-That’s My Mailbox, Punk Kids-

Halloween is a favorite Holiday of mine, and I’ve come a long way from those formative years when the selection of the costume predicated on the costume wearer’s carrying a war-like prop. My family will tell you that my best year was my seven-year old’s portrayal of an original superhero, Super Cheetah. Some pictures may still be in circulation.

Since that time I’ve had periods where I ignore the holiday, or dress for parties with the selection of the costume predicated on the costume wearer carrying a prop that doubles as a drinking vessel. In some ways, I have not changed.

These days, I enjoy communing with the spirit world on Halloween. And before you start, understand that I’m not referring to that showy, faux-gypsy approach to the supernatural, nor the telemarketer-like séance. Ever wonder why the spirits they summon are always so angry? Obviously the séance is similar to a phone call at dinnertime.

No, I prefer to let my mind drift in a darkened room, which is much more like people watching from a netherpark bench. Proper drifting, like people watching, isn’t instantaneous. All those petty tasks and distractions will get in the way at first, but the longer you wait, the stronger those fleeting images and sounds register on the senses. Eventually, the calm descends enough to attenuate the mental radar for some of those things that escape a busy brain’s attention.

Among them, the sounds of punk kids clobbering my mailbox with a blunt object.