I saw adults wearing costumes yesterday--I think. It is hard to tell, really. Green hair, poofy skirt, black platform shoes and ankle socks. . . who can tell? It's just another day at the Cafe Strange, I reckon.
But I didn't go there. Apparently, it had just leaked out into the streets.
I did go to my mother's house to pass out candy to the kiddos with her, though. I didn't want to. As the afternoon wore on, I was feeling punky again. I swear I think the vaccines I got actually gave me some disease. I was aching and tired, but I mustered up and got on the road.
"Do you think you have enough candy?" I asked my mother earlier in the day. .
"Lord yes," she said.
I went to the grocers and got more. I know my mother. She's a hillbilly. She is cheap. She would have bought the cheapest candy and not enough.
The first kids to come, just before twilight, were the neighborhood kids. And by gosh. . . they were cute. Parents would come up the long driveway with their toddlers or send their elementary school aged kids up the driveway by themselves while they waited on the sidewalk. The kids were sweet and polite. They would say, "Trick or treat," and we would say, "Happy Halloween," and then they'd look into the candy bowl cautiously and then politely take one piece of candy. They usually would study what was in the bowl for a bit before they chose. Then they would look up and say, "Thank you," and the parents would say thank you, too, and maybe we would chat a bit about the children's costumes which were very, very good. Many times, the entire family was dressed up in a theme--the Addams Family, Jedis, space aliens. The kids would run with excitement ready for the next house.
My mother's street is THE Halloween street. Almost everybody, my mother excluded, puts up elaborate decorations in the yard--mechanical monsters, smoke machines, giant spiderwebs--and one house makes their front patio into a haunted mansion with all sorts of animatronics and cauldrons and spooky recordings. It almost rivals Disney.
So the kids keep coming, hundreds of them. And as night falls and the hours pass, the streets begin to fill up with cars as people from other neighborhoods bring in their children. And these kids are a little rougher as are the costumes. And they are not as polite. They come to take giant handfuls of candy from the bowl so that my mother has to begin putting the candy into the bags herself so that she does not run out, and the two big bags I brought begin to disappear.
I tell my mother to go see the neighbors and the neighborhood and I sit with the candy alone. And when she comes back, the candy bowl is becoming empty and I tell her I am going home.
"Close up the house and go sit with the neighbors," I say, and she says that is what she will do.
When I get home, I am done for. And so is Halloween. My neighborhood looks spooky at night with big oaks overhanging the street, but the trick or treaters don't come here anymore. There is a neighborhood party at the neighborhood park on the lake which makes it easier on everyone. The streets are quiet.
I pour a drink and sink into the couch and turn on the television. I had developed a roll of film from the wrestling matches earlier in the day, so I cut the negatives and put two strips into a carrier and start the scanning process. The negatives look unbelievably good which is a mystery. I think the black and white film worked out better somehow, but I only shot a not so spectacular match with it thinking it would not come out at all.
As the scanner does its work, I come back to the tv. My phone pings. I have a text. It is from a woman wanting to know how my Halloween night went. I still can't figure her out. We text for awhile in hesitant slow motion. Then it seems we are done. I watch something. It is late. I go to bed.
I don't plan on being festive this holiday season. I am paying little attention to it at all. In the past, I wanted a more "sophisticated" celebration, but I don't feel any celebration in my soul this year. The world is wearing me out. People are on the political edges of their seats. The planet has become toxic. There are wars all over the globe. People are either rich or they are fucked. Everything seems contentious, even in the smallest of ways. I feel no joy, really. I want to check out for a bit, be quiet and contemplative, and see if I can renew my emotional life.
But the holidays are in full swing. We change the clocks and then we vote and then. . . half of us will go mad with glee, the other half with despair. That is not true, though. I know many people with college degrees who are as dumb as Joe Rogan. They are part of the bro culture and know little about anything other than business, golf, expensive cars, and resorts. I know many people with college degrees who have less income, are more bohemian, and who subscribe to most Woke ideology. One group is unconcerned, the other over-concerned. One group has lawyers, guns, and money. The other thinks it will need them.
I just got a text from Mexico City where my friend from the midwest has gone for The Day of the Dead celebration. She is there as is my replacement at the factory who is now working at a factory in Minnesota. I don't know if they have coordinated this or if it is simply happenstance. I had considered going, but as has been my fate for awhile now. . . I am sitting here at home. With regret. Much regret. Many, many regrets.
I am envy. I am all envy. Isn't that one of the Ten Commandments? No envy? Maybe it is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I'm not sure. I just know envy is bad, and I am full of it now.
My god. . . what a wonderful place Mexico City is.
Lamento. Mi cámara se arrepiente.
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