Halloween Memories
By Margaret Travis

I am in the process of de-cluttering my life. I am working hard to get rid of the pieces of paper, books, documents, stuffed animals and minutia of our everyday life that is just…clutter.

This is a difficult task made more difficult because I live with pack-rats, disguised as regular people. People who believe every book, assignment and drawing that has ever touched their hands is precious and should be stored for eternity. I’m not sure what they are hoping will happen. I get the impression they want to save everything in the event they become famous some day and need to donate their “papers” to a museum.

We have lived in our house for going on nine years. In that time I have managed to get rid of boxes and boxes of books (donated to the library book sale) and empty other boxes that contained old clothes, shoes and toys as well as pounds of paper that included tax returns from before my husband and I were married, receipts, instructions for the first lawn mower I ever bought, and other mundane items that should have been chucked years ago.

Emptying these boxes is a tricky matter. It has to occur at a time when I am the only one home. Because invariably someone will walk past the “throw this crap out box” and squeal, “You can’t throw this away!” That’s how my most valuable member of the swim team plaque ended up on my six-year-old’s wall or my high school letter jacket ended up in my daughter’s closet.

Most of the boxes are marked, so I have an idea of what I’m getting into when I open them up. But recently I came across a box that had no markings. And when I opened it up, it made me smile.

My husband, the King Pack Rat, has been saving our children’s Halloween costumes. Or the pieces he could timely wrestle from the children before they wore them into oblivion.

The Walt Disney Co. has been prominently featured in our children’s Halloween celebrations. There are the years they were Sully, Snow White, Mickey Mouse, Winnie the Pooh and a dalmatian puppy.

But the ones which made me smile the most were the ones we made and which for some reason or another there was so little left, that unless you remembered what they were for, they would have no meaning. This included the black fuzzy head band with fuzzy ears for the year my daughter was a cat. The psychedelic vest for the year she was a hippie. The black hooded sweatshirt with ears on the hoodie and wings on the back for the year my son was a bat. The black and silver spray-painted paper plate that had been a steering wheel for my son’s Jeep costume.

As I went through this box, I struggled with what to do with these things. These were not things that we would ever need again. They were not things my children would ever want. It was taking up space in the box in my spare bedroom. Some child at St. Vincent De Paul could use those Disney costumes.

And as I had these discussions with myself, I came to the bottom of the box. All that remained was a green piece of felt with a piece of brown felt sticking out the top. I remembered making a costume for my then five-month-old daughter; an orange union suit with snaps up the legs and black triangles sewn to the front to create a jack-o-lantern face. I didn’t sew, and I had struggled with how to create that hat. I’d finally decided on green felt squares sewn together by hand and a crooked “c” looking thing coming out the top for the stem.

As I sat in the house by myself, I piled all of it back into the box and laid the green felt jack-o-lantern hat on the top. I know that we will never need that stuff. It is just taking up precious storage space in my spare bedroom closet. It is something we should get rid of. I know that some day, I will get rid of those things. Some day one of the kids will decide they “need” something in that box; ravaging its contents for an afternoon of play or a party or a different costume.

But today, the memories it brings back are far more valuable.

Ms. Travis practices in Oklahoma City