Brillo Marcussen, English Angora Rabbit, age 11, died peacefully at home Sunday evening, January 10, 2016. He was surrounded by his loving family. Interment took place January 14, as the weather warmed enough to permit burial. White carnations adorned his portrait.
Born November 2, 2004, Brillo was named after a common, household cleansing pad since, as a baby, he was so tiny and his angora fur so spiky, that the resemblance was brought to mind. Like the hard-working cleanser he was named after, Brillo was an industrious fellow, and he went on to lead a healthy, busy life, characterized by constant cheerfulness and a willingness to participate in household events.
During his long life he held many illustrious positions, including: consuming and controlling dandelion weeds in the spring, producing compost additives for the garden, and was occasionally known to generously donate some of his long, silky, angora hair to knitters after being groomed.
Among his family, he was known to have a huge appetite for life. He was always helping with kitchen chores, eagerly disposing of produce scraps, and he kept his portion of the house well cared for, always being sure to use his litter boxes.
He was a gourmet vegetarian, whose choice of meals included various fresh ingredients, such as green beans, carrots, spinach, cucumbers, broccoli, and hay – to name a few. He did not like green pepper, however, and would frequently thump his displeasure were it to be included on his plate.
For his last meal, Brillo was able to eat a little banana, his personal favorite.
He will be most remembered by his family as someone who had a great zest for life, a joy for playfulness, and a comforting snuggle to anyone who needed him. He is greatly missed.
Ah! The smell of spring in the air. When you ecstatically throw open the window to the light and enjoy the first warm breezes marking the change of seasons.
The sun is shining, the snow is reduced to patches dotting the landscape, the first tiny snowdrop flowers appear in the garden bed and – hard as it tries – winter cannot hold sway over the days to come.
Just a month ago I would take Sylvester out and hold his leash in one hand, balance the recycling bin on top of the garbage can with the other (as I dragged it all to the curb) and tuck the days mail under my chin. All in an effort to do everything in one trip.
Sub-zero weather calls for creative maneuvering.
But today it’s going to be 65 degrees, so I hook up the mutt and we take countless jaunts up and down the street. In fact, I purposely find reasons to pop outside. I’m behind on the housework – but Sylvester and I have to get the mail first. I seriously need to do my filing so I can complete my taxes – which I will get to right after I take down that winter wreath adorning the carport.
Sylvester and I make so many trips outside that he doesn’t even find any more bushes he wants to mark.
If only the outside looked as nice as the warm sunshine feels.
Instead, I see garbage and mud. So much soggy ground and mud that my desire to get out in those garden beds and clean up the rotting, winter-dead foliage is impossible to fulfill. I’ll have to wait until the thawing ground is firm enough.
And the garbage, uncovered from beneath the snow! Where does all this trash come from? Plastic bags trapped under bare bushes, water bottles in the middle of the lawn, an unbelievable number of old newspapers… delivered by someone with equally unbelievable aim.
It’s all incredibly ugly.
I feel like I live in a dump, but the neighbor’s lawns don’t look any better and I’m not inclined to wage war with the mud, so I try to ignore the way it looks and concentrate instead on enjoying the newfound warmth.
There’s still a chill if you stay out too long, so these jaunts are fleeting, and I retreat back inside, where I leave the door open and slip up the pane of glass on the storm door, the breeze flowing in through the screen.
As the day continues to heat up, another first sign of spring comes wafting through the house.
Sylvester is thrilled. It’s clear he thinks this is even better than when I grew kumquats (The Kumquat Thief). He runs to the door and presses his nose against the screen, audibly sniffing in huge breaths.
Getting his whiff on.
Sylvester’s eyes are shut tight in ecstasy. His jowls shake in excitement. And as I run around the house, slamming the window’s shut, I remember what else is out there, soft and gooey, waiting for me to clean it up… a winter’s worth of Syl’s potty breaks, augmented by the corresponding mounds left by neighboring canines.
Ah. The scent of spring.
Hubby and I were driving home one day, the light of dusk darkening what had proved to be a stressful day. My old knee injury was bothering me, so at one point I was waiting in the car while Hubby ran into a store. I pushed the radio button and started flipping through channels.
