Saturday, October 26, 2013

King Pumpkin

(Dorian starts to doze off while eating corn chips)
"Dorian! You're falling asleep with food in your mouth. Stop that."
"Mmf?...I was...contemplating the corn."

Me, trying to get out of bed to feed Akhim: "I love you."
Dorian, rolling over in his sleep and seizing my pants: "I love you, pants demon!"

"They said they had the strobe lights, but I lied. Don't worry, I'll protect you. Tobacco is a local product, it can't be grown in Iceland."

"I'm trying to wake up, but...there's...I'm trying to figure out what's real..."
(Akhim climbs onto Dorian, settles down and sits on Dorian's rear end.)
"...There's a cat on my butt...there's...lidless, upside down Tupperware stretching all the way from me to forever...and I'm looking into the Tupperware and there's all these connections to things and I'm trying to figure out what connections to connections are real and what connections to the Tupperware aren't real and I'm waking up...I guess I don't have three arms...oh, good, the only thing that was real was the cat butt."

* * *

Years and years ago, when I was very young, my family took a trip to Door County during Pumpkinfest. There were pumpkins everywhere, including on fence posts. According to my father, while my mother and I were off doing something, some other person knocked one of these post pumpkins off its perch, and my father (quick reflexes that he has) kicked out at the last second and saved the pumpkin from smashing against the hard concrete below by catching it between his foot and shin, perfectly balanced.

My mother and I still insist we don't believe that this happened.

Anyway, Dorian has heard this story...

"Your dad is sitting on the king pumpkin."
"Great Pumpkin."
"He caught it with his foot."

1 comment:

  1. Well, you and your mother weren’t off doing something. We were walking single file with I forget who else. I was trailing. A pumpkin was jostled and fell off a post. It was dangerously cold, as I recall, my hands were deep in my pockets. I was forbidden by the fates to use them. The crowd was distracted by the hubbub of fall activity and not hyper-alert to the surroundings, as was I. Now, some might say that what I did was heroic, but I believe I did nothing more than what any selfless, brave, battle-weary warrior would have done when faced by an irresistible force threatening children and citizens with a slipping hazard the likes of which were unseen on the sidewalks that day. I stuck out my foot. The wayward pumpkin nestled atop my shoe and I stood for a few seconds perfectly balanced on one foot (for I knew, on an instinctual level, that if I stood with both feet in the air, I would fall and the danger of the splattered pumpkin would have been a horrifying reality). Conceding my Überhuman efforts, the overpowered fates relinquished control of my hands and I was able to reposition the gourd to its original perch. The world continued safely on its axis.
    I looked around to see who might have witnessed my miraculous feat, but an unwary populace went about its routine. It was just as well, I thought. I didn’t need the accolades and riches that the grateful celebrants would have bestowed.
    But you, unable to contain your pride, decided to share the story with the Internets. I will brace myself for the unsought attention, heartened, at least, that you will be warmed by the glow of the spotlight shining on me. I guess you have a right to tell the story as long as you tell it right.
    P.S. Although there is a danger that a few skeptics my believe I am embellishing the details, it probably was The Great Pumpkin.

    Theren O’Royden