The Great Pumpkin

               Two pumpkin costumes waited for their unwilling occupants.  We were going to a Halloween Party after visiting the Great Pumpkin, a family tradition in Pasadena.  Putting their arms and legs through the holes, I righted the painted pumpkin faces and then stuffed the costumes with newspaper to fill the pumpkin. My three year old pouted.
               “I don’t want to be a pumpkin.   I want to be a hobo.”
               “Next year, you can be a hobo.  This is your costume for this year.” I calmly explained as I added more stuffing.
               “I’m not going.”
               “Then you won’t see the Great Pumpkin,” I said more firmly taking her hand to help her to the car.  Her brother, anticipating Halloween treats, was already in the car.
               Driving to the Great Pumpkin, we sang a few Halloween songs.  The big orange Pumpkin came into view as I parked the car at Schramm’s Farm.  Unlike Peanuts, we did not have to wait in vain through the long hours of the night for the Great Pumpkin.  Schramm’s Farm  obliged by having the Great Pumpkin sitting by Mountain Road with his large mouth, grinning and inviting the children.
               My two pumpkins scrambled from the car.  I paid at the farm stand so they could reach into the Great Pumpkin’s mouth for a treat.  My oldest groped inside the gaping mouth to reach a brown paper bag that would give him the best treat.  My youngest, dwarfed by the size of the Great Pumpkin, was not deterred.  She stuck her hand boldly inside and quickly pulled out a stapled paper bag filled with candy.
               We moved on to the Halloween party and bobbed for apples, which nearly ruined their costumes.  Even with large stems floating, apples are difficult to catch when you can’t use your hands.  The boys loved getting their heads wet.  This was not a sanitary game. The next challenge was marshmallows hanging on a string.  This brought laughter when children tried to catch them with their mouth. Frustration reigned.  My three year old pouted as she held her prize for winning the costume contest.
               Leaving the party, she struggled to get it off.
               “You can’t trick or treat without a costume,” I reminded her as she continued to pull the string to release the costume.
               A cold wind rustled the fallen leaves as we pulled into our neighborhood.  My three year old had managed to get out of the costume and sat inside our doorway as I took the older one’s hand and set off to rap on the neighbors’ doors that beckoned us with porch lights. After walking to six houses, we rounded the corner.  Thick woods with creaking trees limbs darkened our path.  A fresh blast of wind from the Bay slammed into our faces.  My son tightened his grip on my hand.  There were no streetlights.  We knew, if we just got past this dark patch, friendly neighbors would be waiting.
               “I have enough candy, Mom.”
               “You want to go back?”
               “Yes.”
               “Okay,” I replied with relief in my voice.  Halloween played on my imagination as we skirted the shadows made by the moon. We hurried to the warmth of the house, hot chocolate, and candy.  Passing our jack-o-lantern, the candle burnt out like my two live pumpkins this Halloween.