I like most styles of music but for a car ride I usually settle on soft rock, classic rock, or country. Occasionally, I listen to classical, but the problem with classical in the car is the road noise when you drive. Classical music tends to have very soft sections and very loud sections, all in the same piece. So you’re bumping along down the road, can’t hardly hear it, and turn up the volume until you do. All’s well until suddenly the brass section comes blaring in with a forte, and it just about blows you out of the car! Which is why I tend to keep my classical listening outside of our vehicle.
This particular day, while Hubby was in the store, I couldn’t find one song I wanted to listen to. Except, there was a particularly nice piece by Claude Debussy playing on WFMT. So I let it play… and by time Hubby came out the Debussy had ended and a narrator was discussing pre-WW1 music.
It was the tail end of a two-day program highlighting music before the Great War came along and changed the face of composing. As we drove home, the narrator gave a summary of his playlist and introduced the musical piece he was ending the program with. It struck me funny, because the musician’s name made me think of the fancy skirted bottle of maple syrup fame.
It was an English composer, George Butterworth, who has little music to show for himself as he really had only gotten started before the war broke out and he joined the British Army. Before he was deployed, he destroyed many of his musical compositions himself, fearful he wouldn’t return from the war and have the chance to revise them to his satisfaction before someone else heard them.
I think it’s safe to say he must’ve been a perfectionist.
Some of his music, however, had been previously published and he had already gained a reputation as an important musician. It was generally felt that he would’ve become one of England’s finest composers if he hadn’t died in the war (he was only 31).
Hubby and I pulled up in our driveway and turned off the car engine just as Butterworth’s orchestral rhapsody, A Shropshire Lad, began to play on the radio.
I haven’t the words to tell you how truly peaceful and calming this pastoral rhapsody was. From the very first notes, lovely images of a sunny, summer day in the English countryside came to mind. We both just sat there, mesmerized by some of the most beautiful music we’d ever heard.
It could be that the contrast between a stressful day and the salve of the music was so vivid. Or it could be that I don’t often hear a piece written in the Dorian scale (also called Russian minor). Either way, it was an unexpected blessing I won’t soon forget.
It also made me sad, thinking of his destroyed compositions. What beauty have we been deprived of in Butterworth’s quest for perfection? And I wonder… what gifts do each of us have that we purposely squelch, because we are embarrassed by not meeting our internalized standards? Who could we have helped with our ‘meager offerings’?
I went online and found a YouTube recording of the whole rhapsody, performed in 1944 by the NBC Symphony Orchestra (Stokowski conducting). I listen to it now, from time to time.
What if it wasn’t a co-incidence that my knee was bothering me that day? Or that Hubby wanted to stop at that store? And maybe Debussy was playing at that time to act as the proverbial dangling carrot, drawing me to that station at just that moment. (Doubtless the good Lord knows how I feel about impressionistic music.)
I realize not everyone thinks everything happens for a reason. And maybe it doesn’t. But be it luck or blessing, isn’t it amazing when you get exactly what you need, exactly when you need it? Perhaps someday, when we are in heaven, we will all have the opportunity to hear Mr. Butterworth’s destroyed works. I like to think that heaven will include concerts by our favorite musicians. Heavenly music the likes of which are heard nowhere here on earth.
If you are having a stressful day, or you just need a reminder of summer, I highly recommend you listen to Butterworth’s music too. I hope it will be a blessing to you as well.
Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands. Psalm 66:1
… singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord. Ephesians 5:19
Valentine’s Day elicits strong feelings in people – positive and negative. There’s the V-Day haters (who’ve had bad relationships or feel pressure because they aren’t currently in a relationship), and the V-Day lovers, (who go about annoying all the haters by declaring how wonderful love is).
I confess, I’m in the lover group, and I live with a romantic man (Mr. Romantic), so there’s no ignoring V-Day even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. So sue me. I believe in love.
Nevertheless, I haven’t always been happy in love, nor have all my relationships been good. Some have been pretty darn awful, and I’ve put in my time feeling irritated with the whole February 14th “rubbing my nose in it” day!
Plus, as I’ve said before, I think our modern Valentine’s Day is harder than ever on couples (see Love Is Harder Online).
