Boris Karloff Blogathon: ". . . the cold Canadian air"

I've struggled with indecision surrounding my final post for the Boris Karloff Blogathon. For much of the week, my posts have almost written themselves. As a fan of old time radio, I knew I wanted to highlight a few of Karloff's many radio performances, which have been largely eclipsed by his film career. Yet , I didn't want to simply end the week with another radio program. I wanted something more significant. A more fitting conclusion. In my mind at least.

So I've decided to end as I began. Sort of. I began with my earliest discovery of Boris Karloff. I'll end with my most recent discovery.

I was completely unaware, until I read some of the wonderful blogathon posts on Karloff's early days, that his acting career actually began in Canada. I guess I just assumed he had followed a direct path from England to Hollywood without any detours along the way. And if there had been any detours, they would likely have included New York. Or perhaps Chicago. But Canada?

As a Canadian whose lifelong exposure to media and pop culture has been dominated by the more voluminous output of the United States, I have always felt an odd sort of pride whenever the occasional reference to Canada crops up in American film or television or music. When the name of a Canadian city or town is mentioned. And the more obscure, the better. When an actor is discovered to have Canadian roots. When the setting of a film, ostensibly New York or Nebraska, is recognized as Toronto. Or Vancouver. Or Alberta. Or Newfoundland. And don't even get me started on the thrill I felt when the opening minutes of Johnny Belinda featured a map displaying Cape Breton Island. Or when Carly Simon sang about Nova Scotia in "You're So Vain".

But back to Boris Karloff.

Upon discovering this Canadian connection, I wanted to know more. But more wasn't easy to find. Until I stumbled upon an article that had been written for the journal "Alberta History" about Karloff's days in Canada. And among the anecdotes about his struggles and his fledgling career in theatre throughout the Canadian West, I noticed this quote, referring to his first big break:

"On the train, I concocted my stage name. Karloff came from relatives on my mother's side. The Boris I plucked out of the cold Canadian air."

Could it be? Apparently, William Pratt had become Boris Karloff in Canada. That cold Canadian air is inspiring indeed. And once again, I feel that odd sense of pride.


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Boris Karloff Blogathon: hilarity ensues

Perhaps one of the most appealing things about Boris Karloff, evident throughout clips of his interviews, commercials, and television guest appearances, was his willingness to poke fun at his on-screen persona. He never appeared to take his public image too seriously.

This sense of humour was also present in many of his radio appearances. Because in addition to horror, Karloff was a frequent guest on radio comedy and variety programs. Where the attention naturally focused on his "monstrous" reputation.



I must confess that comedy and variety shows are among my least favourite old time radio programs. Much of the humour is dated at best and cringe-inducingly sexist at worst. But I'm always willing to make an exception. Especially when Boris Karloff is the guest and is, as usual, having fun at the expense of his "horrific" image.

As in this episode of the Fred Allen Show from 1945, in which Fred urgently needs to rent a room and Boris Karloff conveniently has a room for rent.



(via Internet Archive)

Boris Karloff Blogathon: your host, Boris Karloff

Given his frequent appearances in radio horror during the late 1930's and early 1940's, Boris Karloff must have seemed the obvious choice to host a new radio horror program, Creeps By Night. And what a program it promised to be. Boris Karloff would not only host, but would appear regularly in leading roles. Along with Bela Lugosi. Peter Lorre. Basil Rathbone. In chilling tales written by masters of the genre.

It sounded like a dream come true. How could such a program not succeed? But succeed it did not. And various reasons have been put forth. A newly-independent network's first attempt at a supernatural thriller. A poor time slot. Rampant disorganization in the network.




From the beginning, Creeps By Night seemed unsure of its identity, with descriptions ranging from a program so frightening that listeners with heart problems were "urged NOT to listen to Boris Karloff in Creeps By Night," to the much less terrifying "mysteries of the mind".

And although the program could boast of famous horror film actors and mystery writers, this inexplicably remained a well-kept secret from the public. The show's writers were uncredited and neither the actors nor their upcoming episodes were promoted to listeners. Not surprisingly, Boris Karloff left after only twelve episodes, to be replaced by the generic "Doctor X".

One of the few episodes of his that remain in existence is "Final Reckoning".



