Two weeks ago, around 6:30 evening, I was at the front door, distributing Reese's and Hershey's to a steady stream of costumed tiny tots as is the ritual in our neighborhood, apparently THE place to go for Halloween door-to-door begging. I heard my phone ring on the end table behind me but I couldn't get to it. When I finally freed myself from the door, my wife said, "Angus called you." Angus? That Angus? On Halloween night? I called him back right then. He was in a card shop. In Arizona. It wasn't Halloween time there. It was 3:30 (4:30? Mountain time always confuses me). Although we did have someone ring our bell at 4:30 in broad daylight and that's not proper Halloween etiquette. He had come across a few 1970s Hostess panels, which he had witnessed my love for in person at a card show three or four years ago. He wanted to know if I needed any. Well, you never saw the kids, the bags and bags of candy, the entire bleeping holiday melt away so fast. ...
Up all hours talking baseball, cardboard & collecting