Treats

Mom’s childhood Halloween memory was that One Special House.  The owner greeted the costumed beggars, ushering them into the living room until 6 or so were assembled.  She then provided a tray of ice cold, 6-ounce bottles of Coca-Cola.  Her young guests took turns entertaining with a performance of some kind—a song, a skit, a dance—as they sipped and chatted.  When the bottles were dry, they thanked their host and went back to Halloween as usual.

There were childhood stories of other Halloween highlights.  Kids at school boasted of houses that served homemade candy apples wrapped in plaid grosgrain ribbon, while others claimed Halloween spoils in the hundreds.  My wife’s father annually decided she had too much candy, so he would take some of her late October loot to the police station where he worked to give to the local, more needy, children.  This went on until his daughter reached under the car seat one November, only to discover the candy he had taken three weeks prior hadn’t quite made it to the station.

My Halloweens were decidedly common, but since this was before the invention of the Fun Size bar, they would likely be considered Halcyon by today’s standards, with nearly every house giving real sized candy bars.  There was one or two Halloweens where our school provided milk-carton-sized boxes to ask for UNICEF donations along with getting candy.  This proved to be more than many homeowners could comprehend.  Some ignored the boxes and threw the money in with my candy, and others sighed heavily and slammed the door behind them as I left their stoop with nothing.

The economics of Halloween played a major role in the second home my wife and I owned.  It was in a cul-de-sac of about 35 houses, all on acre lots, and most of them had residents where the children were grown.  This meant few neighborhood kids at Halloween, and absolutely no kids from other neighborhoods.  The town next store had houses 50 feet apart, so why get goodies from just one house, when the same square footage somewhere else allowed you to plunder four or five?

This soon took a turn, as our neighborhood repopulated with younger families.  One of our more creative neighbors rolled his barbecue into the grassy part of the cul-de-sac, and we had Halloween potluck at 6 PM.  With all the children costumed and in one place, they then trick-or-treated en masse at 7, including the dentist’s house, who cleverly gave away toothbrushes each year with his name and phone imprinted on them. By 7:30, a sense of community had been enhanced, the kids had a real Halloween, and Dr. Bob had a tax deduction.

We later moved to that neighboring city, and the Trick-or-Treat traffic came as advertised.  The unexpected bonus comes when a princess or warrior thanks us for their candy, turns to leave, then turns back and says “Is that you, Mrs. O’Connor?” This spontaneous meeting between my science-teaching wife and a current or former student is Halloween at its best, especially when I answer the door and the costumed pupil asks, “Does Mrs. O’Connor live here?”

I keep telling my wife I’d like a Halloween where we’re that One Special House, a task that’s now as simple as handing out those full-sized candy bars.  She smiles and pats my hand when I bring this up, and comes back from her next shopping trip with two large bags of Fun Size candy.

But you know what?  You can order 7.5-ounce Cokes through Amazon, and that credit card is in my name.

Life’s Salad

I’m not an anti-veggie guy
But brussels sprouts and kale
And broccoli—either bobs or rabe
Just make my palette pale.

Corn? OK.
And green beans too
When made la Provençale.
But the Three Big Greens
Will not be seen
On my home plates at all.

So you can see my huge surprise
When to my wife’s delight
Her soup was served with a salad verve
Its flavors crisp and bright.

This salad’s great! What’s in it?
Why it’s kale and broccoli shredded
And to my dread she grinned and said
With brussels sprouts beheaded.

I tried to sort how this could be
And served a second plate
That crunch!  That munch!
That dressing sweet
And that’s what made it great.

So if you find a task in life
You see as simple burden
Don’t whine or pout
Just think it out
And use this rule for certain

First shred the tasteless work to bits
That go past recognition
Then douse them neat with something sweet
You genius of the kitchen.

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