(via Internet Archive)

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Boris Karloff Blogathon: the inner sanctum

Considering the extent of Boris Karloff's presence on radio, beginning in 1938 in Hollywood On The Air and running another twenty five years and including over 800 appearances, it's surprising that this aspect of his career has not been given more attention. He could be heard regularly throughout the 1940's and 1950's in programs ranging from variety to comedy to suspense to horror. Especially horror.

And the radio horror program in which Boris Karloff could be heard most frequently was Inner Sanctum.




While Lights Out took its horror seriously enough to issue audience warnings, Inner Sanctum epitomized the campiness of radio horror. An odd combination of melodrama, horror and comedy, the show opened and closed to the sound of a creaking door: the door to the inner sanctum. The story goes that the program's director, Himan Brown, got the idea from a door in the studio's basement that "squeaked like Hell." Listeners were then greeted by the narrator, called Raymond in the show's early years, whose ghoulish humour, bad puns, and occasional banter with the show's sponsor lightened the mood regardless of the seriousness or creepiness of the episode. And many episodes were indeed creepy, despite Raymond's presence.



But apparently not creepy enough for Boris Karloff. Karloff appeared often in Inner Sanctum. During the first season, he was practically a regular, appearing in 15 episodes. When the network expressed concern about the level of horror and gore heard in the program, Karloff objected. He wanted more gore. He felt that his ". . . public expected it."


He didn't find any gore in the "The Wailing Wall", however. Instead, Karloff portrays Gabriel Hornell, a man who remains strangely attached to his old house. . .



(via Internet Archive)

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Boris Karloff Blogathon: lights out everybody

A couple of years ago, when I began to search for something apart from music to listen to on my new Mp3 player, the world of old time radio opened up before me. And I've been happily addicted ever since.

I was surprised at first to discover how many well-known film actors appeared in radio programs. Given the prominence of radio in the years before television, I'm not quite sure why this came as a surprise. But it did. I suppose I imagined radio and movies as two distinct worlds, never colliding. However, collide they did. And often. Jimmy Stewart starred in a radio western. Peter Lorre in a suspense drama. And I soon discovered that another familiar voice, Boris Karloff's, could be heard frequently. Perhaps less surprising was the genre of radio program in which Karloff usually appeared.

There were several horror programs on the air in the 1930's and 1940's, ranging from campy to creepy. One of the best, Lights Out!, was promoted to radio audiences as "the ultimate in horror". Never before had such graphic sounds been heard on the radio. Heads rolled, bones were crushed, people fell from great heights and splattered on pavement. There was strangling, cannibalism, heads split by cleavers, people turned inside out by supernatural forces. Each program was preceded by a sincere quiet warning to the audience to simply turn off their radios if they didn't feel capable of controlling their fear.



Wyllis Cooper, who initially wrote and produced the program, created this horror by "raiding the larder." Hence, the sound of a butcher knife hacking into a piece of raw pork was, when accompanied by screams, the essence of murder to a listener sitting alone at midnight. Real bones were broken; although they were merely spareribs snapped with a wrench. Bacon sizzling in a frying pan represented a body being electrocuted. When chopped open with a cleaver, cabbages sounded remarkably like human heads , and carrots like fingers being lopped off. The listener saw none of this of course. The listener saw only horror and death.



Cooper left the show in 1936 and Arch Oboler took over, soon making household names out of both himself and his program. Names that became synonymous with horror and gore. The ideal environment for Boris Karloff. Because when radio was at its peak of popularity, Boris Karloff's name was also synonymous with horror. And the producers of radio horror were eager to associate his name with their programs. Arch Oboler reportedly wrote several episodes of Lights Out specifically with Karloff in mind.



And so it was that Boris Karloff travelled to Chicago in 1938 to record four consecutive episodes of Lights Out to mark the fourth anniversary of the series. One of these episodes, entitled "The Dream", tells the story of a man who boasts that he has never dreamed while asleep. Not once. Not ever. And then suddenly, he does. A dream that more than makes up for his dreamless years. Whether he wants it to or not.

Now, lights out . . . everybody. And remember, ". . . if you wish to avoid the excitement and tension of these imaginative plays, we urge you calmly, but sincerely, to turn off your radio... now."

Lights Out - The Dream



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Boris Karloff Blogathon: Mr. Grinch

It wasn't long after my introduction to Boris Karloff through Tales of Mystery, the comic book which bore his name, that I made another astounding discovery.



