Aside from Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage, pumpkins aren’t that wonderful. People get really exhilarated about the pumpkin flavored confections and drinks that are resurrected in the fall, but I am steadfastly partial to hazelnut, mocha, and caramel. Carving pumpkins is hardly worth the pulpy, seedy mess. Okay, that’s not true, it’s basically worth it. But I’d rather watch Linus and Sally awaiting the Great Pumpkin than go to a pumpkin patch myself. Eh, I’m lying again. Although I’m happy to be spending the fall in St. Louis for the first time ever, I miss having friends with which to enjoy the fresh autumnal air. Creative illumination is hard to come by unless I get plenty of time outdoors. Not in the woods (see previous post). Just walking around in, as I said, the fresh autumnal air. Lamentably, by the time I get home from work, wandering outside by myself in this city is unadvisable.
Halloween has always been my second favorite holiday. For me, Halloween is still all about trick-or-treating. Halloween parties are no fun; they dilute the spookiness and magic. As I was approaching my teenage years, I realized that I had two options for Halloween: go to a dumb Halloween party, or sit on a porch handing out candy. The latter is obviously the grander option. Upon learning that my street (Westminster Place) does not get trick-or-treat traffic, I got pretty panicked. What the expletive was I going to do for Halloween? Well, I got really animated when I heard my work supervisor describing the bustling amazingness of his neighborhood on Halloween. Being the young professional that I am, I shouted, “Can I come over to your house and hand out candy on Halloween???” So that’s what I’m doing for Halloween. No parties. No alcohol. No grownup conversations. No snuggling up on a couch watching Hocus Pocus. No reading “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by candlelight. Halloween is about costumed children going trick-or-treating. When it comes to children, I’m usually like the queen in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Whenever I see children, my inner voice just keeps repeating, “SUMMON THE CHILD CATCHER!” But Halloween night is about children and candy, and I must honor that. Afterwards, I’ll watch It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, for vicarious enjoyment of pumpkin patches.
I’m not going to dress up for Halloween. Fall is about wearing sweaters. So I’m just going to be a mature member of society and wear a sweater. Still, my portrayal of Wednesday Addams two years ago, when I lived on North Broad Street in Philadelphia, was lovely.
After spending this past weekend in Ohio with my boyfriend and his family, I was feeling warm and fuzzy on the inside but pretty sick on the outside (although I guess that illnesses are on the inside as well). My whole body was achy and my throat was sore. When I got home, I was so feverish that I couldn’t even stay awake to watch an Oliver Reed movie. I think I’m better now, which is a bit of a shame, because I enjoy mild flu symptoms in October.
I’m still love-sick though. I’m in a long-distance relationship and hadn’t seen my boyfriend since August 13th, so I felt deserving of some nuzzling, cuddling, and hand-holding time. I seem to be developing a rivalry with my boyfriend’s 14-year-old brother, mostly because I’m jealous that he’s groovier than I am. He plays the french horn badly, but confidently. When I saw my boyfriend holding a baby this weekend, I wanted to marry him at that very moment. Stupid estrogen hormones.
Back to St. Louis, back to long-distance love-sickness. I wish that I had friends, and I wish that I had my boyfriend here to hold my hand as we walk past all the creepy Sleepy Hollow trees and the glowing T. S. Eliot street-lamps. I have the Halloween Purples. Others might say “Halloween Blues,” but since I use the color purple to comfort myself, blue (in the figurative sad sense) is always substituted with purple.
Speaking of substitutions, I got new pet dumbo rats to replace my boyfriend. I have to go to Petsmart today after work to buy a rat-carrier. Stanley (my black rat) is joining me to hand out candy on Halloween. Neville (the peanut butter rat) is too anxious outside of his cage to come with us. So unless he shapes up, he shall miss out on Halloween.
To bookend this entry, here is a pumpkin poem that I wrote when I was the age of my boyfriend’s horrible, french-horn wielding brother. It’s called “Death Pumpkin.”
Every year, at the time of October,
The Death Pumpkin comes to destroy and take over.
It roams through the village and haunts through the nights
as it torments its victims with black zigzag bites.
Its face is malicious and full of vile wrath;
Its evil smile glows with a sinister laugh.
Long green vine arms sharply reach out to strangle
the soul who unwittingly lingers to dangle
in front of the pumpkin whose eyes burn like coal,
and once it has got you, you’ve lost all control.
You never know where the Death Pumpkin is hiding,
but it’s not a mystery why everything’s dying,
for this evil squash which once grew on a gourd
will viciously eat anything it can hoard.
It feeds upon people and goats and beef jerky;
It feasts upon poultry…particularly turkey.
It terrifies children and gobbles their candy
to make sure that their Halloweens are not dandy.
It munches on witches and werewolves and ghosts,
and once you get into its mouth you are toast,
for its stomach is an orange oven of terror,
so just sit and bake as you say your last prayer.
If you are descending the path to this doom,
turn away quickly and don’t be a loon…
Unless you know how to make the Death Pumpkin die,
but I must warn you now…he tastes dreadful in pie.