But all that aside… does anyone even know how this red-filled, expensive card, long-stemmed roses, dinner out, pressure to express our love event even started?
According to the “experts” (whatever that means), apparently not!
Ask most people and they’ll tell you it’s because of Saint Valentine. But did you know there was more than one Saint Valentine? I sure didn’t. Until I looked it up. No one seems 100% certain which saint it was. Not to mention that the stories of how it all started are just that… legends… about priests performing forbidden weddings, doing miraculous healings, and spreading the gospel of Christ.
Then there’s the folk traditions and various customs that link Saint Valentine’s with the advent of spring. One earth-type version has Saint Valentine doing something mystical with the roots of plants, and causing the season’s new growth.
They weren’t all priests either… there’s a ‘Jack’ Valentine that left sweet treats for children at their back doors. Not sure why he did this, but apparently the kids were scared of him.
My favorite story is that Valentine’s day is when the birds sing songs of love to each other, pick their forever mates and get married. S-tweet!
Valentine’s Day is celebrated in lots of countries around the world, by lots of different names with lots of different legends and stories.
It’s not all just about romantic love either.
In fact, romance didn’t seem to be the main focus in most of the origins surrounding the celebrations. Even now, not every country relates the day with romance.
Some interesting facts, according to Wikipedia:
Estonia and Finland translate Valentine’s Day into “Friends Day”. It’s about showing your friends how much you appreciate them. In Iran, it’s a festival that combines a celebration of the earth with love towards mothers and wives.
Valentine’s Day is illegal in Saudi Arabia, because it’s seen as a distinctly Christian holiday, not sanctioned by Islam. The ban has created a black market there for V-Day shop items, like roses.
The countries that spend the most on Valentine’s Day are China, South Korea, and Singapore.
Sadly, much of the local customs and origins of V-Day are being lost around the world, as the westernized, commercialized version of Valentine’s Day spreads and trumps a lot of the original celebrations. Still, it’s clear that Valentine’s Day is not just about romantic love.
It’s about LOVE, period. Religious love. Love of nature. Love of family and friends.
I definitely think that’s something to celebrate!
Am I talking about Valentine’s Day? Or Jack Benny’s birthday? Well, yes, those are just around the corner too. But what I’m here to relay is information on the second annual Orchid Show at the Chicago Botanic Garden, which runs daily from February 14th through March 15, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
If you missed reading my orchid post last year, highlighting some of the interesting sexual propagation strategies of the orchid, click here to read and see pictures, then go to the show and discover more of the interesting orchid patterns yourself.
(Hint): Guys – taking your lady to see the more than 10,000 orchids at CBG would be a great Valentine’s day outing. Plus, if you go to the preview opening on the evening of Friday, February 13th, there are also cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, and a jazz ensemble playing. Each weekend they also have orchids for sale. Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10 a.m. also feature various music performances.
Hubby and I must have attended last year’s show on one of those special days (just by luck), because I remember being serenaded by a string quartet while we viewed the orchids.
Tickets cost $8 each for members, or $10 for non-members. Be aware that if you are not a CBG member you will also pay for parking ($25 dollars at the gate or $20 online advance parking, CBG members get free parking).
Here’s the website for more information and to pay your parking online: http://www.chicagobotanic.org/orchid.
And just to whet your appetite, here are a couple more of the pictures Hubby and I took from last year’s show.
What is it about gossip that draws us in? I recently got caught up in the gossip mill myself, and I’m still kicking myself over it.
I wasn’t born yesterday. I know better. Gossip and bad behavior, apparently, has no age limit.
It’s not just me. I know that. We all run on gossip. Some of it is “real” news and it helps us. But much of it is just plain hearsay. Information regurgitated from one source to the next. Or – worse – we filter what we hear through our own imperfect prejudices and experiences. Like a huge game of Telephone. (In case you’re not familiar with the party game of Telephone, click here for how it’s played. It’s a classic example of how differently we all interpret what we hear others say.)
Not to blame everything on the internet but, while it’s improved communication, it’s also done a too-good job of improving our gossip skills. We’re more addicted to gossip than ever.
