George has decided to celebrate Halloween this year.
Now on the hall bookcase rests a giant bowl of candy. Our favorite kinds. Of course. Sugary things were never my thing. I drank. I didn’t eat deserts. Now candy calls me. I can hear it calling no matter where I am in the house. Even from the truck outside, I can hear it calling me. It’s bad. So far, I have resisted.
In the past few years, we haven’t had any trick or treaters. This year we seem to have several families with kids move in our neighborhood. Just a few blocks south, they bus the kids in. One lady I swim with bought candy for 900 kids. It’s a stretch of the imagination.
George has leapt on the Halloween bandwagon. We now have a wreath. Ghost lights to frame the door, and a couple of luminaria to sit on the stairs. He’s dug out his chicken hat, and he’s ready. I’m just hoping he’ll be home in time from the museum to hand out candy.
Perhaps I will hide until he gets home.