Eat some candy…buy some books

Esperance (es-per-uhns):
the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.

My neighborhood shuts down on Halloween. We’re lucky in that it only has one way in and one way out and isn’t huge—just 50 houses. We have dear friends we’ve trick-or-treated with for the last few years, and what feels like the whole neighborhood meets at the entrance for pizza and to kick off at the same time. The streets are flooded with kids—I never remember a car trying to get through during peak trick-or-treating hours, though I suppose it has happened—some walking, some in strollers being pushed by parents, some in wagons being pulled. Our own wagon last year rotated among our littlest child and others that aren’t ours, plus a cooler of beverages that are decidedly not for the kids. It is, essentially, one massive street party.

There’s so much that’s different about the world now, while I’m parenting, than how I remember it being when I was parented. But Halloween is one of the few things that feels exactly the same as when I was a kid, when we’d clamber on and off a trailer pulled by my best friend’s dad’s pickup truck (or SUV? Memories are fickle beings) to be sure we could hit all of the good houses/our friends houses/etc. in our huge neighborhood. My parents misbehaved in the best way, and we’d go home and my brother and I would sort our candy, staying up way too late, trading back and forth and piling up the ones neither of us liked (to this day I have zero idea where the rejected candy went). It was pure, unadulterated joy. 

I love Halloween. I didn’t always, in those vast years between childhood and parenting, but I do now. I love the whole season. I love the whole ambience. I love the whole vibe. I love the idea of an entire day just dedicated to silliness and innocence and fun.

Our actual 12-foot-skeleton…waving a pirate flag

I’m not going to get nostalgic on you, though. That’s not the point (today). No, what Halloween is making me think about this year is community. We live in an increasingly fractured world. We’re deeply, deeply divided—politically, ideologically, religiously, all of the -lys—but also physically, too. For so many people, their primary communities are digital and relationships are conducted through a device. I’m so grateful we have the ability to stay connected when we’re geographically far away, but even people I cherish and love deeply I often talk to more via text than IRL. But Halloween is something that just doesn’t work online. Not to say that I don’t text photos of my kids to every single person in my phone—they’re going to be a witch and a blue bird this year—but the real joy of Halloween lies in the in-person connections. In seeing people you don’t see often, even though you can literally walk to their house. In seeing the true delight of older neighbors whose kids are long grown and flown, many of whom are missing their own grandkids. In groups of couples whose kids are in the in-between—no longer children themselves but not yet parents—setting up fire pits in culdesacs and just hanging out. In kids running around shrieking, letting you glimpse the part of their world that doesn’t normally involve you. Halloween is a quintessential childhood experience, but it’s also a perfect example of how beautiful it is when the world shrinks down to just your neighborhood.

There’s a bookstore in my community that was recently damaged in a fire. Luckily the bookstore itself didn’t burn, but the adjacent store did, and they’ve had to close indefinitely while they try to remediate the smoke and soot damage and salvage as much inventory as they can. Now, I’ll admit, I’m in a season of life where the convenience of ordering something at 9PM when I realize I’ve forgotten it and then getting it delivered for free two days later outweighs ideological outrage at decisions made by corporate owners, but when I can, I try to be thoughtful about where I spend our family’s money. Money—both its accumulation and its spending—is a reflection of values. When we choose to spend our money locally, it’s an investment in our community. And that’s especially true when it comes to books. 

Bookmiser has been continuously operating since 1998. Although I’m certainly old enough to have pre-‘98 memories, I just don’t remember a time when Bookmiser wasn’t where it is right now. I grew up in this area. I met my husband in high school. I’m raising my kids here. So much of my life has existed within a fifteen minute radius of that store. 

And then, of course, there’s the whole books-are-central-to-my-identity thing, and part of my mission as a writer is to spread a love of reading. I love when people let me tell them what books to read (and maybe you’re one of them? I hope you are), but right now I want to tell you where to buy them. Because this store is a true gem, and I really hope they make it through this crisis. 

My wish for you this Halloween is that you’ll let yourself feel unbridled happiness. Drink a fun beverage. Eat all the candy. So much candy! Remember that life is meant to be fun. If you have kids, lean into it with them—let them see how much you delight in their joy. If you don’t, sit on your porch or in the street and visit and eat the candy (don’t just give it out!). I’ll be reprising my role as Olaf this year, but costume or no costume, just be part of it all. 

And then when you go inside to warm up (or cool off, depending on your weather) and re-engage with a device, maybe, just maybe, you could hop online and order yourself a book. 

Store website: https://www.bookmiser.net/

Link to order (they’ll ship anywhere!): https://bookshop.org/shop/bookmiser

Or if you prefer audio books: https://libro.fm/bookmiser

Recommendations Roundup

Click on the image to read my short review.

Parting Shot

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I know your time is limited, and you’re choosing to spend a slice of it here, with me. It’s a gift, and one I take seriously.

I wish you the peace that comes from living the life you want for yourself, the hope that comes from seeing your own potential, and the joy that comes from stepping back and feeling gratitude for it all. Go forth, my friends. I wish you well.