It is about this time of year that Americans go absolutely mental. I say 'about this time' because although today is Hallowe'en, they've been working up to it for weeks now.
I was first alerted to the onslaught of holiday fever when we were invited to a pumpkin patch, run by the managers of Rabbit Hutch Towers, a couple of weeks ago. I was a bit confused by its location, in a little park in Tribeca.
'Wow,' I said, 'I can't believe anyone grows pumpkins in Tribeca!'
'No, you jackalope!', TLOML gently corrected me. 'They don't grow them there. They truck them in from Illinois and put them out on display in the park in Tribeca, for people to go and pick them.'
This is no pick-your-own-fruit scenario. By 'pick' they mean 'pick up from a cutesy display'. Here's a pumpkin patch in sunny Marin County.
There's a massive 15 foot long wall of pumpkins - all shapes and sizes, some ready carved too - in Chelsea Market. I meant to take a photo, but since I always tut loudly at tourists taking photos of groceries in there, I felt I couldn't. Not even in the name of art my blog. Here's one I nicked from someone's blog:
Not content with having an enormous pumpkin patch thing, Chelsea Market is also leading the way in spooky displays. Apparently this one has caused a bit of a stir, for being too ghoulish.
They love a ghoulish display, do our American brethren. This effort has dominated the lobby of Rabbit Hutch Towers for a couple of weeks.
And people who live in houses have made the most of having their own front door by, um, covering it in fake cobwebs and putting pumpkins and skulls outside.
No, I don't know why either. But when I ask - especially when I take my special, cynical tone - TLOML accuses me of being unfestive, or unAmerican, or some such. (He will change his tune when I unveil the gingerbread house I am currently fantasizing about constructing).
So, tonight's the night all this pumpkin spookiness really peaks - and I am home alone. I was thinking of baking some cookies for trick-or-treaters - glad of the excuse to create some full fat treats and then foist them on others. But apparently kids these days aren't allowed to take anything other than a heavily wrapped, additive-full candy bar. I think it's in case that scarey English lady in Apartment P has poisoned the homemade cookies.
Instead, I am going to ignore the whole shebang and watch an old episode of Sex and the City. Bah humbug indeed!
I was first alerted to the onslaught of holiday fever when we were invited to a pumpkin patch, run by the managers of Rabbit Hutch Towers, a couple of weeks ago. I was a bit confused by its location, in a little park in Tribeca.
'Wow,' I said, 'I can't believe anyone grows pumpkins in Tribeca!'
'No, you jackalope!', TLOML gently corrected me. 'They don't grow them there. They truck them in from Illinois and put them out on display in the park in Tribeca, for people to go and pick them.'
This is no pick-your-own-fruit scenario. By 'pick' they mean 'pick up from a cutesy display'. Here's a pumpkin patch in sunny Marin County.
And people who live in houses have made the most of having their own front door by, um, covering it in fake cobwebs and putting pumpkins and skulls outside.
So, tonight's the night all this pumpkin spookiness really peaks - and I am home alone. I was thinking of baking some cookies for trick-or-treaters - glad of the excuse to create some full fat treats and then foist them on others. But apparently kids these days aren't allowed to take anything other than a heavily wrapped, additive-full candy bar. I think it's in case that scarey English lady in Apartment P has poisoned the homemade cookies.
Instead, I am going to ignore the whole shebang and watch an old episode of Sex and the City. Bah humbug indeed!
Bah Humbug! Atta-girl. A chip off the old block. Takes after her father in matters of taste concerning festive/unfestive activities!
ReplyDeleteThe front garden path of the rural retreat in Yorkshire seemed to be a highway filled with village kids in ludicrous cossies parading up to thump on the door or ring the bell, or both on the Eve of All Saints' Day.
When the 3rd lot interrupted a phone I was trying to make, with a 'Trick or Treat?' demand I just growled 'Go away!' They stood there stunned and unmoving.
'Go on. Go away!' Then I watched them safely off the premises and shut the door. The spirit of Ebeneezer lives on!