So Hallowe'en is over for yet another year. And this morning our neighbour to the right of us who, with his wife, never misses an opportunity to dress up their front lawn in recognition of such events, was busy removing the headstones from his lawn, along with the two full-sized skeletons resting on sun cots. And the sound machine that played ghostly sounds and emitted clouds of grey smoke. Only a few ornaments are now left on their lawn.

It's been over forty years since our own children would go out on that night to collect goodies. They didn't do it for many years as they grew older, however, soon coming to the realization between themselves that it wasn't a custom they were in fact all that given to. Since that time, it was mostly our younger son who would volunteer to do duty at the front door, giving out goodies to visiting children, as long as he still lived at home.

Once all our children had departed to continue their education at university that job graduated to my husband, who, like our younger son, enjoyed doling out chocolates to grateful costumed children who would always far rather accept such offerings than penalize us by their 'tricks'. I've always been grateful myself, that my husband indulged in doing this, since it never did appeal to me. He loves bantering with the children. 

If I had my druthers these house-to-house Hallowe'en escapades would disappear from the popular cultural scene. I don't enjoy having our evening disrupted repeatedly by a ringing doorbell. And our evening meal invariably disrupted, although my husband, once a year, doesn't mind at all. While my husband stations himself faithfully at the front door, I tend to go about attending to other things.

There was a time when we could expect at least a hundred children coming around. That's no longer the case, the numbers have diminished over time to roughly half. We always have at least 120 individual little chocolate bars to hand out. So that, when my husband momentarily goes off to do something else, I pinch-hit for him and give out the goodies, and I hate giving out just one, and end up offering each child two or three, for which they are pleased no doubt, but no more than if they got one.

They're usually distracted, looking about them, just a trifle confused themselves about the changing scene as they go house to house. Sometimes parents or guardians hover close by, costumed or not. Everyone tends to comment on the stained glass windows.

I tell my husband he should give out more than one chocolate bar per child, but he's always concerned we might run out before the night is over, though we rarely do. And nor did we last night, when about fifty children came around.

When I was handing out the goodies, once I recovered and had my wits about me, I complimented the children on their choice of costumes and emphasized how good they looked, invariably pleasing them far more than the chocolates alone. With one group of three little girls dressed like princesses, there were two skinny and one fat little girl, and when I told them how beautiful they all looked, the overweight little girl looked beyond thrilled, visibly preening.

It made me feel awfully good.