Halloween in the North

Whoever had the bright idea to celebrate Halloween at the end of October was, I say respectfully, nuts. That individual obviously never tried to trick-or-treat in Michigan, in 60 degrees below zero, dressed as a princess, or a ballerina, leaving you only two choices: a) turn into an Ice Princess, or b) allow your mother to layer on so many sweaters and jackets and scarves and hats -- this is so SHE will be warm while you're out trick-or-treating -- over your pretty costume that people think you have dressed up like the Michelin man.


Actually there is a third option, which is to c) sprint to two or three houses and get your candy, run back inside your own house to get thawed out, sprint to two or three more houses, run back inside, etc. Such behavior is decidedly beneath a princess or a ballerina, but there IS survival to think of.


It's not all roses for the people passing out the candy in cold climates, either. It's not uncommon, in your northern climates, for homeowners to simply set their bowl of Halloween candy on the porch, unattended, with a note instructing trick-or-treaters to please just take one. This is not because northerners are any more likely than people in warmer locations to be out of the house on Halloween. They are home, alright -- safely inside, probably in front of a fire. THEY are not going to open and close the door constantly in 60 degrees below zero.


The only problem with this is that if everyone obeys the limit-one-per-person, the candy will very soon start to freeze, the individual pieces huddling together in an effort to ward off the bitter cold. Luckily, very few trick-or-treaters do obey the limit-one-per-person rule.


Fortunately we are in a somewhat more temperate climate now, and we do not have to worry about our candy freezing. However, we do sometimes run out of candy for the trick-or-treaters, mainly because we have eaten most of it ourselves. We try not to worry about it too much, though.


(Here the Hero would like to insert a disclaimer, namely, that he really does not like candy all that much, and certainly would not go to any great lengths to attain it, but if I'm going to have a big bowl of it just sitting around, staring at him, calling to him -- well, yes, he will dip into it now and then.)


Perhaps we're a little rusty on Halloween practices, having lived for so long in neighborhoods where dogs outnumber kids 267 to 1. It's surprising that so far no one in such neighborhoods has taken advantage of this fact, and of the trend toward putting one's dog into cute little outfits now and then. You see where I am going with this. Why not dress up your dog and teach it to knock on the neighbors' doors and get candy? With a certain tone of voice, "ruff, ruff" could certainly pass for "Trick or treat!" ("Look, Merle, here's one dressed like a schnauzer. My, aren't you convincing." "Yeah, looks just like that schnauzer who attacked our garden hose last summer." "Oh, Merle, don't be silly. That was a dog.")


This Halloween, we again take up our station by the front door, awaiting potential trick or treaters. And when they come, holding out their bags expectantly, we'll say, "Sorry, all out. But look, three doors down -- see? They've got LOTS of candy..."