...and counting

38 days until this home is transformed into a Halloween nightmare. A place where, pumpkins go under the knife, and ghosts, goblins, and prom zombies shriek, tumble and roll in racing sacks, and perhaps bob for apples. It's that time of year, when catalogs aren't unceremoniously tossed in the recycling. Instead, they're scoured for the next, best, disgusting decoration, or stomach turning gummy treat. I love this time of year. When the air is cooled by the promise of winter, and the hint of the maple sugaring season on the other side.

The planning has begun. We'll have all the usual games, with a few more. And on my daily garden visits, I've been wondering if there is someway we can share our giant gourd bounty with our little goulish friends. I've even thought about planting a hillside of pumpkins next year. Wouldn't it be nice to send our guests scampering out to pick a pumpkin from our very own patch? Of course, Rocky would miss my order for 20 beauties, all about 13 pounds; not too big, and yet not too small.

Like any great feast the food is of utmost importance. The jello brain is a given. The litter box cake -- expected. But I've seen some new magazine boasted ideas, like the apple, peanut butter mouth with candy corn for teeth. I like we'll have a plate of yappers this year.

Next to Thanksgiving, this event is my favorite. We gather friends, and family for the fun of it. To enjoy eachother's company. To relax in the cool of the evening. A ghoulish brew, slimy with lime jello in one hand, and a plate of edible eyes in the other. To have our own eyes feasting upon the stunts and silliness of our zombies, werewolves, or petite Luke Skywalkers.