Halloween has certainly changed since the days of my youth. As a little kid, we’d hit the neighborhood with our brown bags. Later, we transitioned to pillow cases. There were 50 houses per block – 25 on each side – and the majority of them handed out something. We scored big-time. We needed to score big because we had to give up half of our haul for the kids at the local orphanage. Yeah… the folks were adamant that we share our good fortune with those who were not as fortunate. And we couldn’t just give up the stuff we didn’t like – we had to part with some of those coveted Hershey bars, too. And that was before San Francisco was liberal!

I guess at another place in time I would be at a party bobbing for apples, tonight. Instead, I made an apple cake. I have a vague memory of bobbing for apples once, somewhere, but that’s all there is – a vague memory. The only part I do remember is that it wasn’t easy.

Baking a cake is infinitely simpler.

And the porch light is out. We do NOT want Trick-or-Treaters ringing the bell, driving Blanche crazy, and waking Nonna. We put a basket of candy and glo-sticks on the front walk with a nice note asking folks to not ring the bell.

If someone is dumb enough to do it, Blanche may just have to go out and explain the errors of their actions.

Our little girl is not vicious but she is protective. Seeing a bunch of people in strange outfits at her door is not going to make her all warm and fuzzy.


So we have a blissfully quiet house and cake for dessert. Life is extremely good.


The recipe comes from my mom’s cook book. I have no idea what makes this Scandinavian, but it’s really good!


Really good.