buy a Playboy Bunny suit even though you have to wear overalls to work. Nah…who am I kidding? Halloween is great. You want to know why? Because everybody wants to be somebody or something else once in a while and short of joining a cosplay or historic reenactment group, Halloween is your number one ticket. Not only that, it’s okay to beg for free candy. My earliest Halloween memory is sitting under the dining room table counting the mountain of goodies I’d just snagged the night before. Other than Hershey bars, candy held no interest for me. I was a sweet tooth aberration. After I tired of shifting the mounds from one spot to another, I grew bored with them and sought a way to make them disappear. The answer came in the form of my mother. She liked candy. The next significant memory associated with Halloween was somewhere during the first or second grade when I came home for lunch and announced I’d changed my mind and wanted to march in the costume parade later that day despite my previous objections. My sister the seamstress was home and in desperation she shredded one of her skirts and blouses, sewed matchbox tops onto the skirt, and shoved me out the door saying, “You’re the Little Match Girl.” You know, Hans Christian Anderson? That was me for the next three years, the Little Match Girl. This episode is profound on several levels. First, it shows that my sister was actually very nice to me when I wasn’t frustrating her with my stupidity. Secondly, it set me up with an alter-ego who was a lonely little soul who freezes to death overnight. This explains everything. Then I grew up and decided the best part of Halloween was wearing costumes. I’ve basically been finding excuses to wear costumes ever since, but that’s a subject for another blog. This blog features Halloween and what better costume could a newlywed assume than Mortia from the Addams Family? We lived upstairs in a four-flat. That meant our front door opened into a tiny landing at the base of a staircase to the left of the door. My best friend and I hatched the plan of all plans. She dressed as a Zombie. (She was very good with stage paint.) Then we tied one end of a rope around the overhead light fixture and the other end in a noose around her neck. When unsuspecting youngsters rang the doorbell and sang their “Trick or Treat!” I would slowly open the door to reveal a tall, thin woman in a clinging black dress, her long, dark hair hanging at either side of her pale face. The only speck of color was the blood red jewel pinned to her breast. Mortia whispered, “Would you like some candy, little person?” and before they could finish their timid nods my friend would swing into sight behind me, clinging to the rope around her neck, moaning in mock death throes, and then swing back out of sight. The Zombie never had a chance to swing twice per doorbell ring because the children would scream in terror and run for their lives. When we realized we never got the chance to actually hand out any candy we figured we’d probably overdone the fright factor. That should have taught me, but no. The best Halloweens were when we lived in a house with a big back yard that had a paved path flanked by an arbor covered with wisteria vines. I’m going to give you the recipe for terror, but first I should say you don’t really need a wisteria vine. It helps. But any darkened corridor will do. Here’s what you need: Fake spider webs: You don’t have to buy spun polyester webbing. Just cut strands of yarn or twine long enough to randomly brush against your victims,' I mean guests’ hair or faces and tape one end to whatever counts as your ceiling. Aside from twine, all your other supplies involve food. Grapes: Buy the biggest you can find and peel them. I know; it’s tedious. Start peeling a few days before Halloween while you’re watching reruns of the Walking Dead. On the night of, put them in a bowl along your corridor. They are the Witches Eyeballs. Grapefruit: Peel and pull them into segments when you’re done with the grapes. Let them sit out and get desiccated. They also go into a bowl reserved for Skeleton Fingers. Spaghetti: Cook, cool, and toss with a little marinara sauce so it doesn’t get sticky. Cook a whole pound and use a deep bowl labeled “Deadman Brains.” With all your supplies ready, your corridor dripping with invisible webs and lined with bowls, it’s time for you and your cadre of helpers to set a harmless stage on the front porch or even in your living room if you are brave enough to let strangers in your house. The ruse is a big pan of water with apples floating in it. As the unsuspecting walk to your door, give them wrapped candy, by all means. Then invite them to participate in an old-fashioned Bobbing for Apples experience. For those who think they’d like to give it a try, say to them “Wait! Before you bob for apples, you have to pass a test. You have to walk through this short tunnel. I know it’s dark but Erik here will guide you and explain the test. Don’t worry; it’s fun and it only takes a minute.” Then Erik, Brenda, Angela, all your helpers gather a gaggle of 2-5 children and lead them one group at a time down the dark path. Along the way the visitors are instructed to put their hands in a bowl. “Eeuw! What is this?” “Witches eyeballs.” Screams follow, which alert the followers to trouble. “Something just touched my hair!” “Don’t worry. It was probably our pet spiders. Now put your hands in the next bowl.” “I don’t want to.” “Do it anyway.” “What is that?” “Skeleton fingers.” “EEK! I want to go home now.” “Just wait. There’s only one more bowl. You’ll like this one.” Those who haven’t fled by now are encouraged to shove their hands into cold, slimy pasta. “Yuck! What is that?” “Nothing to be afraid of, just a dead man’s brains.” I think we had three hearty souls who actually stayed long enough to try biting into an apple floating in a tub of water. The rest fled into the night, with or without parental custody. It was awesome. That probably helps to explain why my daughter and son-in-law fell in love at first sight on their favorite night of the year…All Hallows Eve. He was literally dressed as a spaghetti box and she had come prepared with the name of her planet, her history, and her own Space Princess attire. It was a match made in heaven. They just moved into a house with a front yard. The inside of the house still looks like a cardboard warehouse; they haven’t had time to unpack. However, the front yard is filled with night lit grave markers, ghosts flying on their neighbor’s wall, spiders everywhere, and a shrub that trembles and glows inside with red eyes. A toothbrush and haunted mansion supplies. That’s the Order Condescendi if you love Halloween and move in October. Oh, and about a hundred pounds of little Hershey bars.