Our neighborhood, we learned, doesn't really do Halloween. Some friends two houses down told us that the kids who live here go elsewhere, namely, to the very moneyed historic neighborhood nearby. We're south, and downhill, they are north, and uphill, technically the same street but separated by the big old courthouse smack dab in the middle of it that prevents an actual thoroughfare.
We've never left our neighborhood to trick-or-treat, even though we've always lived in lower-income neighborhoods similar in location and demographic to this one. At the first suggestion of it, Woody didn't want to go. But, only four houses in the two blocks around us had candy for children. So, we followed the throngs uptown.
That felt odd for Daddy Honey and I, but not for the boys. They had a good time, we left when their legs were tired, and the outstanding candy haul sits in our biggest bowl on the buffet table. Woody's costume was a hit; it was made this afternoon when Woody changed his mind at the last from a zombie to a white-sheet-ghost with holes for eyes, like on Charlie Brown. Fox had a terrific skeleton costume handed down from Woody, but he felt self-conscious wearing it, so he put on his gorilla t-shirt that Daddy Honey brought him back from the San Diego zoo. He went to a few houses, but none of the ones with scary decorations, and fell asleep six houses from the end of the loop leading back to our car.
Tomorrow is November 1. We never celebrated All Souls Day as kids, despite growing up Catholic, but it has always felt like a significant date to me. Like the real beginning of the end of something, when fall turns from frisky to hushed, a season getting serious about itself.