Can you smell that? Ahhhh. That is the smell of pure, unadulterated, throbbing anticipation in the air.
As I went out to my car this morning, I was disheartened to see the touch of frost on my windshield and hood. This scene, to the far off oranges and yellows of neighboring trees, called my mind to reflection…
Whatever city you may find yourself in, all across North America, we are all joined in the common aspect of one thing. Assemblages of children, from one to 93, are awaiting the most sacred of all the pagan holidays…all hallows’ eve. From ghosts to pirates, princesses to pirate wenches; the hunt for the perfect costume is never an easy one. But children north of the 49th parallel find themselves under a shroud of a much greater angst. Unlike the cushy Halloweens of the ‘mild winter’ to ‘no winter’ states, we here in the Great White North face the pale-faced, ruthless shrew, that is Mother Nature. Any seasoned trick or treater from Canada knows well the risks that you take in the choice of any costume, transforming them into a veritable gambler.
Almanacs, elderly, rheumatic bones, meteorologists…they offer no real confirmation. The kind with which you could, with confidence, invest your allowance of months gone by; countless sacrifices of fun, movies, digital pets and jelly beans; into a costume sure to win you higher social status and infuse you with the energy and the buoyancy to go longer than you have any year before.
October 1st, most of us wake up and hardly take notice of anything other than having to write 10 instead of 9, or the increase of orange in our daily lives. But just down the hall, as your sons and daughters wake, they hesitate to open their eyes, and their bodies lie stiff, as a blatant cenotaph of the inner struggle between faith and memory. Their eyes open, slowly. Light begins to register in their minds. If the light is a yellow, warming light – faith wins the battle and belief is permitted to build its defenses that day, under scrupulous caution and reserve. But, if the light is gray, being filtered through overcast and holding no warmth whatsoever – a painful release enters into the child’s body as memory wins the battle and the strain and panic take seed. And so goes everyday in October. Until you get into the final countdown.
I tell you now, all the hours I spent analyzing, contemplating and pontificating my theories and arguments, meant nothing once we hit the 20th of October. Mother Nature’s curve ball, as I like to call it. No matter what patterns have been formed in the weeks prior, sun, rain, snow, Chinooks, blizzards, locusts - what have you…it all amounts to nothing in those last ten days. Patterns and theories are thrown to the wind and the true mind games begin. Everyday, the pressure mounts until that fateful day when the decisions are made, props are bought and acquired and masterpieces are organized. We give into the struggle for omnipotent control over sun and earth, and submit ourselves to the greater power which confounds and dethrones us.
Little girls, praying, that they won’t have to wear snow suits underneath their beautiful yards of pink tooling and satin. That their wands may be graced by a soft hand adorned with the glittering of silver plastic rings and rhinestones; instead of a scratchy wool mitten unromantically connected through the inside of a huge, figure altering winter jacket to the other hand holding onto an old pillowcase. Armies of ostensibly anaphylactic princesses; and atop their frowning faces, a tiara, balanced upon a touque. It isn’t a pretty picture, but it is just how it is. We have all been through it, and I make the argument that we have a better grasp on the harsh realities of life because of it.
The day is coming my friends. We are only a few days away. So take it easy on those kids. If by a turn of wicked fate, the weather turns and we have a white Halloween - don’t buy crap candy, and don’t be stingy either. Give those little troopers a champion’s reward for braving a Canadian Halloween.