The Great Pumpkin Chase

The train wails its insistent call. I don't think about it very often, though several of them pass close to our home every day (and night). It sounds like Mayberry to me, probably because my MawMaw's house was next to the tracks in Smyrna. Even though there were no toys, no frills, no fancy food where she lived, those times were full of cousin adventures, plenty of mud, grass stains and railroad track events. We would scavenge for empty Coke bottles along the tracks and behind the strip mall on the other side. The grocery store would give us a nickel for each bottle we turned in. Then we'd traipse, barefooted and filthy, to G.B.'s diner and buy ice cream cones. The purveyor would give us massive scoops, probably sympathizing for what appeared to be poor street urchins. When we arrived home at night, sticky and tired, Mama would send us to the bathroom and instruct us not to come out until we were double-scrubbed. The older I've gotten, the more I have grown to appreciate her clean, well-lit house and all the order that was there. My own nature is undisciplined, messy, haphazard with anything that requires consistency. I have worked very hard most of my life, but creative and social meandering is hard-wired into my DNA. The cobwebs are just about to make me insane right now, so maybe I'll muster up some focus soon. We don't celebrate Halloween but maybe I should leave them up for decor. 

Speaking of focus, last night was our twin grandchildrens' birthday (and 10-year old Titus is in a few days too)...so we pot-lucked with yummy soups and home-baked bread slathered with Irish butter. There was pumpkin carving, a fun and terribly messy affair. Everyone was sawing away at their projects, producing some amazing results. Eventually, either because of finishing or simple boredom, the kids began to drift away and the adults stood around talking. The cheap little tools started to break, but our eldest son Jon and I were still hunkered down over our pumpkins. The light was fading, so flashlights were turned on in our determination to finish. He and I both have the ability to forget the rest of the world when we're neck deep in something we are interested in. They had to drag us inside to eat. There was soup, terrible singing (a Norton tradition), cake and presents. Grateful grandkids, a precious commodity in this day and time. 

Ken had to work, so I drove home alone, full of joy and contentment in the cool night air. Life is good. But I do believe I'm going to invest in some real wood-carving tools for next year. Can't stop thinking about those pumpkins...