My
wife and I have celebrated a few holidays together. Decades of
them, in fact. I’d have to check a couple of records, but I do
believe that this year was the twenty-fifth Halloween we’ve spent
together in the same home.
We
have never had anyone stop at our door to trick-or-treat.
Not
once. Twenty-five years of Halloweens.
Some
of that isn’t exactly a fair thought. When you take the kids out
on their own costumed adventures, often it can mean the lights
are off at your address. If someone did knock, and didn’t elect
to leave a trick when you weren’t home to offer a treat, you wouldn’t
necessarily know.
But
there is definitely more to the story. Because Terry and I have
never lived in a place where anyone would be able to map out a
really good plan that included our door and resulted in a truly
memorable haul of candy for the night. Doors a bit too far apart.
Not as many places to visit on each street. No shortcuts or easy
paths to the next row of houses.
Terry
and I, for this reason or that, are not a convenient trick or
treat destination. We’re in the not-worth-it area.
Which,
of course, leads me to ponder this: Why do people live where they
live?
And
before you answer, allow me to direct the question a bit more.
I understand people try to live close to family and employers
and good schools and we could go on. But I’m looking to remove
a few of those considerations. I’m kicking around if people ever
wonder about needing multiple pillow cases for the candy collected
when it comes to settling in to a new address. Where does stuff
like this simply fall off into the world of happy accidents and
unexpected challenges?
This
may be hard for you to believe, but there are actually people
that decide to live in a city. On purpose. They truly meant to
do it.
(I
know. Me either. So, get ready, because this is going to get crazier.)
These
people actually think it’s pretty sweet to be living in the city.
Funny,
but if you approached these city folks and asked them, most don’t
understand people that want to live in rural settings. (If you
want to really stump them, describe towns where you couldn’t find
an open store within one hundred miles to sell you a toothbrush
after 5 on a weekday afternoon. They will stare at you in unbelieving
silence, more likely to accept the existence of unicorns than
such a retail dilemma.)
And
while I’m trying to approach it with a bit of humor—some might
say a very little bit of humor, which, fair enough—the truth is
we mostly look for comfort, and all of us find comfort in different
things.
I
don’t know why Halloween tends to be the time I think about such
things. There are plenty of moments when I’m raising my eyes toward
the sky as the frustrations of dining options nearby limits my
thoughts for dinner. But, when you’re repeatedly presented with
a couple of burger joints and a few pizza shops, you’re already
in trouble (and that’s before the reality sets in that the burgers
and pizza available aren’t that great).
There
will come a day when the bell will ring. There will be a knock.
And some child, incredibly proud of their costume selection, will
be prepared for me to open the door.
I
look forward to such a day. Honestly can’t wait. I’ll probably
pour our entire bowl into that kid’s pillowcase and be smiling
for weeks.
But
until that day, I’m, not too upset by the lack of traffic along
our driveway on October 31st (or any other day). It’s quite peaceful.
Great surroundings. (Just don’t ask me what’s for dinner.)