All Hallow's Eve

Last night I found myself staying in. I wasn't terribly interested in getting trashed on a Wednesday night and certainly wasn't inspired to dress up. I blame it on the unstoppable passage of time and the effect it seems to have on my life. Not that getting older has impaired my ability to suck down liquor or anything. It's just that I don't need to search for reasons to party it up anymore and Halloween sounded like more trouble than it was worth. Plus I'm already doing a costume party this coming weekend.

So, there I was, sitting on my couch watching tv and sipping on a beer when the doorbell rang. A moment of panic passed through me as I contemplated who could be at the door and then it hit me. Of course, it was trick-or-treaters. Kids excited about the prospect of free candy, maybe even a full sized bar if they were lucky. But, unfortunately, this was not gonna be a lucky house. During my contemplation of how to spend my Halloween evening, I hadn't even considered buying a sack full of candy to hand out to the little pirates and ninjas and Dora-the-explorers. And might I ask, in what warped world does "Dora" rhyme with "explorer"? Unless your in the Kennedy household.

Nevertheless, there I was. In my house with three kids on my front porch awaiting their bounty. I stayed perfectly still and gradually turned down the volume on the TV until it was a barely audible hum. They knocked again. Tiny fists pounding on the wood and glass of my door like a cacophony of woodpeckers. Persistent beyond reason. I sat there deciding whether it was prudent to answer the door and apologize for my lack of preparation or to simply pretend I wasn't home. Pretend I wasn't home despite the lights shining through the blinds and the changing volume of the television. It seemed like a better approach than answering the door and either giving out something lame in place of candy or explaining my predicament. I have a distinct memory of approaching a similar house when I was a young and knocking on the door despite an utter lack of light from the front porch. After waiting for at least 60 seconds, a man came to the door with a slightly panicked look on his face and unrolled something out of his shirt and into my bag. I left, satisfied that I had successfully gained more candy only to find out that the guy had given me a tin of tumeric. That's right. Turmeric. I mean, who the hell comes up with turmeric when trying to find a suitable substitute for candy? Turmeric? Really? Perhaps that's why my mom subsequently sent the cops to his house.

But suddenly I was able to empathize with that guy's actions and understand why he made such an odd choice. He was sitting there, unwittingly unprepared for Halloween when the doorbell rang. He panicked and grabbed the first thing that seemed vaguely appropriate. And, now, there I was as well. I chuckled to myself as I perused the spice rack while searching for a bit of sweets. And then, in a rare moment of clarity and maturity, I decided to answer the door and apologize for my lack of holiday enthusiasm. I walked across my living room to the entryway, turned the knob and swung the door open only to find the front porch utterly empty. A subtle smell of half eaten almond joy still hung in the air. The kids had been unwilling to wait for me to find my candy or make it to the door or to do whatever else it is that makes us grown ups dawdle. Or maybe they'd just already filled out their spice collections.