Sitting in front of our floor-model black-and-white television one December evening, engrossed in the yearly presentation of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, I noticed a familiar name pass by among the credits: Boris Karloff. The creepy comic book guy!

Apparently, he was narrating the story. And giving a voice to the Grinch. Well, that certainly explained it. No wonder this Grinch character seemed a little disturbing. No wonder I covered my eyes during the scene in which ". . . the Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea."



Years later, long after I was able to watch the entire cartoon without even once covering my eyes, Dr. Seuss's tale of Christmastime redemption became a favourite holiday bedtime story for my children. And each time I read the story aloud, I'd try to mimic Karloff's voice. The rhythm. The cadence. The intonations. With only limited success of course. Because his was the definitive Grinch. The perfect voice. The way the story should be told.

His voice and persona made him an ideal choice to narrate the story. Despite Dr. Seuss's fear that he would make the Grinch too scary. Instead, he helped make it a classic, which went on to win a Grammy when it was released as a spoken word recording.



I still watch it whenever I encounter it on television during the Christmas season. Even though I now own a copy. And if asked to list my favourite Boris Karloff performances, The Grinch would be a close second only to Frankenstein's monster.

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Boris Karloff Blogathon: the one in the middle

While thinking about what I might contribute to this blogathon, I tried to recall the moment at which I first became aware of Boris Karloff and his reputation.



My earliest introduction was not through his films. That came later. Nor was it through his television appearances. I can't recall ever seeing one of those. Instead, my introduction to Boris Karloff came after a shopping trip to K-Mart with my parents in the early 1970's.

Growing up in rural Cape Breton, Saturdays were significant as the day that we went into town. Town being the burgeoning metropolis of Sydney. These weekly excursions always included a stop at one of the city's major department stores - Woolco, Zellers, or K-Mart. The choice of retailer was likely determined by the weekly sales flyers. But that's not what concerned me. What concerned me, at age 8 or 9, was what I would get that day. Because on each shopping trip, I was allowed to make one purchase. Sometimes it was a new Nancy Drew book. Sometimes it was a Hot Wheels car (I was never a girly-girl). Sometimes it was a comic book. Or more accurately, a package of comic books.

At K-Mart in Sydney in the 1970's, comics were sold in packages of three. Three different comics sealed in a clear plastic bag. This made it a bit of a gamble. The book titles were not listed on the bag, and only two were visible. One cover through the front of the package and one through the back. I'd make my choice based upon those two covers, and hope for the best with the one in the middle.



I don't recall what I chose that Saturday at K-Mart. It was likely Uncle Scrooge. Or Scooby-Doo. Or Archie. Or maybe Superman. What I recall is pulling out the middle comic and seeing, in the upper right-hand corner, a small black-and-white photo of a creepy old guy. And beside the photo, the title: Boris Karloff's Tales of Mystery. With a creepy cover image under the title. And creepy stories inside. I loved it.

Calling my parents' attention to this new comic book discovery, I was amazed to learn that they were already familiar with Boris Karloff. Amazed indeed, since they didn't read comic books. Apparently, however, Mr. Karloff's reputation extended beyond the book in my hands and into other realms of horror.

But at that moment, all I knew was that Boris Karloff was a truly great comic book creator.

(Cover image via Grand Comic Book Database)

he's coming to town

The night was calm. Thick clouds blanketed the city. Blocking the stars. A harbinger of the shadow that would soon descend upon the populace. Spectators gathered and watched with trepidation.


The procession moved slowly through the streets. Gingerbread people cowered in fear.


And then he materialized out of the darkness. His evil countenance mesmerizing the crowd of onlookers. Consumed with terror, they could not look away.


Do not be deceived by his presence in your parade, Santa. His intentions are clearly sinister. There is no goodwill in his heart.


Remain vigilant.

the other Halloween tree

Weatherwise, it's been an incredible week. Bright sunshine everyday. Double digit temperatures. Unfortunately, for much of the week, I haven't felt like spending time outdoors. Today, however, I ventured outside to enjoy the unseasonable weather before it disappears and, much like this crow, spent some time wandering around my backyard. Taking photographs of crows. Sitting on the deck with my faithful cat, Lucky. Reading a newspaper. Without a jacket. In mid-November. It was glorious.

