Of All Things Pumpkin

It's that time of year once again when everyone's taste buds crave the amazing flavor of pumpkin.

Amazing? Really?

I think not.

Pumpkin in its raw form is merely a type of squash that resembles a gourd. It is neither sweet tasting or particularly nutritious. One cup of fresh cubed pumpkin is low in calories: 30...but yet, 26 of those calories come from carbs. It has 1.6 grams of sugar, 106 grams of water, and .9 grams of ash.

Ash? 

I did some research on it and the scientific explanation made my brain hurt a little. Just know this: it won't harm you in any way.

Face it, folks...the only way we love the yummyness of pumpkin is when it is saturated with sugar and butter and flour and cream cheese and nutmeg and cinnamon!

My mother used to make a delicious pumpkin bread and we couldn't wait for it to be pulled from the oven. The top would crack in the middle during baking and would leave a soft, gooey center that melted in your mouth. 

Looking back, I am really surprised that we even tasted it for the first time. Pumpkin sounded too much like squash, carrots and radishes to our young minds. 

But I think it was that overpowering smell that got us hooked. 

Who wouldn't want to eat something that smelled so intoxicatingly wonderful?

Coffee manufacturers have learned that they can put the word pumpkin on their products and sell it like crazy. But I've learned from experience that just because it says pumpkin and may smell like pumpkin, it rarely tastes like pumpkin.

Don't get me wrong- I love all things pumpkin. Pie, rolls, cake, bread, cookies and another assorted fat filled desserts that contain this orange wonder.

But at this point, I am trying to stay away from these types of food.

So...I'll light a Pumpkin Spice Latte candle instead.

Breathe deeply. 

And I'll spend the day dreaming about jack-o-lanterns, good coffee, 

and my mom's warm pumpkin bread.

An Apple A Day Makes Me Want To Scream

Do you ever find yourself disliking people just because they are doing something you can't? Or won't? Or are simply too lazy, lame, or otherwise preoccupied to attempt?

I really, really love my husband. Truly, I do. But his precise and analytical mind is about to drive me bonkers! Who knew that starting a diet and health regimen would be so darn rigid and demanding? Who would have guessed he would walk the line so exact? That he would never fall off for the taste of nachos grande or chocolate covered cherries or thick potato soup swimming in cheese?

Seriously, this man has blinders on. All he sees is lettuce and protein shakes and sharpened pencils that calculate daily weight, calories, meals and balances. His diet diary is neater than the checkbook of an obsessive/compulsive accountant. And - get this- he actually thinks running is fun!

"How big was that apple," he'll say.

"Average." I'll answer.

"Well, which is it, Woman!? Large, medium, or small?

" Medium, I guess."

"Three and a quarter inches diameter, or two, or more?" He questions me impatiently.

I go dig the tape measure out of my sewing kit and am tempted to grab the scissors also. The movie Psycho flies through my mind for a quick moment, but I instead I run to measure the last apple in the fruit bowl.

"Ugh...three point seven eight inches exactly"' I announce breathlessly- my lips curled in an attacking pit bull pose.

The sorta "dislike" I mentioned earlier starts to fill my veins about that time.

But, you know what?

I look at this man.

Really see him with new eyes.

He has lost over fifty pounds in four months!

And his determination and inspiration has gotten me to shed twenty pounds of my own.

It is actually a blessing and not a curse that he graphs this thing out like a blueprint. If not for him, I would be shoving Hershey bars into my mouth and guessing they were fifty calories...or so.

I would be sitting on the couch watching American Pickers instead of walking thirty minutes on the treadmill.

I would have reasons like broken nails, an aching back, and the stuffed -crust -pizzas -were -on -sale -how-could-I-possibly-pass-them-up? excuse.

We are a team.

I may not always jot down the nutritional value of every avocado, walnut or cherry tomato I stick in my mouth, but I'm learning that it all adds up. I'm realizing that the excuse of not having enough time doesn't work anymore. We give up about an hour and a half of TV every other night to work out at the gym. I don't miss it at all. And the gym fees per month are less than one Pizza Hut carry out meal a week.

And when I glance over at him on the treadmill- his face sweating, his breath heavy, his eyes focused forward-  I'm glad I am along on this ride. 

We already feel like younger souls...

Face it, my husband would never find clean socks, know how to mop the kitchen floor, or ever remember to clean the lint trap on the dryer. 

That's what I'm here for.

But without him, this journey would be boring, haphazard, uneven, disorganized and useless.

And I would never have known that Chili's Awesome Onion Blossom is 2,130 calories.

I still don't measure my apples.

I don't count the raisins on my dinner salad.

And I haven't kept up my diet diary since Day 2.

But that's never gonna change....even if I do!

