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| Block Island, 2017 |
Typically, I have spent Halloween on Block Island, on the most memorable of which we tried to capture a ghostly horse in the fog. But this morning I woke up thinking about a Halloween 56 years ago, when my father told his wife and his children that he was leaving. My mother, needless to say, was a mess.
So I was the one who rallied the troops for trick or treating. Chris, as I recollect, was a tree, wrapped in brown paper bags and holding a branch in each hand. It was not easy to walk nor to carry a candy bag. Ben was the standard sheet ghost where the eye holes kept slipping sideways and he stumbled and couldn't see. Erin, who was five, was a gypsy, I think, though my memory is unclear. I have no recollection of my own costume, if any.
Last year the four of us, both parents recently dead, gathered in New Orleans for a cousin's wedding—and Halloween and the Day of the Dead. I didn't think of that long ago Halloween then.
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| New Orleans, 2018 |
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| New Orleans, 2018 |
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