Bouyant, Sugar-fueled Feelings

After having so very recently had my annual experience with the costumes and candy chaos that is Halloween, I have realized I have very decided opinions (go figure) on the matter.

I will never judge anyone, regardless of their age or station in life, if they wish to dress up for Halloween or any celebration thereof.  As I stated recently, I do not think I will ever completely grow up and plan to be dressing up for Halloween until I am too aged and infirm to do anything else.  (It’s good to have a plan.)  But, I do think one gets too old – though I dislike the word – to go Trick or Treating.  This doesn’t apply to the costuming, but it does apply to actively seeking out free candy.  (This also applies to Trunk or Treating.)

How old is too old? 

• If you have any kind of facial hair, or, if you must (or should) shave. Hairy face, legs, armpits? You’re too old.
• If you have your own children or grandchildren.  Yes, it’s totally okay to take your kids around begging for candy, but you must not carry your own pillowcase.  And yes, it’s totally okay to hold your kid’s bag-o-loot, or snitch a piece of chocolate or five, but you should not be actively participating in the festivities.  It is for them not for you.  When you had children, everything ceased being about you.

My list of why one may be too old to Trick or Treat is small – very small, now that I look at it – but definitive.

QUESTION: When handing out candy at your home, is it okay to deny someone a piece if they seem to fall into one of the two categories above? 

Well, as much as I might like to give those rule-breakers a piece of my very well-organized mind (ha ha) I typically grumble in silence and hand out treats for everyone – young and old (smooth or hairy) alike.  It’s a festive event, right?  Therefore, I shall forcibly keep my opinions from leaking out of my mouth in order to preserve the buoyant, sugar-fueled feelings of all.

TTFN
JMS

Age and Eccentricity

I shall dye my hair some obnoxious color, give it a tight perm and start wearing rhinestone-studded spectacles.  Or maybe allow my hair to go fully gray, and grow it out long enough to wear in a thick braid down my back.

I shall wear flowing, bohemian skirts and weigh my neck down with lots of necklaces – at least one of which must have huge hunks of raw turquoise.

I shall turn the storage building in the back yard into my personal workshop where I shall make beauty products from natural ingredients, beaded jewelry and handmade greeting cards.

I shall keep bees, collect their raw honey and sell beautiful, golden jars of the stuff at a roadside stand.

I shall read Jack Kerouac, write haunting poetry, stay inside on a Thursday simply because it’s Thursday.

I shall have a cat and never name it because cats don’t come when they’re called so it doesn't really matter if they have a name.

I shall have a basset hound and name him Arthur.

I shall become comfortable using a typewriter instead of a computer and foster several false starts at writing the great American novel – or at least a book of passable poetry, thoughts and observations.

I shall live in an old Victorian home where the peeling wallpaper only adds to its charm.

I shall have a personal library and walk into it every day simply to inhale deeply and breathe in the scent of the volumes I've collected.

I shall turn my home into a bed and breakfast, fill the guest rooms with antiques and local artwork and the bathrooms with my homemade beauty products.

I shall kneel in the garden caring not one whit about the dirt on my knees or under my fingernails and wear a large, floppy hat to combat the sun and wrinkles.

I shall send my children baskets filled with love and my grandchildren shall receive pieces of ribbon and buttons and other leavings and findings with instructions to make something beautiful for me to hang on my refrigerator.

I shall help my husband tie his neckties when he deems the occasion fit to wear one and, with pleasure, listen to him sing to himself when he doesn't think anyone else is listening.

I shall smile secretly to myself at some half-remembered dream.

I shall feed the birds all year long and rise early to catch worms.

I shall paint my toenails simply because it makes me happy and then wear boots so no one can see what color I've chosen; it shall be my little secret.

All these things I shall do because I shall have no qualms at showing my age or eccentricity – though perhaps I shall begin today so my new penchant for flowing skirts and dirty fingernails doesn't come as a surprise to anyone tomorrow.

First, I must win the lottery.

***

NOTE: All this brings to mind Jenny Joseph’s poem, Warning.  I didn't realize it until after I’d written everything above how similar they are in some respects – but as a matter of note, I, in no way, intend to copy or reproduce her work or her style.  My style is my own, and so is my work.  I simply note here the similarities.

TTFN

JMS