"'tis the season." A little phrase I utter to myself far more often than that other one. I find far more reason to be merry right around now than in other times of year - I find the weather particularly agreeable, the ceremonies, commemorating bountiful harvests and inevitable mortality, altogether appropriate, and the rituals, invariably involving food, drink, and creative expression, well, basically what life is all about.

That we as a species have managed to turn fear of death into a party is one of the great things about us. As Bradbury illustrates in "The Halloween Tree", every human culture, from cavemen on up, have had their day of the dead festivals. It's how we cope with mortality. That's why I have no truck with the idiotic objections of the Jehovah's Witnesses, whose arguments I know very well; they basically can't stand anything ritualistic, and certainly nothing that predates Christianity.   As if primitive man had nothing to offer us! What a bland-pancake of a world they would have us inherit!

But enough about them. The fact is, these rituals exist for a reason. They help us deal with death. They help us endure the changing seasons. If our current version is a little hedonistic, it reflects the culture we live in. Despite all our fancy gadgets, our electric light bulbs and internal heating, we are still apes at heart, trembling at the sound of thunder and wondering if the sun actually will rise again. I've always found the Halloween celebrations, where we pretend to laugh at darkness and mingle merriment with morbidity, more in tune with my temperament than certain other festivals. The reasons are myriad.

Again, I find the weather, no longer oppressively hot, agreeable. I like the changing colours of the trees. I enjoy the smell in the air.

 I revel in the celebration of the dark and gothic. I like old houses, gnarled trees, black bats and cats, and spiders. I have a special love for literature that celebrates these things. 

The Theatre guy in me revels in costuming. For me it, whatever it is, is not just a costume, but a character. For one night in the year, I can get into character, and the world is indeed my stage! When else do I get to do that?

Last but not least, who am I to deny the thrill of nostalgia? As I tend to consider adulthood a long, dull footnote to childhood, I am more susceptible to this than most. The ceremony of putting on the costume, the rare nocturnal excursion, the athletic thrill of darting across lawns and up porch steps in the pursuit of willingly, even eagerly, given loot (the popularity of pirate costumes is no accident). . . Greed played no small part, no denying. Where and when else could we get that much stuff for free? Call it the entrepreneurial spirit if you insist. I prefer to think of it as one of the only - possible the only - occasion in our hyper materialistic, individualistic times where communities get together and share stuff.

And of course, getting home ripping it all open, and having an abundant source of junk food for possibly weeks (storing for winter?). You could dump it on the floor and roll around in it, toss it up in the air, bury oneself in it. It was like bringing home the Treasure of the Sierra Madre. Never again would I get to interact with that kind of material wealth. And of course, digging through the treasure every day was a never-ending surprise. Granted, it diminished slowly every day as the good stuff was consumed, but hey! The enjoyment of something should never be based on its permanence.

So yes indeed, I am a sucker for the season. I engage in it fully, and I draw it out as long as I possibly can. This year I got to start early, and drew it out quite a bit. . .but that's another story.