A stroll down that street known as Halloween Memory Lane

I had my folks over to celebrate Phil's birthday (Happy Birthday, Phil!), and because Halloween was nigh upon us, I asked what they did for the holiday when they were kids. My mom was vague. "Oh, you know," was pretty much all she said. But my dad told us they used to roam around the Orem bench, knocking over outhouses.

I was intrigued because knocking over outhouses seems like a mythic American activity, something Mark Twain created when he wrote about Huck and Tom. But apparently not. Also, I was a little surprised to learn that there were still outhouses to knock over in Orem in the 30's. Sometime between then and when I was born, people got busy and called the plumber, because I don't remember outhouses in Orem.

"Were you dressed up?" I asked.

The man looked at me like I was an idiot. "No. We just knocked over outhouses."

Meanwhile, I have a Halloween memory of my own in re to him. When we'd come home from trick-or-treating, he checked our bags to "make sure everything was okay." Then he'd steal all our Tootsie Rolls.

Feel free to post a few memories of your own. And have a spook-tacular day.

Breaking another one of my own rules

LIFE RULE #457: Do not put clothes on your dog for Halloween.

But okay we dressed up our newfie, Zora, as a cowboy with a plaid shirt and hat. The plaid shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, which meant that a lot of chestal hair came billowing out. Zora looked weirdly human--like a big hairy tranny.

Anyway. Boy Numero Quatro took Zora trick-or-treating, but instead of getting candy he got chewed out by a real Avenues sort for demeaning a dog. Here's the best part. The lady who chewed him out was carrying her Chihuahua in a snuggly. Seriously. I do love love love my wacky neighborhood.

Ate Milky Ways bars until I went into a coma. A very, very happy type coma.