So there's a knock on the door and some giggling, and Melisa says, "Oh,
jeez, it's trick or treaters. We don't have anything. Should we answer?"

"And say what?" I offer.

"OK. I'll close the blinds."

After a few more rings, they give up and are on their way--soon to be
replaced by others. After 20 minutes or so of this, we are feeling worse
and worse, telling each other that we shoulda got some little raison
packets, that maybe we should quick go buy some, that we didn't know when
trick or treating would be since seven years ago in Milwaukee it was on
Sunday afternoon because weirdos made it too dangerous at night and surely
things are as bad or worse in southern CA so how were we to know that it
would actually be on Halloween night, that next year we'll be ready, that
it's strange that they'll ring when our front light isn't on (_we_ would
never do that when we were kids), and finally...

"Why don't we give them those crappy red Texas grapefruit you bought?"
Melisa brainstorms.

"Go ahead," I dare her as the doorbell rings again.

Melisa gets that determined look on her face like in a TV movie where the
little leper child rolls her wheelchair towards the special olympic tape at
the finish line, and grabs the bag of ten or so rather large grapefruit and
marches to the door. Opening it revels a little tyke with her mother and a
very tiny bag. (I'm watching over Melisa's shoulder since this looks like
it may be a Halloween to remember.) It is a serious question as to whether
the grapefruit will fit in the bag, and if it will, will it rip a hole
right thru the bottom?

The little ballerina's head isn't much bigger than the grapefruit. But her
mom comes to the rescue, after recovering her face from the involuntary and
confused contortions which arose when she saw the offered grapefruit, and
smiling, offers to take it for her daughter, who continues to thrust out
her bag and say, "trick or treat" but neither Melisa or the girl's mother
can make her understand that the grapefruit is her treat, and still she
continues to thrust out her bag and say "trick or treat". Finally, her
mother says, "Say thank you," but the little girl thrusts out her bag for
the seventh time and says, "trick or treat". Mom grabs the girls hand and
they ballerina back to the sidewalk.

"Hmmm," says Melisa after the door is shut. She doesn't get to elaborate
because the bell rings again and she's giving away another grapefruit. I
decide that I am at my "breaking down and laughing like an unbalanced
fruitarian" limit and, since I don't want to jeopardize Melisa's fine
citrus efforts, I'm off to listen to modem noises and see if there are any
new posts on veg-raw this All Hallows Eve.

Melisa does manage to get rid of most of the grapefruit and we pop in a
video from San Marcos Library called the "Big Sleep" but it somehow has
Joan Collin's and the guy with the batteries on his shoulder, but no Bogey
and Bacall. OK, we admit, it's time to go to bed like a good hygienist
should.

So today, I'm biking back from another wonderful day substitute teaching
the youth of San Diego county and find Melisa up on a vacant lot gathering
stones for some flower planting project. She says, "Come see what I found?"
with a big grin on her face. I pedal closer as she emerges from the copse.
It is worth a grin, for she has among her fist-sized stones a
lightly-blushed Texas grapefruit looking like a severe minority in the
wheelbarrow.

"At least there was only one!" she said, optimistically.

Happy Halloween!
Kirt