Someone posts a copy of an unflattering letter they received from their mother-in-law. Or an embarrassing photo makes it online, taken at a wedding. A mother, angry with the way her child was treated, makes a public statement.
Case in point: Remember the guy that made a video of destroying his daughters computer? As a way of punishment for what she’d posted? These things go viral because we all love to gossip. We can actually get very worked up over events and comments that don’t even concern us!
It’s not all bad. Gossip, I mean. We learn a great deal from these things. Avoid future mistakes, do good things for ourselves and others, etc. Laws are created and securities tightened as a result of gossip. Plus, some of those things are funny, light-hearted, and make our days brighter and more joyful.
We can’t stop gossip either. It’s in our nature. We’re always curious about what the other person is doing.
Nor is it just a human trait. We’re not the only ones. Take any dog into a room that holds 10 people and one other canine, and what do the dogs do? They make a beeline for each other. They may not even get along (and then you have a dogfight!), but the gist is… dogs are just as curious about other dogs as people are curious about other people.
Why is that? Did God design His creatures this way as a protection for us? Is it an instinctive urge to band together? Safety in numbers?
Whatever. I’ll leave that to the professionals to theorize over. The main thing that disturbs me today, as I write this, is how destructively gossip can be used. Like those fighting dogs, we all have an opinion on someone else’s business and, sometimes, we just can’t stop ourselves from putting our two cents in.
That’s what I did. I caused trouble. I stirred the pot. I opened my mouth and let my lower brain rule my behavior before my good sense kicked in.
The damn thing is, once you sink to that reptilian-brain level of behavior, you can’t go backwards and undo the words. Like water passing under the bridge, it’s already gone.
I apologized to the person involved. I gave penance to God. I’m publicly declaring myself an idiot on my own blog.
But I’m still kicking myself.
Hubby tells me that God has long since forgiven me this sin. HE knew I was going to do it before I ever did. This should be a comfort – and in a sense it is – I’m happy to know that in heaven I won’t have to pay for this sin again and again. But I’m not God. It’s more difficult for me to forgive myself than for Him to forgive me. Human arrogance, I suppose, that I expect better of myself than I actually am.
Which takes us to the subject of: just exactly how do we forgive ourselves from the mistakes we’ve made in our lives? We all have regrets. This whole subject of “forgiveness of self” impacts our health, our relationships, our spiritual life, and our happiness.
But, that’s a post for another time.
This post is about green. Specifically, the color green. Not money, jealousy, Irish ancestry, government issued cards, or spinach.
It has nothing to do with:
* the heart chakra,
* emeralds or jade,
* Celtic myths,
* looking nauseous,
* ghost slime,
* the former flag of Libya,
* stop lights,
* greener pastures,
* or unripe tomatoes.
This is about the color itself, not the meanings or associations we attach to it.
Green is a beautiful color. Green makes me happy. I’m thankful for green.
I once read that the purpose of good-luck pieces, amulets, or talisman’s wasn’t to cast spells on others, so much as it was to have a physical object that helped you to change your own perception from the negative to the positive. Sort of like having a worry stone in your pocket, that you could rub to help calm you.
The main advice of the article was to use physical props to help you deal with stress. Find that physical thing which helped you, and set it on your desk at work, hang it in a prominent place on your wall, or carry it with you.
As you can guess, with me it’s the color green. I have no idea why, but just seeing green brings me joy in a way that no other color does. And yeah, I’m a gardener, but it’s not a plant thing, it’s something about the color itself. So sometimes I put a little something green (fabric swatch, ribbon, jelly bean?) in my pocket, so that when I’m feeling stressed I can pull it out and look at it.
I don’t think the green object has magical powers. (Unless my blood sugar drops. Then that jelly bean can “magically” take away my hunger!) Perhaps mystics might say that on some level my body resonates with green’s wavelength or frequency. Or maybe other people feel this way about their favorite color too, but they just don’t talk about it. I have no idea. I just know that green makes me feel good.
This is why I wore a Kelly green wedding dress and had a bright green wedding ring.
It’s why the carpet throughout my home is “seafoam”. Why the wallpaper is “sage”, the lamps are “avocado”, and the bath towels are “forest” green.
