Mid-October is the perfect time for an identity crisis—I think our culture almost celebrates it. Walking by an aisle in a store last week, I happened to glance over and stopped cold. One side was awash with orange, red, black, and brown. Ghoulish faces hung in neat rows, bloodied arms and daggers swam together in bins, and skeletons lay folded flat, their bones stacked– white-black, white-black. Plastic leaves bubbled out of blackish Styrofoam cauldrons. Bags of candy corn and fun size chocolate bars in orange wrappers lined the bottom shelves.

But the blinking lights of red and green across the aisle begged for my attention.

I turned my head to see smiling snowmen mocking the goblin facades and jolly elves winking at the witches and their brew. One singing, gyrating Santa kept answering a witch’s cackling, waving hand across the shelves, both motion activated, perpetually depleting their batteries. “Cackle, cackle, Ho!Ho!Ho! Cackle, cackle, Me-Heerry, Ca-hristmas!”

Halloween and Christmas face off a little longer each October it seems. Visitors snatch vampire teeth, skeletons, and scarecrows while warily eyeing the Santas who come too soon.

The only sanity arrives smack dab in the middle—Thanksgiving. 

Fewer costumes.  More pie.

Breaking bread.

Beautiful.