Once more we have come full circle to my favorite month—October. Its name is derived from the Latin “octo” for eight, because it was the eighth month in the ancient Roman calendar of 10 months. But, in 700 A.D., January and February were added by the emperor Numa Pompilius, (translation: Pompous Nudge), resulting in Daylight Savings Time, further proof that many of the Roman rulers were, indeed, insane.
October is the herald of the holiday season. Following Halloween there are four weeks until Thanksgiving and four more until Christmas, with eight days of Hanukkah between them. Thus the true meaning of October—“octo” meaning eight, and “ber,” derived from “brrr,” is when the weather starts getting cold. Combined, they mean that we are facing eight weeks of Holiday Hell!
The holidays are not for sissies! There’s decorating, baking, candy making, shopping, wrapping, party planning, party-going, and outfit and costume hunting. It all starts with Halloween and does not end until after the Fourth of July, and that respite in August and September is spent making lists for the next yearly onslaught.
However, my favorite of all these celebrations is still Halloween! I love everything about Halloween, from decorating to baking to dressing up. My husband, The Brit, has never understood this, as Halloween was not celebrated during his childhood in England. I do believe they were still burning witches over there then!
I’m joking, of course. When The Brit was a child the scariest thing walking the neighborhood was Jack the Ripper. I’m still joking! The most terrifying monster of his childhood was, in truth, Adolf Hitler, and that’s no joke!
What my sweet husband does understand is chocolate and good cigars—and I know how to speak his language. For holidays past, all I had to do was wave a chocolate cigar in his face and he’d untangle strings of lights all day long! Our grandson, The Briteen, then a mere Mini-Brit, was right there with me, carving jack-o’-lanterns, cutting bats and cats out of black construction paper, and brainstorming over our first priority: what costume he wanted to wear for trick-or-treating.
I loved all of the excitement of creating just the right costume, dressing up my little guy, and taking pictures that I’ll be able to use in perpetuity to blackmail him into doing just about anything I want! I have photos of him as Spider-Man (I even dressed up our dog Poppy as the spider), the Flash, SpongeBob SquarePants (a costume I made), a zombie gangster, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Raphael (of the red mask). I even dressed as Ninja Master Splinter the Rat.
But now, my little man is taller than me at age 13, and my trick-or-treating days have, sadly, come to an end. Perhaps I should be glad that I no longer have to traipse through the neighborhood in the dark, toting an increasingly weighty bag of candy around.
Our Briteen is too mature to trek through the neighborhood asking for candy. (“Not cool, Grandma!”) Now he simply follows The Brit’s example. Both he and his grandfather wait patiently for me to buy sweets for the inevitable onslaught of trick-or-treaters. Then, when my back is turned, they raid my precious stockpile of KitKat bars, Three Musketeers, Milky Ways, and Skittles, and then blame the dog.
Come to think of it, the dog gets blamed for a lot by those two. She’s blamed for locating and sneaking Milky Ways out of their constantly moving hiding place, dwindling cookie supplies, crumpled unmade beds, and the most horrific odors.
Our dog, Honey, is a tiny, 9-pound shih tzu who is 10 years old. It’s physically impossible for her to be the mastermind of these misdeeds. Just the amount of chocolate she is accused of consuming is enough to kill an entire pack of British bulldogs, never mind the two British bullsh—ers with whom I live!
And, although she can consume a preponderance of dog biscuits, nothing that small could do the damage caused when those two start blowing air biscuits. I’ve come close to having the house condemned more than I care to say!
The man I call “Honey” and the boy who’s my little honey are no longer into the charade of decorating and dressing up for Halloween. Only our little pooch Honey is willing to go along with my need for cuteness and Halloween fun. That’s the way with most dogs. They accept whatever we dish out as long as it’s followed up with a treat and a booty-scratch. Wait a minute—that’s my husband!
I love dressing her up all year. That little buggy-eyed mutt has a better wardrobe than I do! She has party dresses, daywear, T-shirts, coats (including a pink, plush, rhinestone-embellished hoodie), hats, even booties and socks, and coordinating leashes and collars.
Honey also has a plethora of costumes, including a sailor suit, a lobster (which she rocks because she’s a rock lobster), a very tiny reindeer, and one of Santa’s elves. This Halloween I’m working on a chia pet costume! She’ll be the only chia shih tzu pet in town!
The final word, however, comes from Mae, our cat. She disdains wearing costumes for Halloween. She doesn’t need to—she’s her own costume—she’s a cat! She prefers tuna to sweets, which is how she keeps her lithe figure.
Mae has nothing but snobby contempt for Honey the dog. She makes it a point to remind us all that on Halloween cats become as important as they think they are. She’s right. After all, cats were once worshipped as gods, and they have never forgotten this! Meow.
Ariel Waterman is tickled pink that Roy Allen of Santa Maria said she’s one of his favorites in Letters to the Editor (Oct. 7, 2015). She hopes he gets plenty of Milky Ways on Halloween! Send leftover chocolate (no Tootsie Rolls, please) via her editor Shelly Cone at scone@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Oct 15-22, 2015.