I have to fight through the green jungle of huge houseplants that fill my office, and if you open my drawers you will find a multitude of green clothes. (Sadly, I don’t look that good in green, so I end up wearing the blues more often.)
My family knows this “green obsession” about me too. For my birthday this year, my sisters spent weeks looking at green jewelry.
“Do you think she’ll like the green tourmaline or the green crystals better?” They shopped and agonized and tried on pair after pair. It came down to two pairs of earrings – one pair was teardrop shaped and forest green – the other pair of semi-precious peridot, a lighter shade of green. They showed me both pair but said I could only chose one. The whole family had bets on which green I’d choose.
So today, when I put on my forest green Swarovski crystal earrings (it was no contest really, they were the “greener” of the two), I decided that November 26th, 2014 should be declared the first annual Green Appreciation Day. After all, if a clothes store can generate profits by declaring a day every year for families to buy and wear the same colored pajamas (not saying who, you can Google it), then I see no reason I can’t have a Green Appreciation Day.
Maybe it’ll catch on. Hey, the throwing an orange down the street on New Year’s eve did (another story for another time).
By the way, the earth is approximately 71% water and then there’s that immense blue sky over all. So I think it’s safe to say that God likes blue.
But he gave us the land to live on. And it’s predominantly green. If he wanted us to be blue lovers he’d have given us fins. So it’s very, very possible (don’t burst my bubble here) that God’s favorite color is green!
Happy Green Appreciation Day everyone.
Most of our days we go through life so fast that we don’t even notice them passing. Especially in light of the holidays… working, raising kids, maintaining the house, figuring out how to pay for Christmas… it’s all a blur. Those days are the filler of our lives. “What’s new with you?” “Oh, you know, just carrying on.”
But there are other days too. The days everyone hopes to avoid, yet everyone has.
Everyone knows what I’m talking about. Unexpected tragedies. Burdens that almost break your back. Worries that rob you of sleep. Family Discord. Anger. Pain. Resentment. Fear.
I woke up this morning, worrying (again) about something that I’ve worried about for so long, it’s automatic. My Achilles heel. Yet for all the times I’ve given it my attention – freely smothering it with my hard-earned energy – that worry has never come to pass.
I am – literally – worrying about something non-existent. What happened in the past, what could happen in the future, yet has no bearing on the immediate present.
I’ve cried to God about it so often that I, myself, am tired of hearing my own complaint!
I thought of everyone else. Doing the same thing I do. Just trying to make a living, taking care of our families, getting as many errands done in one day as possible, and attempting to hold it together one more day. Meeting the demands of everyday life.
You know. Scrabbling around gathering nuts. (Yeah, the squirrels do it. We do it. Every bug and plant does it. In short… every living thing is concerned with the same thing. That constant need to push back at the struggle of survival doesn’t take a vacation for losing your job, the kid’s measles, or home repairs.)
You know what? This is the price of life.
So. If this is the price of life, then what is the paycheck?
Sweet kisses on my face from Hubby. Kids. Sisters. The dog. (’nuff said). Family! Who can describe the connection with family? Love.
Then there’s music. Oh, happiness – it’s that time of year when every choral/instrumental group performs the most wondrous sounds.
Dark, cold nights spent cuddled under piles of soft blankets. Dog snores from the bedside.
Christmas movies. Driving around and viewing all the sparkling decorations. Holiday scenes made out of gingerbread and candies. Eggnog.
A warm bath. Good books and good neighbors. Ice sculptures of incredible beauty. Snow. Crystal clear night skies, sparkling white and blue days.
Green! (There’s always green somewhere.)
The scent of sugar from the Tea Olive plant on my windowsill. Jasmine flowers.
Yes, the price of living is high. But the paycheck is pretty darn great.
What are some of the rewards included in your paycheck?
“Joy and sorrow are the light and shade of life; without light and shade no picture is clear.” Hazrat Inayat Khan
Hubby and I went to see the movie Interstellar late last night. Interstellar Heaven!
I was so pumped to see this film, but I know how that can be… you get yourself so excited by your expectations that the actual event can’t live up to it, and you’re disappointed.
