"But it's Halloweeeeeeeen!"

That's what I heard a kid say in response to his parents scolding him for scarfing up the candy in his plastic jack o'lantern, as Greg and I were walking back home from watching the kids on the plaza. Every Halloween the stores surrounding Arcata's plaza hand out candy to trick or treaters, and folks without kids go down there to see all the kids (and parents) dressed up. And, you know, to shake hands and say hi to the Mossman.

Greg set up our ofrenda and I carved up a jack o'lantern and set it on our front steps. We had a bowl of candy—not too big, 'cause last year we hardly had any kids and we ended up eating the candy ourselves. We popped in some TV and waited for the doorbell to ring.

Our family ofrenda. For the big Sunday comida with the family both living and dead we added whiskey, boiled cabbage and potatoes, dead bread, water, and a sampling of fruits from the garden.

I don't know what it's like where you live, but here...well. I got compliments on my glasses, my two fine cats, the artwork hanging on the wall over the ofrenda, my jack o'lantern. But, we ran out of candy! True, it wasn't a big bowl, but we had a good turnout and finally had to turn off the porch light. But still the doorbell rang. I didn't want to be rude and not answer, so I'd show whoever was on the doorstep the empty bowl and apologize.

The doorbell rang again, and when I lamented running out of candy and asked the group of teens if I should blow out the candle in the jack o'lantern to let people know we had no more treats, they said no, leave it lit, it looks nice. Then one of the kids reached into her pocket and handed me a lollipop. So we wouldn't be empty-handed, she said.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Jack says "Arrrgh! You kids stay offa my porch!"