The Puking Pumpkin

Halloween was kind of a struggle this year. Bea was dealing with a rotovirus and it was no fun at all. Her daddy made her a sympathetic "puking pumpkin" so she would not have to suffer alone.

I can remember when Halloween was so, so different. There was no such thing as going out and buying a costume. You made a costume out of stuff from the ragbag. You could be a gypsy or a hobo.

You could only go trick-or-treating to close neighbors that you knew, and only right after dark. I always went to the neighbors who lived right across a field from us, a couple named Dotty and Woody. (Wow, those would be good cat names.) There was a path through the field from my house to theirs, and on their end of the path were two apple trees, one was a red apple tree and the other was a yellow apple tree. They would always have a treat for me, maybe a homemade popcorn ball, but in addition, they would invite me to help myself to apples from their trees. Now that was really neighborly.

Today Halloween is all about adults and drinking and sex, and I could just care less. The churches have tried to take up the slack with such festivities as a "Holy Ghost Weenie Roast." I am not kidding. I saw the sign outside a Baptist Church.

Even for a rational person like me, the very idea of a Holy Ghost Weenie Roast made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

So on to Thanksgiving, until some wretched fool somewhere finds a way to commercialize and Christianize that as well. I am definitely planning a vegan meal. I saw four wild turkeys crossing the road in front of my car last weekend and I pledged to them that I would not eat turkey flesh this year or probably ever again. I do thank the pilgrims for inviting the Native Americans to a feast and so beginning what I like to think of as the Democratic party. Let's all feast with peace in mind.