Happy Halloweeeeeeen!

We've had more trick-or-treaters tonight than we've had in the last two years combined. One pair I swear was a teenage girl and her mother! Then there were the three teenage boys who were more interested in dad's cigarette butts in the sand bucket on the porch. You know, if you can drive yourself around the neighborhood, you're maybe too old for tricks and treats.

It's after 8 p.m., and we haven't had any for awhile, so I think I'll dip into the candy bowl.

Tomorrow is surgery day. I have to be at the hospital at 6:30 a.m., and of course tomorrow is supposed to be the coldest morning of the week. Hopefully, it'll just be an outpatient deal. I'll update if I can tomorrow, or maybe between Mom and my friend Bec an update will get posted.

So, to keep my mind off things, here's a Halloween memory:
In my small hometown when I was growing up, the Wicked Witch of the West would come to town every year. Her tent would be set up Halloween night on an empty corner lot downtown. It was decorated with "graves" with hands and feet sticking out and grave markers that said things like "Here lies Less More. No less, no more." Hundreds of kids would be lined up most of the evening to get their "poisoned" apple and some candy from the witch, who sat on her throne. Milling about the crowd would be "the good fairy," (one of the local bankers, who sported a thin, dark mustache and wore pink leotards and a tutu) would hand out shiny new pennies to ward off the witch's curses. There was a tent with hot cider and coffee for the grown-ups. It was always a fun evening.

The best part, though, would be before Halloween night. The witch would run around town, not on her broom, but in a Model-T with personalized "Witch" license plates, chased by a police car, lights and sirens running. She would always stop by the schools, and we could always hear the police siren and know she was coming. Then her screech -- "Happy HalloweeeeEEEEeeen!" would echo through the hallways. The teachers hated it, but we loved it. She would burst into each classroom and greet us in her best witchy cackle and ask if we were going trick or treating and tell us to be sure to stop by downtown for our treats. Then she'd be off, and a couple moments later, the cop would come by, cuffs in one hand, club in the other and ask "Which way did she go?" We'd all laugh and point about six different directions.

A few years later, my mom became business partners with the woman who played the witch, so I got some behind-the-scenes knowledge when I became too grown up for trick-or-treating.

My freshman year in high school, the witch made her rounds as usual. When we heard the police sirens, most of my friends rolled their eyes. "Doesn't she know we're too old for this?" They said.

The next year, we heard the sirens again. Again, my classmates rolled their eyes. But I had the scoop. "She's not coming here this year," I said. "What? Why?" a friend wanted to know. "Maydog (our nickname for the principal) asked her not to come in this year because it disrupts the school day," I replied. "What? He can't do that! Doesn't he know it's a tradition?" My friends were just outraged all day long. They seemed to have a very short memory.

Happy Halloween, everyone.