I didn’t want that to happen with Interstellar. (Hard sci-fi films are so far and few in-between as it is nowadays.)
So before we went, I read many of the on-line comments and reviews, both professional and from the general public that had already seen it. It seemed people were divided between two camps. Lots of 5 star reviews from people that loved it, and a lesser amount of 1 or 2 stars from the haters. There were very few in the middle.
You either loved it, or you hated it.
General consensus of the lovers:
- Amazing special effects.
- Moving emotional performances.
- Gripping tension that kept you glued to the edge of your seat.
General consensus of the haters:
- What exactly is happening? Too difficult to understand.
- Too long.
From within both camps there were comments that the sound quality was a problem. The music, they said, was too loud to hear the dialogue.
After reading the reviews, I was still looking forward to seeing the movie but my expectations were tempered, mainly because of the sound thing. I already have hard-of-hearing issues and those movies where I spend every other minute whispering to Hubby “What did they say?” tend to drive me nuts. Not to mention Hubby doesn’t enjoy the constant interruptions.
So we saw it. And here’s my take:
It was gripping enough that the 3 hour length didn’t bother me. Nor did it bother Hubby, and he often gets antsy even in 2 hour movies. He even wants to see it again. (I’m not so sure I do, although I’d love to see that ending again.)
The emotional performances were just what they said. Great. McConaughey acted his a** off, not something you usually see from him. Matt Damon played an irritating character, and he did it decent enough so that you really didn’t like him much. Jessica Chastain did a good job as the adult daughter of McConaughey but the one who really stole that role was Mackenzie Foy, who played the same character as a child. Even Anne Hathaway who – I’m sorry, I just don’t like her – did a really credible performance.
As far as the science of the film? Quantum gravity at its finest. Loved the strings! Loved the Rama-like spacecraft (just exactly when is Morgan Freeman’s production company going to film Arthur C. Clarke’s Rendezvous With Rama anyway? He’s been promising it for years!) It was reminiscent of several hard sci-fi books, actually. Using “dimensional shortcuts” (like a fifth dimension) to travel or send messages through space-time is a trick of many a science fiction plot.
And then there was all the relativity. Can you ever have too much of Einstein’s relativity?
I think not.
The negatives I would give the movie echo the same as other reviewers… the sound quality. The science is daunting… I’m a bit of a physics buff but I certainly didn’t understand all of it. You really need to be up on all the latest theories to grasp the whole thing. But I might have understood more if I could’ve heard it! The music, while intense and wonderful, grew so loud – right during the key points of the story, of course – that even Hubby didn’t know what they said.
Do you think they did that on purpose? So we would miss a key physics explanation? Maybe they were fuzzy on it themselves and so covered it up with loud music? Ha – probably not. But it was kind of frustrating.
The other negative just has to do with my own personal idiocies in movies. I LOVE disaster films. And I was really looking forward to those gigantic tidal waves, frozen clouds, and planetary fires that were promised in this film.
They were a disappointment. The waves were pretty good, but the frozen planet was “eh” and the planetary fires were fields of corn burning on Earth. (Oh yeah, as an aside, that plant blight and Dust Bowl rendition of Earth was pretty cool.)
Still, when you have so much of Albert’s general theory of relativity in a film – well, as far as I’m concerned, Albert rules over all, so disaster disappointments are forgiven.
Plus, it was wonderful (for a change) to actually see hard sci-fi on the big screen. So much of what they call sci-fi nowadays is more like magic, or fantasy. I’m not opposed to those, I enjoy those too, but I’m old enough to remember when fantasy and sci-fi were different shelves at the bookstore. Nowadays, you go to Barnes & Noble and look in sci-fi and find mostly paranormal fantasy. Vampires, witches, and a few alien adventures with swords.
When and why sci-fi became vampires is another subject. Maybe I’ll explore that on another post someday.
But for now, here’s the bottom line:
If you have a working knowledge of physics, Interstellar is going to rock your world. You’ll be discussing it with your friends for days.
If you don’t understand the science one iota, it’s still pretty cool.
I say “Go”. At the speed of light.
Halloween is my husband’s favorite holiday. It has nothing to do with ghosts and goblins, and everything to do with pumpkins.
