Just turned out the front porch light a few minutes ago, and Mrs. M is on a Spawn retrieval mission. We weren’t actually expecting the Spawn to go trick-or-treating tonight — and she wasn’t planning to go out herself, but had dressed in a reasonably demure witch’s outfit to hand out candy to the little folks, as well as the Visigoths from other neighborhoods. However, when her best friend the Hurricane showed up, little brother in tow, the Spawn asked to join the escort mission. It’s not like she’ll eat the candy — a severe peanut allergy makes most of a prospective haul off limits, but the chance to wander from here to the Hurricane’s house (approx. 2 miles) was too much to resist, so Mrs. M and I took over distribution duty.
It was as close to a Bradburian night as one might hope for in this part of the world — the temperature in the 50s, with the occasional breeze to rustle the leaves. The visitors were mostly little bitties, with a few early teens mixed in. The girls were the usual array of princesses and ballerinas, and the boys were long on ninjas and Iron Men. We were generous with the candy — perhaps excessively so, as we had a larger turnout than in years past, and had to make an emergency candy run to the grocery a few blocks from here. (Of course, the fact that Mrs. M and I were knocking back malted milk balls and Heath miniatures like it was an Olympic event may have been a factor as well.)
As I’ve been typing these paragraphs, the Spawn has returned, we’ve shut off the porch lights, and I’m in the living room, listening to danceable goth music on the Sirius “1st Wave” channel. It’s been a good night — and I hope yours has been as well.