And then I paid a visit to the shed. Resting place of unfinished Halloween projects. And I began to reflect on what hadn't been accomplished this year. Each year, several projects remain unfinished, but this year the one I regret most is the tree. Not having any large trees in front of my house, I had planned to build one. A large outdoor Halloween tree. Not to be confused with my indoor Halloween tree. That one turned out fine. The outdoor tree (or trees, since I had intended to build at least two) was a more ambitious project. Which is likely why it remained unfinished. Barely started, in fact.

In my mind's eye, there were to be two of them. One on either side of the front porch steps. Their dead twisted branches hanging over the heads of trick-or-treaters as they walked up the stairs. In my more optimistic moments, I thought that if the two trees turned out well, I would build several more and line a path up the driveway with them.

In the end, there weren't several trees. There wasn't even one. I procrastinated them out of existence.

But these bright sunshiny November days have me thinking. If these temperatures continue into next week, I may drag the supplies out of the shed and onto the workshop/deck. Maybe I can build one of those trees this year after all. Set it up in front of the house. Perhaps hang a wreath on it. Or an ornament or two. Bring some early Christmas cheer to the neighbourhood.

it's almost here

That's right. The Boris Karloff Blogathon begins Monday. I was planning to write an original, clever, and inspiring post to promote this event. But at the moment, I'm feeling neither inspiring nor clever nor original. In fact, I'm still feeling kind of blah. So instead, I'll forsake originality and simply copy a description of the the blogathon from the Frankensteinia blog, organizer of the festivities:

"Beginning on November 23 — Karloff’s 122nd birthday — and on through the 29th, bloggers far and wide are invited to post something about Boris, his life and his wide-ranging career. There is much to explore… His film work spanned five decades. He clocked some 75 films through the silent era before he landed and nailed the iconic part of The Monster in Frankenstein, a film that is almost 80 years old and still seen and admired. The sequel, The Bride of Frankenstein, is a motion picture classic. In his path through the history of horror films, Karloff collaborated with James Whale, Val Lewton, Mario Bava and Roger Corman. He proved equally at ease in all genres, including comedies.

Away from films, Boris Karloff became a Broadway star with Arsenic and Old Lace, The Lark and he was Captain Hook in Peter Pan.

He enjoyed a successful radio career and he was one of the first Hollywood actors to embrace television, appearing in live drama, in his own series — notably Colonel March of Scotland Yard and Thriller — and as a frequent and popular guest on talk and variety shows. He was the model and the Grammy Award-winning voice of The Grinch. He made numerous spoken word records, reading fairy tales to children and, in print, he lent his name to horror and mystery anthologies and a line of comic books.

In real life, Boris Karloff was a gentleman, a cricket fan and a brave founding member of the Screen Actor's Guild.

It’s been forty years since Boris Karloff passed away, yet his star shines as bright as ever. This November 23, bloggers will come together and share film reviews, profiles, images, thoughts and remembrances and, I am sure, surprises. I, as a reader, am looking forward to it."

There. And now I must reflect and prepare for Monday.

to boldly go . . .

As the virus that has invaded my home sensed my presence and began its assault, I turned, as I have so many times before, to a favourite and cherished comfort food for the soul. Original Star Trek. Because nothing eases the discomfort of a horrible cold like immersion in the futuristic adventures of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. Complete with visible strings attached to the star ships and walls that shudder when the turbo lift opens. All part of the charm.



And yesterday, as if knowing that I would need this long-treasured comfort, the stars aligned and the DVD of the new Star Trek film was released.



No visible strings here. But it stayed remarkably true to the spirit of the original. I knew it was just what I needed. I dragged myself off to purchase it and then settled in on the couch. And when it had ended, my mind drifted to next Halloween.

Okay, perhaps the path in my mind from Star Trek to Halloween 2010 was not quite so straightforward. But the film reminded me of the original series. Which reminded me of the original actors. Which reminded me of Walter Koenig, who played Chekov. Which reminded me that he will be in Halifax next year for the first (and hopefully annual) sci-fi/comic convention, Hal-Con. Which reminded me that the organizers had inexplicably decided to hold the event on the last weekend in October. Which reminded me that I would need a costume for both Hal-Con and Halloween on the same weekend. Which reminded me that I should start planning early to avoid complete insanity next October.



But what to do?

