My sister pressed the door bell. I heard some ruffling and voices inside. The door opened slowly at first then it swung open wide. "Well hello hello. Come on in. Well look at you!"

We only visited this house once a year, but I can picture the front hall even today.

We waited on the carpet of deep indigo. The wallpaper had large green leaves. The steep stairway was lined with the portraits of people past. Their somber faces challenged the easy grin on our hostess.

Most of all, I remember the Pumpkin Lady. She wore a small orange hat with a bright green stem popping out of one side. An elastic band secured it to her head. Her hair was tightly curled and it was orange. Her generous body was camouflaged inside a round pumpkin outfit that was showing its years of wear. I know nothing more about her except that her hand was soft as it held mine and ushered us to the "parlor."

"Look," she said to the gathered trick or treaters. "I found this chicken and this hobo at my front door." We all giggled. The Pumpkin Lady offered us dark chocolate cupcakes filled with sweet cream and decorated with candy corn. One year, I realized they actually were dressed-up Hostess cupcakes. No wonder I loved them. To my mom, Hostess items were an extravagance, "expensive, sugary, no real meal value." To me, they were heaven and the Pumpkin Lady was an angel.

She offered us a second cake and more ice-cold milk. "Let's go," my hobo sibling pleaded. There were more sweets to be had.

We said, "Thank you," and left the house that was forever to be called the Pumpkin Lady's house.

Halloween. I loved it then. I love it now. The little kids would start visiting houses as soon as school got out. Their moms would take them out before dinner and before dark. We watched for them in our large picture window while we cut out our single large pumpkin on the dining room table. My dad did the work, always triangle eyes, a triangle nose and jagged teeth. No "Martha Stewart stuff" here. We didn't decorate the house at all. That pumpkin was more than enough in our eyes. My dad didn't trust the safety of a candle, so he rigged a light bulb inside the brightest "Jack O'Lantern" on the street.

Oh busboy. We were not allowed out until we had eaten dinner. It was so hard for my sisters and I to sit eating Mrs. Knight's recipe for tuna noodle casserole with corn flakes while our friends were ringing the doorbell.

My mom thought it was frivolous to buy costumes. She argued it was much more creative to make your own. Nonetheless, the favorite costume of my childhood was a "store bought" chicken. It was a real costume. It had a zipper and orange feet. The felt hat covered my head and had a hard beak that opened around my face. My aunt, a high school teacher, had rescued it from the school's theater graveyard. It wasn't a baby costume, but I'm sure no 10 year old would be caught in it today. I didn't know any better. Or was it better?

A bit of a rebel, my mom never gave out candy. Kids get too many sweets on Halloween. The week before Halloween, we would visit the party wholesalers and pick out special toys. I recall we gave out magnets, modeling clay, balls, whistles, wire brain teasing puzzles, plastic puzzles with sliding pictures.

Somewhere along the line, she did start giving out candy. I think it was after the year we gave out packets of chalk. The neighborhood woke up to beautifully decorated sidewalks, driveways and windows.

We craved the sweets we gathered. We had no fear of tainted treats, red dyes or high fructose corn syrup. To this day, I can walk my neighborhood in south Utica and tell you exactly what each house gave out at Halloween. The Smiths invited us in and gave us doughnut and cider and pretended to guess who we were. Mrs. Garrigan gave us nickels. The house on the corner gave us rice crispy treats wrapped in tin foil. The Gonyeas made caramel apples and had a long line. The Kings gave apples and had a short line. Most of the other houses gave out full-sized candy bars. Those were the days.

I always saved a Hershey with almonds to give to my dad while he guarded the backyard. Every year, someone would cut our clothesline. Today, no one cuts our clothesline. We don't have one.

The Pumpkin Lady long ago has gone to a different patch, but not much has changed. Today, my street is wider and my costume is calmer. The stores wrap the candy and no one gives out apples. My grandchildren wear creative costumes. My pumpkin still has triangle eyes, but a candle inside. We eat pizza before the door begins to ring. I give out toys, not candy, and I still crave Hostess cupcakes.

Happy Halloween.

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