As of last count, we have 17 pumpkins so far this year. Luckily – this being Halloween week – I think it’s (almost) safe to say we might finish the season under 20.
What is it about pumpkins that Hubby finds so fascinating? I mean, seriously, we spend quite a chunk of money on those orange orbs!
Whatever the fascination, shopping for pumpkins with Hubby has become more than just picking up a few at the grocery store. It’s become a major tradition for us, and has pushed our neighbors to collect pumpkins as well. My husband has single handedly boosted the pumpkin industry to new heights.
I go outside to get the mail and run into the neighbor lady across the street… “Uh-oh,” she says. “I see you’ve added a sixth pumpkin to your collection. I better get a move on, I only have four.” She confesses to me how every night, when she drives home, she counts the number of pumpkins we have. It gives a whole new meaning to “keeping up with the Jones’s”. (I LOVE our neighborhood. Entertainment central.)
Every few days Hubby comes home with a new pumpkin from one place or another. On weekends, we go pumpkin shopping, looking for the best deals. (When you buy in quantity, you can’t afford pricey.)
Several years ago we found a place called Bob’s. Or maybe it’s called Dan’s. I can never remember. But who can blame me for forgetting the name of the place when it’s located between Frank street and Tom’s pumpkin farm? Whatever… Bob’s is a pumpkin man’s paradise. It’s entrance is a skinny little dirt road tucked in between tall trees. If you’re not careful, you’ll miss it and pass right by. (And end up at Tom’s. Something Tom is probably happy about.)
Once you turn into Bob’s, just beyond the trees, is a wide clearing in the woods, filled to capacity with pumpkins. HUGE pumpkins. Bob’s pumpkins are all the same price… $6.00 each. It doesn’t matter what size you choose, every pumpkin is $6.00, from pie size to monstrosity. But here’s the funny thing… they’re ALL monstrosities. There are no little pumpkins!
Plus, it’s all self-serve. Bob is not there. Nobody is there. A shabby looking, beat-up wood box is set up at the far end of the clearing (surrounded by huge pumpkins, of course), with a sign that says you are on the “honor system”. You total your number of pumpkins by 6 and feed your money into the slot on top of the box. One glance up, and you see a number of security cameras sitting in the trees, some of them conveniently located to catch the license plates on your car.
So apparently Bob is not as trusting as his sign would leave one to believe.
Bob’s is a great place. Hubby looks forward to our trip to Bob’s every year. He roams around from one huge pile of pumpkins to the next, trying to decide between them. “They’re all so beautiful!” he says. (Obviously, orange is Hubby’s favorite color.) Of course, we never leave with just one. Usually we have our dog in the back seat (he needs a pumpkin outing too) so Hubby is limited to how many king-sized pumpkins he can fit in the trunk. He thinks the dog should be able to share his seat with a pumpkin. I put my foot down on this. The dog is 95 pounds. He needs the whole seat. (I also refuse to carry a pumpkin on my lap all the way home.)
By the way – in case you’re wondering – yes, we do carve a few of them. Our neighbor lady comes over (brings her own pumpkin) and we have a little carving party, during which Hubby reads “The Great Pumpkin” by Charles Schulz. It’s another wacky part of our pumpkin tradition.
But mostly, all those pumpkins just adorn the outside of our house. When they start to soften we move them under the trees or back into the compost pile, where the wild critters have come to depend upon them for winter food. Every time the weather warms up enough for the fruits to thaw, you see squirrels sitting on top of the pumpkins, eating handfuls of orange.
Some people may think this pumpkin obsession of Hubby’s is a bit out of control. But it doesn’t bother me. Pumpkins make Hubby happy. Besides, I’m hardly a stranger to obsessive behavior myself (see My Family Intervention). The year I ordered well over 2,000 flower bulbs, Hubby helped me plant them. He never complained and he hauls stuff around the garden for me all the time. I figure what comes around goes around… I don’t complain about his pumpkins.
There was, however, that one year when the neighbors did (The Great Pumpkin Patch). But given some of the crazy things our neighbors have done, I have no worries. Like I said, I love our neighborhood.
Isn’t this what makes life so much fun? Happy Halloween everyone!