And the Goblins Will Git Ya

Halloween is a day that I’ve had mixed feelings about all my life.  There are those who consider it the best holiday, including my daughter who opted for a Halloween wedding, and then there those of us like myself who remain at best ambivalent about the whole thing.  I’ll never consider it a holiday because I don’t know any work places at which it’s a day off.  And my parents’ practice of darkening the house on Halloween evening lest they have to open the door and distribute treats to kids in costumes made it more funereal than anything else when I was a kid, not to mention that my sister and I weren’t allowed to go “Trick or Treating” except to a few old relatives’ houses to which our dad drove us.

I probably have more use for the day now than I did for most of my life.  Well, at least for the decorations which I enjoy seeing probably way more than an almost 60 year old man should.  There’s just something about a house that’s all “done up” for Halloween that gives me the kind of delight I missed out on as a kid, and I’ve been riding the scooter all around the valley for the past week or so with my camera on a lanyard so I can stop almost on a dime whenever see a photo worthy house to get a picture.  I’ve been sharing most of them on Facebook where I can simply post the pictures without having to come up with some words to go along with them.

Which leaves me wondering why every now and then I keep coming back here to put down some words.  I’ve given up on trying to write anything profound these days and settle for cranking out what’s more or less raw emotion at times for the sake of having something to write.  I don’t know what’s changed in me, exactly, that would account for my lack of ambition in sharing my thoughts.  I find myself wanting to write – to share the part of myself that I enjoyed sharing when I started this endeavor, but I’ve almost come to feel that I ain’t got anything worth sharing left in me.

I’ll keep looking around that next bend in the road to find things to write.  Even if nothing more than Halloween comes around to kick me in the ass and get me moving.  Maybe if a monster or two were to chase me.  Then again, I don’t really want to think about that closet door at the foot of my bed when I was of preschool age.  Or what I thought lived in it.

 

My bed was against this wall until I was in the fourth grade.  I slept with my knees tucked under my chin because I knew if that door were to open the monster that feeds exclusively on little boys' feet would pounce on me in a heartbeat.  I didn't need Halloween.  My imagination was sufficient to terrify me and without the benefit of candy to make it all worth it.