
Now, I'm gonna sound like an old grump here (the kind who walked three miles to school through raging blizzards), but what ever happened to homemade Halloween costumes? You know, the kind that were made from a cast-off bed sheet, cardboard, some tin foil, a little black or green paint out of an old can in the garage, maybe a few rhinestones and glue?
The stores are filled with Halloween costumes and makeup and accessories. Scary rubber masks, fake jack o' lanterns, candy by the bushel. It's all so easy and, I'm sure, still a treat for the kids. But in my day (there's that curmudgeon again), we had to be inventive.
I never wore a store-bought costume. I remember being a princess once, in a lace tablecloth (can't believe my mother let me wear it trick-or-treating!), with a little eye makeup and costume jewelry. I don't remember wearing a tiara, but I carried a magic wand I made myself out of cardboard and tinfoil and a stick from a decapitated pinwheel. It rained, as it always did on Halloween in the upper midwest, and soon my lace was bedraggled in the mud and my wand was losing its luster (and its foil), but my pals and I persisted until we'd hit every spot that might yield us a piece of candy. This included going into the single IGA grocery store we had in town and even one of the bars when the early drinkers called us in (even during the recession, there was always more than one bar in town), the out-of-the-way houses and especially the neighborhood by the cemetery. We didn't collect our loot in a nice, shiny, plastic pumpkin with handy handles either. We used a pillow case, probably stripped off our own pillow. You can fit a lot of candy in a pillow case.
I was also once a hippie, which was a super-easy costume. A fringed vest, jeans, a headband and a picket sign with slogan invented by my mom: DOWN WITH PEOPLE OVER 30!! I was confused, but the adults found that very amusing. Plus, the sign--a piece of cardboard stapled to a long stick--was handy for beating off the neighborhood bullies who tried to snatch my precious pillow case.
My last Halloween, I must have been about thirteen, my best friend had the idea for us to go as a two-headed man. We put on some makeup and old-man hats filched from the closet, then buttoned ourselves into a gigantic overcoat of her (dead) great-grandfather's and went lumbering around the neighborhood in lockstep. Some people asked us what we were. Well, really! Didn't they recognize a two-headed, two-armed, four-legged man when they saw him? The problem that I recall, other than being stuck inside that heavy woolen coat, was that I had only one hand free to hold my pillow case. By then, a lot of kids had started using treat buckets, usually plastic jack o'lanterns. But I was a traditionalist. And a little embarrassed to be trick-or-treating at my age. By the next year, I had retired from the candy-collecting biz and moved on to creating costumes for others. One time, I stayed up till 3 a.m. gluing feathers onto a pair of homemade angel wings, but that's another Halloween story....
What was your favorite Halloween costume? Were you a buy-it or make-it kind of kid?
* * * *
The winner of the book giveaway from my previous blog was CrystalG. Congrats, Crystal!
* * * *
Carrie Alexander is a multi-published, two-time RITA finalist author with Harlequin and St. Martin's Press. She's already eaten the bag of candy she bought for the Trick or Treaters. Her most recent releases are MY FRONT PAGE SCANDAL (Harlequin Blaze 10/07) and A TOWN CALLED CHRISTMAS (Harlequin Superromance 11/07). Visit her at: www.carriealexander.com




Hang on a minute. I’m sure it was only yesterday that I was blogging about being in London and being presented with the gold pin for my 50th title and then – well, then I blinked and now a month has gone by and it’s October 22nd and, as Lee has reminded me it’s time for me to come and blog again.










This is a question I'm often asked...and frequently dread. It's a little like asking where I get the air I breathe. Ideas sort of run amok in my head. After over a decade of marriage, my husband can just look at me and tell when something new has struck me. But where they come from... Overactive imagination? Probably.