No Map Needed

I gave myself a new title this weekend.
I am an explorer.
How else can you describe a person who delights in wandering aimlessly through the woods in order to spy a lopsided toadstool or the falling of a sassafras leaf?
What better name can you attribute to a woman whose  bowed head stays focused on smooth rocks, hidden wild flowers, and nature's souvenirs?
Or...with eyes titled upward to focus on the outline of pine trees, the blueness of the sky - the roundness of the moon?

This weekend at the cabin I found myself with childlike eyes again- anxious to  kick up crimson colored leaves and overturn tiny stones and peek beneath the fleshy sprout of a new mushroom. While my husband mowed the yard, I disappeared into the edge of the woods with my camera. I know from experience that these treasures do not last long...
The sunlight on yellow leaves will fade after noon.
The toadstools will wither and rot, or be eaten by rodents.
Trees with a ball of red leaves will become bare in time.
Polished rocks will become hidden beneath rain soaked soil.
And I will lose the innocence of a young girl.

Responsibilities will make me cynical once more. Days will make me weak and frail and uninterested in what Mother Nature offers.
Later, there will not be enough time...

That evening I told my husband that when I am finished exploring that place, then I will die.
Because I could explore it forever.
It is constantly changing-  perpetually revealing hidden colors and pleasant treasures and perfumes that make my lungs sing.
The shadows shift, the light dances, the narrow paths open up to other worlds...
Temperatures change, sounds echo, pine trees whisper words I've yet to learn...

I delighted in finding new gifts. I took with me the tiniest acorn I had ever seen, with its little top hat still in place. And a sharp rock that looks like the face of an owl. A red spotted leaf, a white stone the size and shape of a penny, and a rusty hinge that was half buried in last years wood pile.

These are simple things, I know. Things that most people never care about or rarely see.
But to me- they are my bounty, my prize, my proof of miracles.

And I am an explorer.

What I Will Do Today

It's quiet here this morning. The sun is just now coming in the window with yellow light. Green trees still shadow the yard, yet a month from now they will be thin and brown and at the mercy of the wind.

It's these sweet early moments that cause thankfulness to rise up in my heart. How wonderful a soft woolen sweater feels! How delicious a cup of black coffee! How intoxicating the scent of a pumpkin candle glowing in the other room!

And this day is mine...I can choose how to live it.

I will choose to work a bit. The recent rains have fed the grass and made mowing a weekly chore once again. I will crank up the mower and my lawn mowing music and pave perfect rows across the yard. All the while, I am alert to fallen leaves with hints of purple and yellow, the way sunlight on the pond looks like shredded gold, and the hop, hop, fly of timid birds. Can this really be considered work when I am renovated by it? Spiritually awakened? At peace...

I will also choose to clean house today...for awhile. There is an unspoken pleasure at the sight of freshly vacumned carpet, the shine of polished wood, the way fabric-softened towels stack up in thick rainbow-colored piles.

I will stretch my mind today. Open the door to flowered words ...and try my best to make my brain say what my heart feels. Moments are lost if not for words. But the secret is to write them down in such a way -that years later, with just the simple act of reading it again, can cause waves of emotion that take you back in time. My effort is not lost if one day my children and grandchildren can read what I've written and somehow know me.

I will talk to my husband on the phone today. He will call on his break and we will discuss weekend plans. We'll laugh. We will reach across the September miles with invisible arms and hug one another.
I will eat the pear I've been saving. It is the color of honey with caramel freckles and I will probably need a napkin as I savor it quickly down to its skinny brown core. Then I will have shaved ham with a slice of white cheese and a fat red tomato. I may even dig in the cabinet past the old Cream of Wheat and stale crackers to find a hidden block of chocolate that melts like pure joy on my tongue.
I will greet this day with hope, happiness and gratitude. For without those things, what is life?

Having Faith

It's funny how little things happen in your life- 

and then later you realize they were big things.

I got a phone call last night and someone is coming 

to look at the house on Thursday. 

Chances are, our house will be on the market for several months, but there is also a chance that phone call 

may change our entire life...

Our plan for many years now has been to settle at the cabin. 

(I call it Final Roots.)

We are at the point that we don't need extra bedrooms, 

fancy decor, 

neighbors, 

or a yard to show off. 

Our mind is set on a huge garden, 

bird houses, chickens, tranquility 

and a cozy little home. 

A place where we can rock on the porch, 

ride 4-wheelers in the creek, 

and see millions of stars in the night sky.

I see it as a place where I can set up an easel and paint- 

or have a work table full of smooth gourds

ready to be explored  -

or stained glass pieces wanting to be assembled 

into a window for the kitchen.

