Good morning, all! This morning I have physical therapy, followed by a bus ride to my pharmacy for my monthly meds. I should be home by 2:00 to navigate the climb of three flights, since I expect the elevator to be out of order still when I return.
Sadly, like DR TCB, every day is like the weekend for me.
My neighborhood in the 1950s was great for Halloween; it was a new subdivision begun after WW2 on a large portion of farmland owned by a Mr Lopane, and the neighborhood had lots of children born after the war. My mother and my Aunt Jenny, as I recall, used to spend the day before making popcorn balls and wrapping them in wax paper. I remember the sweet-smelling syrup (Karo Syrup, vinegar, and God knows what else brought to a boil), the huge pot of popcorn and the sticks of butter to grease their hands as they rolled the hot sticky mess into balls. Those were for my mother's "special" kids, namely the ones that my brother and i played with regularly - the Hawkins boys, Skip Schultheiss, Connie and Donnie Back - and the other trick'r'treaters got Hershey kisses, candy corn, candy bars, whatever.
My brother and I always went out with the Hawkins boys, and I remember how dark it would get by 7:30 or 8. Curfew was 9 o'clock. That gave us plenty of time to vandalize the neighborhood, fill our bags, and behave badly in general. We'd meet up with others, laugh about our costumes, and keep an eye out for dark houses to soap windows. The path was down Goldman Avenue to Goldman Park, then cross the street and do the other side, ending up at home.
The first year I lived in Manhattan, I marched in the Village Halloween Parade with my friend Kaiper - where is she now? - and we went as Siamese twins. It was a really bad idea because the parade is huge and the Village is packed, and it's impossible to navigate alone, much less bound to another. I've been back to the Village once since then on Halloween, and I've vowed never again.
