For the past ten years, possibly longer — I can’t recall exactly — I’ve been ready for Halloween, sometimes with carved pumpkins, always with candy, and not one single person, one child, one unworldly spook has knocked at the door. I’ve lived in places where the houses were too far apart, where children were too scarce, and perhaps all the spooks were too content. So, every year at about this time, I’ve had a bit more candy than I should. My theory has always been, if you’re not prepared, you’ll fail. But failure has only convinced me through the years that the fewer the participants, the more candy there is to savor.

I just turned out the lights. It's almost 10:00. The market has been pushing Halloween candy and costumes and treats for the past six or seven weeks. An island in the rear of the store is loaded with Thanksgiving things, bottles of vanilla, stuffing and the like, and it’s been there long enough to need dusting. No one came tonight, which means tomorrow, in addition to half price candy sales, Christmas begins. Christmas, the happiest most meaningless two months of the year.