As we have travelled across the U.S. and even across the Atlantic there has been one Halloween tradition that I have always relied on, a certainty that makes Halloween, Halloween. Whether it is 80 degrees and humid, snowing and freezing cold, in a country that does not celebrate Halloween except maybe by sending their children to the crazy Americans for some candy, or in a neighborhood of retired wealthy Carmelites bewildered by this family of imposters. It brings the reality of the season into my home and yet takes me right back to my mom's kitchen. I am back in rainy, overcast Washington on a fall day but I am warm and cozy and home. I anticipate my brown, paper wrapped box with Christmas morning anticipation. It comes, sometimes weeks before Halloween, sometimes just in the nick of time. Sometimes my dad's handwriting spells out our current location, sometimes one of my sisters has been in charge of the mailing. Most of the time, however, it is the neat, beautiful, printing ...