I can also see my husband in his overalls and cap

welding a metal gate for the path,

carving a cypress branch into a walking stick,

and tinkering on everything and nothing

like men sometimes do.

Don't get me wrong.

I love this house...

I remember the first time I saw it.

It was small, and baby blue

and the yard hadn't been mowed all season.

There was a Harley-Davidson sticker

on the kitchen door,

a pile of metal in the fence row

and a grove of pine trees that showed signs of decay.

It wasn't even for sale.

But I prayed.

We needed a home where the kids could go

to the only school they had ever known.

We needed a yard.

A porch.

A place to call our own.

For almost two years we had lived in

the back of my husband's plumbing shop/laundromat.

I hated it.

But, as with most things, I hated it with a smile-

and tried to make the best of it.

The first time I walked through the yard at this house,

I knew in my heart that this is where I was going to live.

My husband convinced the owner to sell,

we convinced the bank to give us a loan,

and we forced demanded asked the kids to help fix it up.

I remember it being so cold while we renovated

that my coffee froze in the cup,

my daughter Becca fell through the bathroom floor,

and it took days and days to strip the place

down to the studs.

The kids were actually good sports.

They learned to use drills, hammers, pry bars

and (to their advantage) -bathroom breaks.

They buttered foundation blocks, mixed mortar,

fetched wires, carried insulation, rolled paint

and sanded drywall.

We were quite a team.

And, with all of us pitching in-

we made a dream come true.

But the kids are all out of the nest now.

Their bedrooms are empty of school awards,

favorite pillows and photos of friends.

There are no dirty tennis shoes on the floor,

wrinkled clothes in the corners,

or late night phone chats that drift down the hallway.

During the day, it's just me and the dog.

At night, it's me and my husband and the dog and the TV.

And empty rooms that never get used

except for an occasional overnight guest.

This is the sort of house that needs to be filled with laughter

and slumber parties and jelly on the kitchen chairs.

This yard needs to be busy with baited fishing hooks,

the thump of basketballs,

the joy of capturing fireflies...

The house needs a new family to love.

And I hope it finds one...

I've learned that simple little things

can become big things when you pray...

But I also know that the plans you have for yourself

are sometimes not the plans that God has for you.

You just gotta hold on and have faith.

And enjoy every minute of the journey...

Tongues Are A Waggin'

I live in a little community where the most exciting thing to happen in awhile is having our potholes filled with asphalt. We have a post office, a bank, a gas station and a grocery store. A school, some churches, and lots of corn fields.

But right down the road in the neighboring town is something that recently set gossipy tongues on fire.

They built a strip club.

Now, this isn't just a little hole in the wall.
It's not a saloon wedged in between the antiques barn and the condemned video store.
It's not the old fix-it shop converted into a theater.

It's a giant pink and purple pole barn that advertises GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS!
(And more).
At night, three neon X's light up the rooftop.
It's gaudy, tasteless and really has no business in this little town.

But honestly, I pass the place nearly every day and rarely give it a thought. As long as the dancers, patrons and whatever else goes on there stays inside, then let them be.

(I do believe in Karma, though, if you know what I mean....)

This morning as I was taking my husband to work, and we were approaching the club, his head suddenly jerked to stare out the window.

"Looky there..." he sighed. "Oh, myyyyyyyy ...my goodness..."

I jumped into Alert Mode and strained to see if some half-clothed floozy had stepped from the pink party lights into the soybean-dusty air.
I half expected to see a blow-up doll of carnival proportions flying above the interstate.

But no.

My dear husband was breaking his neck to see four John Deere tractors with bush hogs lined up by the roadway.

Whew! Close call! He sure was lucky!
Because my wrist slapper was feeling particularly well-oiled this morning and my elbows were nice and sharp for rib punching.

Then he said it was a sure sign of growing old when you get excited about tractors instead of tramps skanks lovely dancing ladies.

And we laughed about it.

Places like this strip club come and go.
And most likely this one will go soon.

After some research, I found out it's a $15 cover charge, you have to bring your own booze, and customers rated the dancers a 2 on a 10 point scale.

A 2.

No wonder those tractors looked so sexy!

Hello, You Two!

Dear Two People Who Read My Blog,

Kinda sucks when you pour your heart out and your audience leaves the room.
Or worse yet, doesn't even show up for your party.
I'm feeling that way today...
Maybe it's the fact that I haven't taken the time to reciprocate by visiting you all. Don't blame you, really.

 Sorry.

I'm in this funky limbo lately.
Can't shake it.
Feel like I need to do something creative, but nothing comes out.
I call it Creative Constipation.

And, hey- it hurts!

So, I think I'll go right back where I was a few months ago.
AWOL.

 But you two really won't mind, will you?

So...see you when I see you!
Much love to you both!