Today’s Halloween blog will include below one I wrote a couple of years ago. I was not too clear in that blog how I really do not like Halloween. Call me the Halloween Grinch.

While I am an old man I can still remember my fondness for fireworks. The issue is that I played with fireworks on New Year’s Eve. Our cats Niño and Niña will not approve of all that banging of fireworks and the banging on the door.

Because there are remnants of the Latina American macho in me I force (as I have in past years) my Rosemary to open the door and hand out the treats.

I have a more recent memory of Halloween in Mexico City where poor children would come to the door and ask, “Me da mi jalowin?” All they wanted (understandably) was loose change.

Halloween became sort of a Halloween for my Rosemary and me when we came to Canada in 1975 and lived in Burnaby. I remember those dark and rainy Halloweens where my two daughters with smiles on their faces (and all wet) would come in with their loot in garbage bags. I liked to pick some of the better stuff citing my parental importance.

By the time we moved to Athlone Street in 1986 my two daughters were teenagers but they still went out for candy. Now Halloweens meant costumes and dances with boys.

Sadly both my granddaughters, Rebecca, 19 and Lauren, 14 have left Halloween behind. This is Lauren’s last year to trick'r treat. She and her parents live in Burnaby but Lauren is visiting her friends in her old neibourhood where the looting is very good.

This year I gave up getting either of my granddaughters to come over for some sort of special Halloween portrait where Rebecca, who is an expert with makeup, would do the honours.

But there is some constant in our family and particularly in Halloween as Pancho el Esqueleto, given to me by Abraham Rogatnick 6 years ago patiently sits by the window in our dining room ready to volunteer for a portrait.