Susan Senator

Towards the end of Halloween, there were a few nice surprises. Yes, I went to the Middle East and had a great time. Cambridge was decked out like — well, Cambridge. I fit right in with my little green veil and Medieval top and choker.

But Trick-or-Treat was also sweet. At one point, I opened the door for a couple of little witches and one of them turned out to be a Baby Belly of mine! I was as delighted as she was when I recognized her.

And then I got a call from Ned, telling me they were approaching the house. What we usually do is start about half a mile down the hill, towards the school, where more of our friends live. Then we cover all of Walnut Street, which is jam-packed with participating houses (so many beautiful Victorians, all done up in the finest black-and-orange plastic money can buy). Ned said, “Get water.”

I remembered that we always get really thirsty walking around, screaming and yelling and laughing. Yet, in all these years I never remember to bring water. Flashlight, yes. Cellphone, yes. Costume to embarrass my kids with, yes. But water?

A few minutes later I heard what sounded like an army of Cossacks (God forbid) descending on my house. I peered through the door, and saw a Fly Guy, (my Fly Guy), a football player, a gigantic leaf, and a bunch of other things I didn’t recognize — but I sure knew the kiddos. And I handed out around seven water bottles. You’d think I was the Halloween Messiah or The Great Pumpkin or something. Forget full-size Charleston Chews or little pumpkin boingy toys: bottled water has them all beat at the end of Trick-or Treat.

(Me and my pals at the Middle East, later on.)