I’m so glad that I outgrew trick or treating before the no-fun-niks of my particular subculture deemed Halloween the evil holiday of Satan and all he stands for. Tonight was perhaps the first time in 14 years of marriage that Sherry and I distributed candy for Halloween; there might have been once when we lived on Fry Ave. but we can’t recall. Oh, and yes, tonight–Oct 30–is Trick or Treat night here in Tiffin. Scuttlebutt has it that the Catholic schools have something big going on Wednesday night and were able to convince the locality to move the candy feast.

At any rate, as we sat on the porch handing out candy, Sherry all spiffied up and me wearing an Eddie Bauer sweater, I observed some things:

• I had forgotten what a wonderful lesson in manners Halloween is. The pattern of the night is quite recognizable: one approaches another and makes certain noises requesting a good or service–Trick or Treat; the good or service (candy in this case) is provided; the recipient says “Thank You.” Every child tonight either said thank you, was prompted to say thank you, or had a parent quizzing them if they said thank you. It was all very proper and nice.
• I became disturbed by the number of extremely small children dressed up as pumpkins. “Yes, dear, we’re going to dress you up as something we cut the head off of, scoop out the innards, and then carve into grotesque caricatures. We love you.” Just seems the unconscious is working overtime.
• Sherry actually scared some of the kids.
• Sherry is an incredibly liberal giver of candy. She started out giving THREE pieces to each kid. Mind you, we didn’t cheap out on the tiny little Bit O Honeys or other stuff that ends up sitting on the kids closet floor till Easter. No, we had Reese’s and Blow Pops and Nerds and KitKats. By the end of an hour, she was down to TWO. And then we were done. Unfortunately for some, the Trick Or Treating time here in Tiffin was TWO hours. Next year, we’ll have to ration more carefully.
• Some girls from Heidleberg came by collecting canned goods for the homeless. That was cool.
• We were trying, with our candy selection, to perhaps get a good rep on the block. You know, the cool house where they give good candy. Unfortunately, with Sherry dressed up and me sitting there in jeans/sweater, I think we just added to the more likely rep of weird house on the corner.
• I don’t care what the naysayers spout, between the parents getting out with their kids, the children learning manners, the kids having positive interactions with neighborhood adults, and the good clean fun of dressing up, this whole Trick or Treat thing seems like exactly what living in small town America is supposed to be.

Yup, assuming we’re not busy, you can bet on us next year to be buying more candy, sitting on the porch, and contributing to the cavity and obesity problems of our youth.

Well, the upside of the Indians’ catastrophic meltdown–if you know a better way to describe blowing a 3-1 lead in the ALCS by a combined score of 30-5 I’d love to hear it–is that I can now

• get back on a half-way sane sleep schedule,
• catch up on my reading,
• finish re-designing www.cynthiamorefield.com,
• finish my fall brewing schedule,
• work on the church website,
• revise my Glen Workshop story so it can be sent out for rejection,
• clean my desk
• balance the checkbook
• pick colors for the downstairs painting project
• plan Thanksgiving
• put more time into my football picks so as to defeat Ken
• see the fall colors on the local disc golf course
• mount and hang some artwork and photos
• organize the basement

and generally get back to a normal life.

Oh, and while every single member of the Indians ball club and coaching staff deserves a very special raspberry for such a calamitous freefall, I still reserve my very special ire for Casey “I can swing my bat like a lumberjack except when it matters just like I can make errors in key situations” Blake.

How many days until pitchers and catchers report?

Last night Sherry and I took in our 7th Indians game this season. Oh, yeah, and it was Game 3 of the ALCS. Way cool. In between the towel waving and scorekeeping and brat eating and high fiving and chanting and cheering, here are some random thoughts:

I first met Sara Zarr in the Fiction Workshop at The Glen in 2003. I don’t precisely remember what it was she was workshopping–it might have been a delightfully creepy piece involving a young girl and a stalker–but I do remember thinking, “This woman is a writer.” Over the next few years, I met her husband, sister, and mother; learned that she was born where I grew up; had many zany meals with her in the St. John’s Cafeteria; and she became one of what I call my “Glen Friends.”

