a goddess and a monkey

That sounds like it could be the start of a joke, yes? Only I don't so much care for jokes. Witty banter and borderline shocking revelations well-timed to be humorous, yes. But jokes, as could be found compiled in a paperback book with a title including the number "1001" or the word "funny", big fat No. So not a joke, just my two dears walking hand-in-hand down the sidewalk of our town, wearing a last minute mama-made costume and a long ago thrifted zip-up suit, respectively. I suppose such a description is expected on the first of November, but I'm something of a halloween equivalent of the grinch and intentionally subjecting myself and my children to hordes of ruckus strangers hyped up on candy (the sort we don't, in this little family, even eat!), is a little unexpected. What I do appreciate is a sense of community, however vague, in the seeing more local folks than I've yet seen in one place here (even if I didn't talk to, and don't know, any of them); it's valuable to participate in something, even if the something is just a larger version of my usual old people watching activity. I do like to people watch. And I appreciate and understand the thrill of being someone else, even if I didn't bother putting together a costume for myself. But, really, when I'm walking behind my children on a bright, crisp, rainless (hey, that's big stuff around these parts at this time of the year!) fall evening, and my little monkey of a son insists on holding his big sister's hand and she reaches back for him and slows her pace to match his, and they are just so dear and sweet and perfect, right then, there's no one else I'd rather be anyhow.