E1

Bill Hunt

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Can you give yourself a nickname?

Can you retire it yourself?

If so, consider Rocket Man officially retired.

With apologies to Elton John (and perhaps Roger Clemens and Maurice (Rocket) Richard too), I am the 2009 edition of the Rocket Man. Or at least I was.

It has - or had - to do with my fondness for those little rolls of candy that fit so nicely into your fist and then into your face. They were a staple of Halloween at our house, like eggnog at Christmas.

They were the only Halloween candy I ever stole from the kids - OK, OK, the odd Oh Henry! bar too! - and friends of ours would hand them over by the fistful. In fact, when we took the grandkids to Cathie's house last Saturday, she discreetly handed me three little packages of Rockets.

See what I mean?

But I think I've hit my limit. Maybe it's just the sugar talking, but after two full bags, I polished off on my own in the past two weeks, raiding the candy dish on the front counter at work regularly (dorry, girls) and finishing off another full bag of "Star rolls" - a Rocket knockoff if ever I saw one - I think Rockets and I have had it.

I did, however, enjoy just about everything else about Halloween this year.

The Princess and The Pumpkin - er, they've turned back into my granddaughter Caylen and grandson Andon by now - were a little late this year.

They met up with Dumbo the Elephant and the other goblins/grandchildren at Leah's parents' place first, which gave me a chance to do door duty at our house.

I opened the door to assorted princesses and vampires and creatures and critters - including a Superman who, when I saw him last, was riding piggyback on his dad's shoulders, and his brother the policeman - who motioned with his gun that the treats should go in here - and the runaway winner for cutest costume of the night, a toddler who came dressed as a skunk.

"You're not the little guy who is living under my building are you?" said Debbie (a whole different story.). "You won't spray my doggie will you?"

No, and no.

So we gave he and his travelling partner extra chips and a fist full of candy and they went toddling down the street.

Well, he was the landslide winner for cutest costume, at least until the Princess and the Pumpkin arrived, Caylen in a beautiful blue dress and tiara and red nail polish - "my toes are purple" she announced at one doorway as we made our rounds - Andon in full pumpkin regalia, although he had me stuff the green hat/stem into my pocket shortly after he arrived.

Well, the princess costume was perfect for Caylen. We weren't long into our rounds when she left me holding the bag, or pillowcase, as it were while she did the knocking and the talking at the door.

"You can carry my luggage," she said.

Leah carried Andon's luggage, Greg and the newest addition to the family, their dog Sherman, stayed on the sidewalk as we approached the doorways - we were quite a travelling party indeed.

In hindsight, Andon might have been better suited as a parrot - he was repeating everything in that deep little voice of his.

He insists we stick together as we go from house to house -"hold my hand, Bill," says my grandson, who yes, actually calls me, not Grampy, but Bill.

Still, it's an assignment I am happy to accept.

The kids enjoy their visit with Cathie - Caylen particularly enjoys the scary string of eyeball lights around the doorway - and Cathie and her husband Randy enjoy seeing Greg and Leah and the kids and Shermie again.

By the time we're done with our visit there, lights are starting to go out in the neighbourhood. We stop at Tim's house across the way - he too, wants to meet Shermie.

We stop by Santa's old summer home, if only to see what the new people have done with the place - Santa, the former owner, moved away earlier this summer - but the lights are out on most of the houses as we work our way toward home.

Leah put the kids' treat bags in the car and they came in to visit for a while - a good move on several levels.

Caylen, for instance, couldn't access her treats and had to settle for a chocolate-dipped granola bar and a juice box from our stash.

And of course, I couldn't get at her Rockets ...

Bill Hunt is a staff writer at The Daily Gleaner. He can be reached at hunt.bill@dailygleaner.com