“When are they COMING?” pleaded my youngest with her nose pressed to the cold glass of the picture window. She was in full regalia, accented by clip-on peacock feather earrings and a splash of purple eyeshadow (PLEEEEASE Mom?) The trick or treating delayed one week by the Northeast Snowtober was finally going to begin, but we had not fully adjusted to the clocks being set back by an hour that morning. Her internal regulator urged her to hit the streets with pumpkin orange satchel in hand, but porch lights were not on and no other ghouls and goblins could be seen. Finally at 6:05 PM (Actually 7:05 PM I said silently to myself) the doorbell rang, candy was doled, and she shot out our door like a rocket to collect her own loot. It was relatively quiet for us, only 65-70 kids which is half of our usual count.
“When are they COMING?” pleaded my eldest with his eyes, his nose pressed to the cold glass of the picture window as he waited a full hour early for the school bus to arrive this morning. His sister was still lounging in bed, slowly emerging from a late, cold night’s sugar coma. For us, no manmade clock can dictate the internal ticking of the human heart.
