Up until I got home last night, I felt a little bad we weren't doing anything for Halloween. No decorations, no candy no pumpkin, no porch light.

And then came the realization of no trick-or-treaters and suddenly things were fine.

The neighborhood was dead. Dead, if you'll pardon the spooktacular pun. No tiny ghouls dashing around with plastic orange pumpkins, shaking down the neighbors for sugar.

It's weird at first glance; a family-oriented "planned community" packed full with ankle biters should be Halloween ground zero. But we're past that golden age of tricks or treats, aren't we? We've gone from the candy apples and popcorn balls of my mother's era to the glow-sticks-and-X-rayed-candy of my own childhood to church sponsored "harvest festivals" and trick-or-treating at shopping malls. During daylight hours.

I'm kind of sad that within a generation, a kid may never know the jittery combination of nerves and anticipation with every ring of a doorbell and that what was a pretty organic holiday (you dress up, we'll carve pumpkins and give candy) has been sanitized for your protection.

Yeah, I know. Someone flipped my maudlin switch sometime in the night.

Who wants pie?