For me, the “treat” part of the Trick ‘r Treat tradition comes weeks before All Hollow’s Eve. I’m long past the age where a pumpkin shaped bag full of Almond Joys or Reese’s Pieces thrill me.
During the whole month of October, in my neighborhood, when the air is crisp and walking through a cluster of fallen red and orange leaves make wonderful crunching sounds, I love wandering through nearby streets marveling at the decorations.
Maybe it’s for practical reasons that the holiday rivals Christmas as a time to call attention to your front yard by creating fanciful displays. When it’s thirty to forty degrees warmer, it’s more appealing to take on such projects.
But from furry Day-Glo spiders crawling up the sides of brick bungalows to boney fingers poking out from under closed garage doors to yellow crime scene tape drawn along fences, there seems to be a surprise at every turn.
My dog, of course, doesn’t know what to make of the extra “objects” in front yards. She walks cautiously past hay bales and scarecrows, and Victorian glass-eyed dolls, and pointy hat wearing witches but doesn’t curtail her exploring instincts when a neighbor has transformed his front yard into a cemetery.
Small signs might pierce the turf, bearing corny sayings befitting a graveyard like “RIP” or “See you later,” but I’m under no illusions that my dog is either frightened or amused. But I am.
Earlier this week, during our morning walk, I came across a large blow-up display of a greenish Frankenstein sitting on a toilet, holding a measure of toilet paper in his large green hands.
Not exactly an image to spawn nightmares (Was his contemplative expression linked to his understanding that toilet paper was kind of a precious commodity these days?), I started laughing.
I snapped a photo on my smart phone and immediately sent it to a few friends.
Why was I so taken by the sight? I had to wonder.
There is something so — vulnerable and endearing — about being caught on the toilet.
I suppose that it’s funny Ito think of a “monster” as being engaged in something so normal, something so human, but I was drawn to think about the convergence of funny and scary.
It would seem like the two emotions wouldn’t go together. And yet they do.
Later in my walk, arranged on a lawn chair, was a skeleton holding a sign reminding passersby to VOTE.
When I thought about it, I have been holding funny and scary in my heart for almost four years. I’d listen to the monologs of late night TV hosts, recounting some crazy thing Donald Trump did or said. (Recently, DFT introduced us to the term, “herd mentality,’ the word “mentality” accidentally substituted for “immunity.” Funny or scary?)
I know my feelings on this have been shared by many, If the reality under the current party in power wasn’t so frightening, it would be funny.
Funny and scary are more related than I first thought. Maybe eye-rolling laughter and fear require a similar response.
Both are about not being in control. Both laughter and overwhelming panic can be exhausting and disorienting.
If I catch myself laughing so hard, I cry, I’ll tell myself to slow down and inhale. Deeply. I’ll instruct myself to bring air into my chest as if oxygen is light that has to travel into every dark crevice.
If I find myself freaking out because the leader of the free world doesn’t give a damn for human life (even the lives of his own advisers and supporters), I remind myself to breathe.
Remembering to take one breath at a time is no small thing.
Leave a comment