Ah, Halloween. The name is derived from the Latin word hollow—meaning temporary, fleeting—and ween, as in, “How are we gonna ween our kids off all that sugar?” So we combine “fleeting sensations” with “how will this ever end?,” and what do we have?
But of course: life itself.
Life is Halloween. We dress up (if things like a tie for men and pantyhose for women aren’t costume material, I’m a teenage werewolf); we venture out into the big, scary world; without meaning to beg or anything, we do everything we can to maximize getting as much of what we want as we can possibly get away with; with booty in hand we rush back home again; we try to not immediately tear through everything we secured for ourselves, but to instead save at least some of it for later; we fail to do that; we feel regret and even a little shame; we crave want more.
We do that many times over again; and then, eventually, we die.
Add a witch here and an angry zombie there, a continuum of full moons, some occasional screaming that scares you half to death, some neighbors with whom you’re forced to interact but whom (as it turns out) you’d prefer not to know at all—and there you have it.
Already tonight a little kid of maybe six years old came to our house, fully decked out as a cowboy–except instead of a cowboy hat he was wearing a spaceman’s helmet.
“Wow!” I said. “Cool!”
“I know!” he said. “I’m a space cowboy!”
So. Life is good.
God bless you, on this and every night.