Happy Halloween!

I shout that seasonal greeting with all the oomph I can muster as I am just returned from a last-minute Trick or Treat shopping trip in search of the particular treat (Sour Patch Kids/NOT watermelon) demanded by the trickster headed our way tonight. This was a foray into seasonal commerce I’ve not attempted for a few years, and whereas much remains the same (a truly overwhelming stockpile of sweet decadence aisle after aisle), the merchandising machinery is more complex. Momentarily overwhelmed, I pause before a colorful array of choco-mayhem. How complicated is the M and M universe? I knew there had been some steamy exchanges about the humanized pitch persons touting the various confections, but had no idea how many bite-sized characters remain. There are ELEVEN remaining varieties of M and Ms packaged in several varieties of sizes. Against all odds, Mars Inc, the candy juggernaut owned by the 4th largest privately held corporation in the US, has apparently employed a marketing anthropomorphic impulse which occasionally bulges into social and political statements, inoffensive to most but seemingly disturbing to those allergic to efforts to promote inclusion and diversity.  

I was just looking for a bag of candy, but I’ve learned that pundits on the right have been particularly offended by several of the recent initiatives. Tucker Carlson opined,”Woke M and Ms have returned. The Green M and M got her boots back but is apparently now a lesbian, maybe, and there is also a plus-size obese purple M and M. So we’re going to cover that, if course. Because that’s what we do.”

Woke or not, all eleven flavors weighed down the shelves at each of the stores I visited; I met Plain, Peanut, Peanut Butter, Almond, Caramel, Pretzel, Dark Chocolate, Mint, Crispy Cookie Fudge Brownie, and the newest, confection – Caramel Cold Brew. Most of these come in a variety of sizes, and even not counting in M and M minis, Campfire Smores, Mad Scientist Mix, or the seasonal faves (Christmas green and red, Hanukkah blue and white, Kwanza green, yellow, and red, and Easter’s White Chocolate Strawberry Shake), the mass of chocolate bound by a thin candy shell is impressive. By now, America seems to have accepted the challenge of eating anthropomorphic candy, chomping down any of the colorful spokespersons without much guilt.

But M and Ms, however personified, were not on my list.

 No one-stop shopping here; it took a deep dive into the candy bins at three stores before finding Sour Patch Kids nestled next to the Jolly Ranchers, Life Savers, Sweet Tarts, Twizzlers, Gummy Bears,Skittles,AirHeads, Charms, Swedish Fish, Nerds, Fun Dip, Dots, Turkish Taffy,Laffy Taffy, Atomic Fireballs, Abba-Zabba, Bit-O-Honey. Apparently these and a few generic knock-offs occupy the infamously NOT chocolate section of the candy aisles.

Mission finally accomplished and any candy craving I might have brought to this outing now extinguished, I put out the Halloween flags at the head of the driveway and wait to hear the knock at the door. We no longer put out carved pumpkins because our town has the highest density of black bears not in Alaska, and black bears are hungry and testy at this time of year. I’d leave out a pumpkin or two if we hadn’t seen the bears in our garage last summer and spotted one under my window as I wrote a column this fall. I’m aware that they are forced to forage for acorns when they can’t find a tasty pumpkin on the porch. Acorns! How’s that for a skimpy meal before hibernation? And yet, safety first. Dig into the acorns, Bruins.

My granddaughter will be arriving soon with an empty candy sack and a healthy appetite for Sour Patch children. She was a mummified fairy queen last year, but has shifted persona this season, arriving soon as “Lumpstump”, a tree like Ooblet found in Badgetown. Badgetown is a seaside town in Oob, I am told, a locale inviting video game players designated as  Frunbuns, Peaksnubs, Mossprouts, and Mimpuns to a dance battle with the aforementioned Lumpstump. There is no clear evidence to determine whether the objects sprouting from the Lumpstump’s skull are ears or horns, but the Lumpstump approaching my door has opted for horns, and they are impressive.

I’ve written at length about the rare opportunity to assume a well conceived persona, even for a single evening. The impulse to assume an identity endorses qualities that may not be visible in ordinary street clothing. Part of the delicious agony in preparing for Halloween is in deciding which elements must emerge in the light of the moon. Shall I be Batman or a Smurf? Mummy or Lumpstump?

These are questions of some importance to a few imaginative children and decisions not easily made. 

I would wax philosophical on the implications surrounding the choice of one persona over another, but there’s a knock at the door and a terrifying demand for treats. I’ll grab the sack of Sour Patch orphans and respond with delight in meeting the creature on my doorstep, warbling the refrain all good children must:

Trick or Treat

Trick or Treat

Gimme Something Good To Eat

Gimme Candy

Gimme Gum 

Hurry Up And

Gimme Some