Halloween

Halloween for me is making a turnip lantern with my dad at the workbench in the garage of the house I grew up in, fitting a string to carry it, two nails to hold the lid straight.  

Halloween is guising.  A trilby hat from colonial Williamsburg, a cloak my mum made from an old curtain or towel to turn me into a highwayman.  A rhyme she wrote for me to perform.

It's walking the streets with my friends, trying to make sure we went to as many houses we knew between us as possible, but never chapping on a strangers door.  

It's walking past the house with the overgrown garden said to be occupied by old lady who, if she ever existed, was our witch.  Trying not to be one who was spotted walking just a little faster to get past quicker.

It's collecting in a supermarket bag, coming home with apples, satsumas, monkey nuts, the occasional small coin and sweets.

I don't recognise Haloween today.  It's pumpkins, "trick or treat" and endless "scary" plastic tat.  It's special edition green, orange and purple sweeties, it's chapping on every door whether you no the occupants or not.  It's nothing I remember.

Generally I love any excuse for a wee celebration, but I just don't relate to or like what Halloween has become.  I'm utterly indifferent to it.  

I'll enjoy my boy's enjoyment, and there's a strange fascination at the lengths people to in decorating their gardens, but it doesn't do anything for me.

I'm turning into an old grinch on this one...