My first idea was one costume that I could wear at both the con and on Halloween night. This idea was quickly scrapped. I tend to be a Halloween traditionalist and have never made flying saucers or aliens or vortexes part of my celebrations. And probably never will. I couldn't imagine a costume I would be happy with that could be worn both nights. Moving on then, I thought perhaps one of the costumes could be very simple and one more elaborate. Perhaps a detailed costume for Halloween; and for the con, an anonymous, doomed Star Trek red-shirt?



Too simple.

Or perhaps a more original costume for the con. . .





. . . and something basic for Halloween.



But only this year had I finally broken my habit of leaving my costume until the last minute and resorting to something mundane. Never again.

So at the moment I remain undecided. And still sick. And with only eleven short months to prepare. Perhaps a little more classic Star Trek and inspiration will strike.

tags and fever

I've been sticking close to home today. My 15 year-old is extremely feverish and we're on H1N1 watch. So between checking temperatures and making chicken noodle soup, I thought I'd do something really useful. Like tidy up the tags on the blog. Let's face it. They had become unwieldy and inconsistent. While I was in tag-cleaning mode, I decided to pretty them up as well. Maybe a nice cloud formation rather than that boring list. Perhaps a few pictures. Not a big project. Shouldn't take too long.

Well. It was bigger than it looked. Who knew there were so many tags? Obviously not me. Perhaps if I'd had a clear idea of the changes I wanted to make before I started . . . But why break a long-established tradition?

But I think I'm done. For now. Let's just say I've finished Stage One of the tag improvement project. The rest will have to wait. It's hard to devote your undivided attention to important work when you have a sick teenager upstairs complaining and whining for toast and soup and water and medication. Okay, okay . . . I'll be right up.

laid to rest

It seemed appropriate in the wake of the failure of my pumpkin crop that the last few dead remnants of the vines should be given some sort of a tribute on Halloween night. After all, had events transpired differently, their spawn would have been there, rejoicing in the blustery chill of the evening. Alas, it was not to be. Instead, limp yellow rotting vines greeted the night. Interspersed with the sedum and hydrangea flowers at the base of the tombstones. A fitting farewell.



Of course, when I attempted to feature the vines more prominently in the photographs, the wind had intensified and repeatedly extinguished the candles at the tombstones' base. Why am I not surprised? Anything else would have made the pumpkin growing experiment less than a total failure.

cobwebs

This past Halloween marked a turning point. For the first time in recent memory, I did not use fake cobwebs in my Halloween decorating. And I was okay with that.



I have nothing against fake cobwebs. They have been an integral part of my Halloween preparations for longer than I care to remember. When used well, they enhance atmosphere. Creepiness. Visual appeal.

When used well.

And therein lies the problem. Not with the cobwebs. With me.

Because when it comes to fake cobwebs, I just don't know when to quit. I can't help myself. I try. I really do. I begin slowly. Stretching the webs until they are thin, gossamer-like and understated. But do I stop there? Do I simply walk away? No. Because if a few cobwebs are good, more must be better. And better. And better. Until finally, I am faced with this degree of devastation.



I was clearly out of control.

But this year, I resolved that it would be different. This year, I would not purchase fake cobwebs. This year, I would not open the extra bag of cobwebs purchased last year (because you never know when you might need more). This year, I would stop before I had even begun.

Halloween approached. Out came the tombstones. And the graveyard fence. And the dead trees. And the candles. And the torn cheesecloth curtains. But the fake cobwebs remained unopened. Safely out of sight.

Halloween night came and went. Completely free of fake cobwebs. And I was fine with it (or without it). It was actually quite liberating. I may never use fake cobwebs again. Much like silvery Christmas tinsel and plastic Easter grass, they will now reside only in the realm of distant memories and old photographs. But I'll keep that unopened bag. Just in case.

it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Unlike many Halloween enthusiasts, I do not despise Christmas. Quite the contrary. I love Christmas. All of it. The music. The lights. The fruitcake. The wrapping paper. The mincemeat . . .

And for me, one of the highlights of the early part of the season is attending a local Christmas craft show. Admittedly, a large part of the attraction involves free food samples. Many of the same exhibitors return year after year and I "relish" the opportunity to "jam" myself into their booths and "dip" into their offerings.

But now on with the story . . .

