And the power of Rock was bestowed upon her.

I see how lucky these girls are, everyday. I call it the learning process. And it goes, more or less smoothly, in both directions.

And, boy, do we learn from them.

And I think you’ll appreciate my budding Stylist. She was integral to the shoot, as she’s always been, but now it’s more than just bringing a smile to my subject’s face.

With the ultimate in fanciful creatures at our disposal, how could we not throw ourselves wholly into the season? This is the essence of all this business. There can be nothing but now, otherwise your children will grow right up past you. It’s the only way to stick a foot into the business and that’s to kick enough ass such that you’re always there and present. Wouldn’t want to miss a moment of the mischief. Here’s three cheers to Harvest time!

Yet another of the several reasons I’ve taken this blessed woman as my own. How could I not when she’s so blessed and I’m so blasted?

There was a band in The Cornfields. They played music to accompany the landed space ship. There was free candy all around. This creature of mine was drawn to these like a Greek to libations. So recently unfettered by gravity, she shot herself across the fields as if floating in her ball gown. Every so often one small red leatherette shoe would show, but then just that lilt across the grass. From the candy back to the music again. The music was as big and queer-turned as anything the Velvet Underground might have done on a Halloween long ago. And Mette was stoned on her first free flow of chocolates and gummies. Christmas is good when the take’s fine, but Halloween’s always hallowed from that first novitiate’s sweet tooth on. Possession and nine-tenths of the law. They get candy, they get it themselves without so much as asking, just a demand and take and sweets; some damn perfection from a child’s perspective. Freedom in brightly fringed wrappers. Run Child, next, Run!

On the spur of the moment – nightfall – Bindi no longer wanted to be a vampire.

“I want to be a fairy”

“Alright,” says Papa. “We’ll be a family of fairies.”

“Pink fairies.”

“Are there any other kind?”

Once dressed, Bindi looked up at Papa and said, “Daddy, you look like a Rock Star.”

Right answer, kid. Right answer.

My fine big CHICK is so fine in her finery. She says, “When I grow up I want to be an artist. After I put up flowers, like mommy.” She means landscaping, fantastic. Her mother says, “Pushing up daisies?” Mommy appreciates the irony to all our nonstop work. We’re well pleased that it’s all bound in daily reverence of the children, the CHICKS. My, my how your proffered youth that you give so willingly to your children slips quick and sleek over to them. I told a friend recently, “I had no hair on my chest when I started college. I had no white hair on my chest when I started pre-school.” And now my Thumbelina’s grown to be the queen of the tiny flower people. Art and flowers and my painted lady. It’s Halloween every day.