I've always reveled in ritual -- whether it was the oil-and-water-in-the-bowl ritual that my grandmother performed when we were young to find out if someone had given us the evil eye (and the prayers she said to remove it), ... the ritual of oiling a new baseball mitt or rubbing Bear Grease or mink oil into a new pair of boots, ... the march from the locker room to the football field like gladiators entering the arena, or any of the thousand other rituals that string together the ceremonies and seasons of our lives.

This year, as always, I find myself embracing and participating in some of the seasonal rituals while rejecting others. Like Halloween.

When I was a young boy, I was happy to dress like a hobo and walk around the neighborhood with my friends, carrying an old pillowcase, soliciting free candy on people's porches. But rarely since those days have I donned a disguise or dressed up in a costume, which is why I was fine with skipping the disco-themed party last weekend.

On the other hand, I'm delighted to place a pumpkin on the porch, and an assortment of multi-colored gourds, which shout "autumn" and all that it entails.

Likewise, you won't see me putting white and black makeup on my face or decorating with skulls and skeletons and such as my friends who celebrate Dia de los Muertos do. But I will light candles, and I will take time to reflect on life and death and mortality, on the friends and family we've loved and lost, the ancestors, saints and sages who have come before, who form the lineage, weaved the traditions, set the example, who've shown the way, shined the light, whose voices and stories and counsel continue to speak to us through and across lifetimes.

We stand, now, at the doorway to the darker time of the year, with its shorter days and longer nights, a philosophical in-between moment before we rush into what has come to be called the Holiday Season.

The marketers and merchandisers constantly try to push the starting date forward to expand the number of shopping days, with some even starting their displays in summer.

For me, though, what I call the Holiday Season starts a few days before Thanksgiving and continues for maybe a week or so after New Year's, though there are no set dates or actual bookends.

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It encompasses the various religious, ethnic, cultural, communal and natural events, festivals, celebrations and observances that fall within that six-or-seven-week period. (Not that I'm looking to limit anyone's celebrations, only the commercial craziness of it all.)

It is a time of year filled with rituals -- from turkey dinners and pumpkin pies to ornaments, lights, carols, cookies, gifts, menorahs, advent calendars, nativity scenes ... from Santa Claus to the baby Jesus ... hats, noisemakers, champagne, and Bowl games.

But before we get to all that, there are other matters, other rituals to attend to.

My gal and I have one we share, where every two years, we take a walk in the morning to our local polling place to cast our votes. This year we did it a little differently; we voted early, and rather than walking to the ballot box, we drove to the drop box to deposit our ballots, so as to make our voices and our choices known.

Part of the reason we voted early was to express our seriousness and concern, but also to get beyond it, and to get all the political material out of our face.

For us, the ritual of voting is an expression of hope for the advancement of humanity. We hope that the intention of a kinder, wiser, more loving, peaceful and intelligent society will persist, and prevail over partisanship.

May the rituals of the season give further meaning and depth to our experiences and create stronger bonds between us.