Sitting by the Door

Sitting by the door, waiting for the first trick or treater.  The jack o’ lantern is lit.  We decided upon an aggressively jerky maw for the 2015 pumpkin.  This, by not cutting out the other half of his mouth.  He’s out there now, as the sun falls, welcoming the compound’s daemons to come and tithe candy.  I have a bass amp plugged in by the door turned up full blast.  I cup the mic and laugh a low sinister laugh as my younger daughter hands out the candy.  “Were they surprised?”

She has, appropriately headed out for some of her own tithing.  I am listening to something appropriately off and disturbing for this High Holiday:  Faust.  This is from 1973, “Faust IV.”  It has an acidic, metallic sheen that glistens for Halloween.  I don’t know if I can do the surprise Halloween laugh quite the same way without my sidekick, but we’ll find some way to maintain the drama.

Sitting here by the door, reading a book I’d bought my wife years ago called: “100 Techniques that Changed Photography”, or some such thing.  Every time the door  rings, I try another amplified disruption.  Growling throat, high-pitched scream, disturbing scratching noises.  Sitting by the door, I tried one after the other annoyance and then jumped up to be civil.

A friend tried to call and discuss a business meeting for tomorrow.  I interrupted this Skype call seven times to doll out candy.  “Great costume!”  I valiantly tried to cop a plea.   “You do know what night it is?” Most of the world has no obligations this evening.  Some day my kids will be in college and me and the Mrs. will have an urban one-bedroom apartment somewhere and will comfortably ignore the evening, as most people do.  For now, it’s a function of life in an expat compound. 

Earlier this evening, I calculated how much candy I had and how many visitors might appear and figured more than once that I may well run out of candy.  I’d need discipline as I doled things out. .  I’ve restocked twice already.  As a veteran, I implicitly understand, if you just offer the bowl out they’ll reach out and grab as many Snickers as they can.  I rehearsed the line in my mind:  “I’ll do the dollin’ daemon” to say any wieners who figured they were in a position to school me on civility in looting.  

We put on a recording of someone reading "The Headless Horseman" and light the first fire of the season.