So, it with EXTREME PLEASURE that I read yesterday that Sara’s debut novel, Story of a Girl is one of this year’s National Book Award Finalists! Woo! and Hoo!

You can see the official finalists list HERE where you’ll note that one of the other YA finalists is American great, Sherman Alexie.

You can also read Sara’s own typically self-deprecating and humorously “real” description of how she heard about the award at her blog and website.

Congrats, Sara!

It’s been a tense, fun, enjoyable past few days here at Chez Truffin. Haven’t written because I didn’t think my fingers would work. But with last night’s defeat of the New York Yankees, I think I can relax a bit now, until Friday.

Among the stupider decisions by Major League Baseball was the decision to broadcast the Division Series entirely on a cable station. Every year we hear complaints about how MLB is losing fans and not getting youngsters. Well, limiting your viewership and awarding postseason baseball to unseasoned broadcasters is very much not the way to do it. So, Thursday night, Todd and Sherry, walked over to the Clover Club to catch the game since we don’t have the appropriate cable package to watch baseball. The good part of this arrangement is that it is kind of fun to watch the game with a group of folks; the energy is a little bit more amplified than sitting in the living room.

Friday night, however, was the real treat. We belong to a group of folks who go in together on season tickets. And we were able to attend the 11-inning, nail biting, heart-attack inducing, towel-waving frenzy that was game 2. The group next to us included a muscular young man who painted himself green and carried a sign proclaiming “The Incredible Pronk!” Great fun!

The game tested Sherry’s limits of emotional fortitude, but we waved our towels and chanted our chants until the glorious ending.

Sunday’s loss was a bit of a blow, but not one we were unprepared for. Monday night saw us back at the Clover Club, but the innings were taking so incredibly long that we’d eaten our fill and finished our beverages half-way through the second inning. The place wasn’t crowded, so we could have stayed, but a group of screeching women helped us decide to visit Pat again for a friendly TV set. All in all, it was probably the best since Sherry could spend the tense moments in the garage waiting for a report from those of us with steelier stomachs.

As we head into the Championship Series with Boston (you’re going down, Brad!), I think it wouldn’t be right not to pass along something I found on the Chief Wahoo controversy. You should know that I’m rather sympathetic to those who would rather not see Chief Wahoo continue his role as Cleveland’s baseball logo. However, Jeff Lee has come up with a Modest Proposal that might solve the problem.

Over at Basic Brewing they had a podcast about “marketing” homebrewed ales to folks who might not necessarily be open to the idea. Turns out I was already planning one of their top ideas.

Last Saturday night, we had about 10-12 folks over to the house for a blind tasting of six pale ales. We provided the ales, bread, and water. The guests provided their favorite appetizers.

The excuse for the event was celebrating Oktoberfest, but since all the ales were English and American in derivation it wasn’t exactly the hofbrau house. In any event, I hung the blue and white colors of bavaria and we soldiered on.

At the beginning of the night I gave a short history of pale ales and noted the differences between English and American. We then dove into the tasting. Four of the ales were my own Summer of Pale Ale creations. The other two were Honker’s Ale from Goose Island and Doggie Style Pale Ale from Flying Dog. I wanted to mix in two quality ales with my own just to see if folks could tell the difference and to provide some commercially viable–yet high quality–examples of the style.

Each person was served two ounces of each ale, only being told what style it was and some basic info like ABV and IBU. We then took notes and discussed our reactions.

I think it turned out to be a great time. Even non-beer drinkers were giving it a shot and experiencing a wide-range of flavors. At the end of the evening we revealed our favorites, and there was a wide range of response. Honker’s finished both first and last. Flying Dog also took a first. My own Limping Dog Pale Ale was very well received as was the IPA.

My big hope from this is that when I show up at future parties with a few of my own, I won’t be the only one sipping.