Trick or Treat

October 31, when all the good ghouls and boys come out to play.

Everyone thinks it’s “an American thing” but the origins precede that particular nation by a couple of thousand years at least.

From what I've been told, way way back, the ancient Celts used to celebrate the festival of Samhain and early pagans commemorated the feast of All Hallows on November 1; some believed that the night before, the spirits used to roam the earth looking for a good place to get their eternal rest (I hesitate to use the term “beauty sleep” because, c’mon, have you seen some of these creatures in question?)!

Christians still commemorate All Saints Day with church services (and when I was a kid we were told that heaven help any Catholics who missed a Holy Day of Obligation such as these, or you might just find yourself wandering between the worlds when your time has come!). And 'round about the 1970s it became a good excuse to dress up, eat, drink, and scare the living daylights out of family and friends.

Since I’m still a big kid at heart despite what age the face appears that lurks inside the mirror mirror on my bathroom wall (believe me, some days I could win a fancy dress contest without the fancy dress, if you know what I mean), and since I’m not a huge fan of having children door-knocking round the neighbourhood, it seemed like a great idea to have a small Halloween Party at home this year. Note the use of the adjective ‘small’.

Well, once word got out it was like opening Pandora’s Box all over again- and despite our two children being given strict instructions that they could only ask 5 friends each, we had little creatures coming out of the woodwork. Plus any parents that came along for the ride.

Undaunted, even with no idea how many I was actually catering for, I set about searching for creepy crafts, ghoulish goodies, phantastic face-painting, and also had the bright idea of home-made piñatas (seriously, who wants to spend a fortune on a few bits of cardboard that are only going to get smashed to smithereens?).

And then I said the words like so many mothers before: “Come on kids, it’ll be fun!”

Talk about famous last words.

Setting the kids the easy task of tearing up newspaper, I set about making the paste. Here my Beloved steps in to advise I wasn’t using enough flour and consequently used up our entire supply in one go. The end result was a misshapen ball covered in peaks of flaky flour.

Of course it then had to rain for a week straight which meant the papier-mâché simply refused to dry. Naturally, the kids lost interest in the whole process since it was “taking too long”, so it was left to me to make the most of every bit of sunshine, trying any and every kind of adhesive to ensure it would hold together long enough for a number of kids to get a turn smashing the swinging stash.

As it happened, the night before our party coincided with Joeys (junior girl and boy Scouts), so there I was madly trying to complete the piñatas, and finish practicing the crafts we were going to do with the group the next day (I don’t like to launch any activity onto others that I haven’t had a crack at myself…saves me looking silly when the time comes). Happy with my efforts and content that the pumpkin and skull would both survive at least one whack of the piñata stick, and safe in the knowledge that if the edible crafts didn’t work out even I wouldn’t mind taking care of the rejects, I dashed back to the Scout hall to do the evening pick up.

It wasn’t until I was preparing for bed that I realized the reason the scout leaders were giving me those strange looks. It had nothing to do with me sneaking into the hall during the “Dib Dib Dib Dob Dob Dob”s, and everything to do with the dab dab dabs of fluorescent paint prominently placed on the front of my chest.

Making a mental note to check the mirror before leaving the house next time (no matter how much it scares me), I was all set for the onslaught the next afternoon. And an onslaught it was. There were costumed children running screaming from go to whoa, numerous (thankfully minor) casualties throughout the course of events, pumpkin guts from one end of the yard to another, and just a couple of tantrums when it was time to leave. But a good time was had by all.

In the cold light of day, despite catering to an army of little monsters the night before, my Beloved informs me that to him, the scariest thing about this particular Halloween was taking him shopping on a Saturday.

He swears he's shuddering still...

Jx
©2009