I know Hallowe'en was last week, but...

As Daniel and I shuffled through leaves last Friday evening, I noticed how calm it seemed. Hallowe'en, when I was a kid was a little more ... frantic. My dad was the designated driver (yes, he drove us around.) We lived in the country, and walking around the neighbourhood would have meant either a) 3 things in out bags (from the walk-to-able neighbour's houses) or b) we'd be out all night. And we couldn't be out all night because, for many years, not being home before 10 would have meant not being home for a looooong time. I'm not sure when the practice switched to Devil's Night (Cabbage Night, Hallowe'en Eve, whatever) but when I was younger, every Hallowe'en, around 10 o'clock, someone would throw a half dozen or more tires across the road, toss on some gasoline, and set the barricade on fire. I know just where it happened (there was always scorched pavement the next day) so I assume the police knew where it would happen, but year after year, the tires burned, the air filled with horrible stinky smoke and we knew Hallowe'en was officially over for another year. Strangely, I find this a happy memory. Ahhh, good times. Cough, cough.