Holidays always bring back memories for me. Halloween particularly tends to be a marker of sorts in my world. While many Christmas, New Year’s, and birthdays tend to be a hazy blur, Halloweens tend to stick with me. Maybe this is because of the diversity of the holiday ensembles; every year is different.
     The uniqueness of October 31st started with and came from my mom, and was complimented later, by my dad.   When my sister and I were little, still living in Lapeer MI, my mom instilled in us, via example, that a lack of funds is no competition for an abundance of creativity.  I’m not sure that ‘it’ gets any more creative than a homemade costume, crafted of 100% recycled materials (before ‘going green’ was even a twinkle in the eye of societal norm).
     My mother, in 1983, was at the very forefront of her generation, leading the wave of ‘waste not’ without ever even knowing it.  This, coupled with her drive to mark each holiday as noteworthy and special, resulted in some very memorable costumes. It is worth mentioning that mom had the mentality of ‘the kids like to dress up; I see no reason that dress up has to be saved for Halloween". However it was that same mentality that brought us to Grandma and Grandpa’s door one Thanksgiving wearing, all be it creative, very, very itchy burlap, Little Hiawatha type costumes. Mom was an Indian princess.
     If memory serves, one of us may have suffered the lasting repercussions of a slight rash on account of the burlap. The memory of that Thanksgiving stomped the rash, withstanding the test of time, demonstrating longevity and endurance even as these words are typed three decades later. Despite the accolades that must be sang in favor of an off season costume, the burlap bag dresses rate a surprising third, on my memorable costume list, bringing me to second place: the year of the carrot.
     The Salvation Army had afforded mom a brand new, never before used, bright orange, corded… bedspread. No one can accuse our mom of not having vision. She looked at the calendar, looked at us kids, and she looked at that bedspread, and saw carrot children. Inspired by friend and printmaker, David Bigelow’s  carrot collection, mom went to work.
     I remember us being measured and carefully fitted for our carrot costumes, and mom working away on her sewing machine. I don’t remember necessarily wanting to be a carrot, and if memory serves, my sister Hollie was decidedly opposed to it. Arriving at Grandma and Grandpa’s this time as a healthy snack; our costumes took on a whole new meaning as we saw that our cousin Amanda was a bunny.  
      In the early 80’s Fruit of the Loom underwear launched an advertising campaign that included grown men and women dressed as fruit. They danced, and no doubt inspired people everywhere to eat healthy, and wear comfortable cotton underclothing. This commercial also inspired at Schickler elementary school, a fruit themed Halloween party. It was rumored that the teachers were to dance down the hallways and the school buzzed with excitement in a way that only an elementary school can.  I was six and Hollie was almost ten.  
     With the restrictions set by the faculty and the orange bedspread repurposed into a vegetable, options were limited, and so were materials. Not to be dissuaded by not having any fabric, mom had two kids that needed costumes, and mom did have garbage bags.  
     Unfortunately for us someone, somewhere figured out that those shriveled up, now black, grapes, aren’t so bad, and they called them raisins. Because they are the depressed and shriveled version of what was once a ripe juicy grape, they are in fact still technically a fruit. And so mom went to work at her sewing machine.  
     We were each fitted with our own Hefty garbage bag respectively. Since it would be ten years before Glad would introduce Glad Flex, boasting a ribbed, rip proof texture, mom had to sew in the wrinkles, inherent to raisins, herself. This was a long and tedious process for which mom required quiet. She sewed batting into each of the bags, giving them a plump look, and when she was finished we were put into the bags. 
     Our little tights-clad legs sticking out the bottom and our heads peaking out the tops of the round, wrinkled black garbage bags, we were raisins. Or were we?  
     When we arrived at the Schickler elementary Halloween Party, all of the children, quickly identified us, “Eww gross you guys are roaches!” Super. Even the children that seemed to be giving us the benefit of the doubt that we had, at least loosely, stuck to the theme of the party thought we were fruit flies. I can remember our friends chasing us with improvised fly swatters, and at one point, it almost seemed better to let them think that we were in fact, roaches. It was easier anyway, than trying to recap what mom had explained to us while convincing us that grapes turn into raisins. “Whatever, yeah, we’re roaches, aren’t the teachers going to dance?”  
      In later years when dad started to play a more active role in our Halloween costumes there was the year that we were punk rockers. Getting to wear makeup only once in the year was a good reason to pile on the other 364 days worth all at once. We learned that night that overly made up girls, are frequently mistaken for boys. While upsetting as a little girl, as an adult it holds true. In a dark corner of a dark club, I am certain that where you find fake eyelashes and overly defined cheekbones, you will also find an adams apple.
     Punk Rock Halloween however, wearing a skirt that was made out of one cut off pant leg of my dad’s room-mate’s spandex pants (Rick’s spandex pants at that), walking up to Grandma and Grandpa’s door, I felt pretty cute. Grandpa didn’t know who we were, “Wow, Kay, come look at these boys.”  
     There was also the year that my son Nathaniel’s dad made himself huge by buying enormous clothes at the Salvation Army and filling them with spray foam while he had them on. The remorse that followed reminded me of the year when I was a cat, and dad fitted me with epoxy ears that got horribly stuck in my hair.  
     Each Halloween serves as a marker for me. It reminds me that where there is a will, there is a way. It reminds me that we are never too old to reinvent ourselves. It reminds that while I am at the grocery store getting candy for the trick-or-treaters, I need to pick up potatoes, carrots, and garbage bags.

Happy Halloween, everyone!

E- 



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