MARTHA WOULD NOT APPROVE

I woke up this fine autumn morning thinking about my kids when they were little and how they used to love decorating the house with me for the current holiday.

I thought when they got older they would think it strange want me to stop, but it was just the opposite. I didn't decorate one year for a holiday and they wanted to know if I was dying. They missed the candles the most, always the candles.

Fourth of July meant American flags everywhere, on tables and the flower beds, red, white and blue table clothes adorning the kitchen and dining room tables. St. Patrick’s Day saw Green Eggs and Ham for breakfast, green confetti all over the floors, sticking to their pajama feet. What a mess to clean up, but well worth the fun. I usually threw a big party to coincide with my birthday. The house would be packed and we always had a great time, Irish music blaring, singing Dady Brothers in my living room before I knew one. Easter was the time of bunnies, baskets and candy. The mantle would boast tacky looking little angels, taffeta and colored eggs and the aroma of fresh baked Easter bread would waft through the house. My daughter-in-law has continued that tradition.

Thanksgiving and Christmas had the more traditional decor. Since I had more time, I tried my hand at Martha like adornments, trying to create wreaths and centerpieces. Martha would not have approved. I wasn't very successful, kept burning my fingers on the glue gun, but it was an experience to both remember and avoid. I settled on buying fresh green wreaths, the smell of balsam drifting everywhere. The lights were hung outside and the snow always made the finishing touch, a light dusting on the illumination of the frame of a party house.

But the Mother of all holiday decorating endeavors was Halloween. I decorated for the holiday like there was no tomorrow, pulling out all the stops. I'd dress up as a witch, donning a long black dress, green paint on my face and hands, and a big pointy black hat. It was truly a time to bring out the kid in me. I think my children had as much fun as I did preparing for the big night.

Some years we would tape a mini play to be broadcasted throughout the neighborhood, complete with sound effects and maniacal laughter in the background. I knew it was getting a little too intense when the younger kids wouldn't turn up my walk. Chains rattling and were wolves howling, I started saving that for the bigger kids, later in the evening. The little ones would dance to One Eyed Purple People Eater, Thriller and Monster Mash. The neighbors always got a kick out of it.

Pumpkins carved and set in the front of the house, my teenagers got into it as they got older, helping me hand out the candy and dressing up to scare.

Music blaring from the house, I would meet the little goblins at the end of the driveway. The recognition would light up their faces, “Oh it's her again, the crazy witch lady!”

Grabbing tight to their parent’s hand, some of them wouldn't even come to the end of the driveway. “Mama, that lady is scary, lets go to the next one!”

Other parents looked forward to it along with their little ghosts and Indian princesses, murmuring to themselves “Wow, she outdid herself this time.” Candles everywhere, music screaming, they would give me a knowing wink or a hug, and which I know meant “Thanks for being silly, you did it again, a regular scare fest.”

The house is long gone and the kids have grown up, moved to new houses of their own in other places, making memories of their own for the grandchildren. But I like to think they know that the crazy lady still lives, alive and kicking and still 12 years old in her heart. I’ll do you proud, kids. Remember the laughter and imagine the pumpkins. I'll be waiting for you.

BLOOMING SURPRISE

When we shopped for our annual batch of spring blossoms for our yard this year, we also received a mystery plant. Tucked in beside the begonias and the hydrangeas were a bunch of greenery that no one knew the name of.

“Plant it” they said simply, “ and find out what it is.”

So we did. My mind began to race with the multiple analogies I could create out this experience.

Not judging a book by its cover.

A rose among the thorns.

Beauty and the beast.

As our rainy spring turned into the equally rainy summer, we watched and waited.

The combination of one day sunny followed by two days of rain became the norm for the week, and when there was a break in the mist we trimmed and pulled and shaped our beautiful flowers, now lush and full because of summer’s heat.

We still didn’t know what our mystery flower was, until we began to see the tell tale yellow blossoms and giant green elephant leaves.

“Ah yes” a neighbor decided, chin cuffed between two fingers.

”It’s a zucchini plant.”

“Great!” we both responded, for we loved squash.

We went to sleep dreaming of ratatouille with pasta, zucchini bread and glorious chunks of the vegetable mixed with olive oil, parsley and crusty Italian bread.

But the pretty yellow flowers just kept blooming and blooming, producing nothing. Definitely out of place, the hardy vines grew strong and thick amongst the delicate blooms and colorful posies.


Finally, one evening I noticed a green stem protruding from the base of the flower, but had no one to share the discovery with except the dogs.

“Look! A zucchini!” They cocked their heads in unison and looked at me as if to say “…..and? If it something we can’t eat, we ain’t interested.”

Even though it was only one stem, I thought for sure more would show up eventually.

Knowing ‘a watched pot doesn’t boil’, I purposely denied myself from looking at my newly found discovery for a few days.

Imagine my surprise when I went to check on it this morning.

It’s not a zucchini.

It’s a pumpkin.

I have my very own pumpkin patch growing amongst the flowers. Planted there by unsuspecting farmers, the most obvious of all analogies appeared right before my eyes.

Bloom where you’re planted.