Last Saturday, I arrived early and lined up beside the giant inflatable Santa with dozens of others. Once inside, I ambled through the aisles, en route to purchase my seasonal supply of cranberry mincemeat. Then something caught my eye. Something reminiscent of a past season. There between the handmade Christmas tree ornaments and the red-and-green place mats, I noticed a new exhibitor selling cards. Like this one:



So of course, I bought one. Christmas can always use a little extra creepiness.

candy pie

Leftover Halloween candy still hanging around? Miniature chocolate bars got you down? Not sure what to do with all that candy corn?

Worry no more. CakeSpy has the solution. And its name is Leftover Halloween Candy Pie.


It's exactly what it looks like. A bunch of leftover Halloween candy dumped into a pie shell and baked. Simple and unpretentious. I was intrigued. It's candy and pastry after all. What's not to love? I envisioned miniature Aeros and Kit-Kats, Reese's Pieces and M&M's, candy corn and mellocreme; all melting and mingling in a warm flaky shell.

Then I began to look for the leftover Halloween candy. Only to discover sadly that there wasn't any left. Apparently, "leftover Halloween candy" is an oxymoron in my house.

I'll have to file this one away under "next year". It just doesn't seem right to go out and purchase candy for "leftover" candy pie.

thanks . . . thanks a lot

After spending last Sunday afternoon removing most traces of Halloween from the front yard, heads and hands and tombstones and candles were all brought inside to be sorted and carefully packed away. At this point, I requested some assistance from my family.

Request granted.

They very kindly threw everything onto a large tangled pile in the basement. And there it remained. Until I finally sorted through it and carefully packed it away.


Needless to say, they weren't invited to share tea and chocolate.

snow

The nor'easter that had been predicted to deliver rain last night chose instead to bring snow. The first snow of the season. The jack-o-lanterns were taken aback by this development.



There were those who greeted the change in weather cheerfully.



While others appeared visibly upset.



The only thing worse than withering away in November is withering away in November snow.

headless

I'll admit it. Earlier in the week, when it looked like this, I was doubtful.

But with two days until Halloween, the prospect of greeting yet another Halloween night without having created a costume for myself loomed large. So I bought some extra duct tape. I found a stretchy dress at Value Village. I gathered the garden wire and packing foam and scissors and old cloaks. And I set to work. With the sort of dedication that only the last hours before Halloween can inspire.

It was close. The finishing touches were being applied as the jack-o-lanterns were being lit. But I was ready for all except the earliest trick-or-treaters.

And most importantly, I didn't have to dash to Zellers for a last-minute mask.

halloween night

At least it didn't rain. But it was windy. Very windy.



It was so windy, the jack-o-lanterns took shelter on the porch until the last minute.



It was so windy, I was going to snap this, the only un-staked tombstone, in two if I had to rush to secure it one more time.



It was so windy, candles were repeatedly extinguished and re-lighting them became futile.



It was so windy, the mourners shuddered violently on their cemetery bench.



Nonetheless, they remained stoic throughout the evening.



It was so windy, it made taking photographs difficult. Sometimes impossible.



But at least it didn't rain.

(More dry photos here)

time to go

After midnight on Halloween night, the wind finally subsided. Then the rain began. But by noon yesterday, it was over and was replaced by unseasonably warm sunny weather. Perfect for dis-assembling and packing away the outdoor Halloween display. The graveside mourners looked quite comfortable on their bench in the cemetery and weren't pleased when asked to move on.

By late afternoon, the front yard had returned to its pre-Halloween form. And the occasion was marked with a cup of tea and leftover chocolate bars. Not sure how many. Let's just say, "several".

Today, the focus shifts to the indoor display. Followed once again by the now traditional tea and chocolate bars.

a gentle breeze

The week had been too calm. Too quiet.

Usually the latter part of October is marked by torrential rain and raging winds. And the week before Halloween is spent waking each morning and surveying the damage. Followed by re-adjusting, repairing, and re-positioning. But this year, nothing. Everything was set up. And there it remained. So of course it couldn't last.

The wind arrived around noon. And it simply refused to leave. It became loud and obnoxious. Battering tombstones. Whipping the mourners robes around their heads. Chasing away the fog. Repeatedly extinguishing candles. It was certainly not welcome. But it was tolerated. For fear that if it overheard any complaints, it would wander off. But then return. Bringing along its even more annoying cousin: rain. So the wind remained throughout the evening. And when it had done enough damage, it left. But by then, the night was over.

Windiest Halloween ever. But at least it didn't rain.