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When you live in the country, and each house is 1/2 mile away, there is no trick or treating. Instead, the mothers in our valley organized an annual Halloween party at the township hall, where we could dress up, bob for apples (I hated doing this!!!) and get a small bag of candy. The one thing I always looked forward to at the party was the storytelling by our neighbor mom, Jo Olson. We would be blindfolded and sitting in a circle while Jo read about goblin guts, and passed around spaghetti, or witches’ eyes popping out of their heads, and passed around large grapes for us to feel. We’d squeal every time. Our costumes were usually our ballet recital outfits or pirate clothes. No one bought outfits, or even made them in our Valley. And our teeth never rotted from getting too much candy! But one year, when I was 13, a friend of mine from town asked me to go trick or treating with her. I almost said NO, because I was too old to do that. But because I’d never been trick or treating, she persuaded me to go with her. It was okay, but at every house I thought they were judging me for being too old, and I really didn’t enjoy it. How often has guilt taken away a sense of gladness — too many times. My most enjoyable Halloweens have been watching children come to our house and politely ask for a treat. Their smiles light up the dark cold night. --Cynthia
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January 2022
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