Pumpkin Patch Blues

I love this time of year. Brisk afternoons, brilliant blue skies....and most importantly, holidays. Just thinking about the impending fun of Halloween, feasts of Thanksgiving, and sweet, sacredness of Christmas makes me giddy. Those quirky rituals that my family insists on celebrating year in and year out are what makes this time of year so memorable and full of anticipation, so who could blame me when in a momentary lapse of sanity, (perhaps it was all of that cool, fresh air) I decide that my little girl, A, at the ripe old age of 20 months is ready to create some holiday memories of her own. First stop: the pumpkin patch. What better place for an afternoon breakdown, I mean, an afternoon of creating new traditions.

I check the Internet for the nearest pumpkin patch and discover one that is just thirty miles south of town. Convinced of its sincerity, I print out the directions and slip into my seasonal, but subtle, pumpkin t-shirt. A, too, puts on her pumpkin t-shirt. (Of course, they don't match...that would be too over-the-top.) I grab the directions, and we are on our way.....

Exactly thirty miles into our trip, the time we should be arriving, A begins to whine, so I offer her a pacifier then look to T, "How many miles have we been?"

"I don't know about thirty."

"It is only supposed to be thirty miles from our house."

A, who loves car trips, tosses her pacifier and whines with even more vigor. Taking our snacks for the pumpkin patch, I appease our own little pumpkin. Thirty miles later, now snack less, we finally reach our destination. Signpost number 1 on the highway of realizing that this afternoon will probably not be the picturesque Rockwell painting I am hoping for. Number 2 is soon to follow.

Travis takes A out of the car, and hand-in-hand, we begin the ascent from the parking lot to the actual pumpkin patch. All is well until A decides that she no longer wants to hold our hands, so she flings herself into oncoming traffic and flails about on the ground. Acting as if this is completely normal behavior, I pick her up and carry my screeching child to the entrance.

The scene that unfolds immediately captures A's attention. A quaint hillside has been transformed into a lively carnival. Barns are filled with jack-o-lanterns and scarecrows, watching weary parents chase their children down a steep hill, admonishing them not to enter the hayride without permission. The excitement has apparently rendered the youngsters deaf and they, of course, ignore the warnings.

"Ball!" A screams and points to a wagon full of tiny pumpkins. Sensing an excellent photo-op, I put A down and watch her walk over to the wagon, pick up the miniature gourd and toss it to the ground. "Ball!" she shouts proudly. I rush over to make sure the $3.00 pumpkin is still intact. "Pumpkin, sweetheart," I say. "That is a pumpkin. Hold it and smile for mommy." A turns from me and throws another gourd. "Smile for mommy. Say cheese."

"Cheesh," she says, looking down at the ground.

"Look up baby. Mommy wants to see your face in the picture. Hold the pumpkin and say cheese." I snap frantically,waiting for the smile that I expect one to be wearing at a pumpkin patch. I look around to see about five other sets of parents on their knees, begging, pleading with their toddlers to smile. Did I mention toddlers? Truthfully, we parents are the real Kodak moment. Asking our little ones to cease discovering the world with wonder, hold up a pumpkin, and pose on cue. All we need is the organ grinder.

I throw my hands up in defeat and find T in line for the hayride. A and I join him and soon we are sitting in the back of a wagon on bales of hay slowly plodding through the woods on our way to choose a pumpkin. A's face is actually gleeful as she bumps along, waving to those left behind in line. Finally, the picture I've been trying to get for hours. We pull up to rows of dusty vines filled with rather sad, disfigured pumpkins. A jumps down and runs toward the orange "balls", eventually tripping and flying through the air. I run to dust off her t-shirt and make sure she's all right, and before I can get to her, she is off again. "This," she says confidently, pointing to a pumpkin. T and I look around and agree that it is probably the best one in the bunch. Picking up the pumpkin we head back to the line for the wagon ride back. Things seem to be finally going as planned.

What is it they say? We plan, God laughs?? An elderly volunteer is counting us off, trying to get as many as possible into the wagon. After about a twenty minute wait, in the warm, dusty patch, he sends T, A, and me through the line, but we are abruptly turned back from the full wagon. No big deal, another one will be there soon. Unless in your twenty month old mind, you think that is it, and you will not be repeating the highlight of your day. I slowly head back to the line with A in my arms, when the reality hits her. Her lip begins to quiver and she exhales a wail that would wake the dead. I try to explain that we are next in line, but A is rolling in the dust as large tears drip off the edge of her nose. The man behind me in line laughs. I didn't get a good look at his face for fear that my glare would have turned him to stone. Finally, the wagon returns, and we take our pumpkin to the car and drive home, dusty, hot, thirsty, and tired.

The next evening we decide to start another tradition: carving the pumpkin. Surely A will love this. Running around the yard in a diaper, squishing orange gunk with her toes. We plop the pumpkin down in the front yard and begin to remove the insides and draw the outline for the eyes and mouth. A is fascinated for about thirty seconds then she runs to the side of the house, looks to me, and asks, "Dell?"

"No sweetheart. I don't think Dell would be very interested." Actually, our golden retriever would be more thrilled than A with the pumpkin carving, but I keep that to myself. A runs to the backyard to check on Dell, while T and I carve the pumpkin alone.

At dusk, we decide to light our jack-o-lantern. A and I sit on the front porch steps, watching Travis ignite the small candle. Jack's mug begins to glow, and Anna's own face lights up as well. Still wearing only her diaper and a dirty t-shirt, she leans forward and points to the pumpkin's eyes. "Eye," she says. For a moment, she is mesmerized. The three of us sit together in the twilight watching the glow, and I hug A close. We are making a real memory, not an unnatural, imposed event for the sake of creating a tradition. This is a moment that I will always treasure, sitting on the front porch with the two I love most, watching the youngest filled with wonder. In my desperation to create for A the warm memories that I now treasure, I realize that I was just trying too hard earlier. I tuck the lesson away for later, but Christmas is just around the corner.....and there is this light display that we always liked to visit when I was a child....

Spin Revue

I don't know what it is, but I have a funny relationship with music as it relates to working out. I have discovered that this is especially true in spin. I don't know if you've ever taken a spin class, but it is easily the most difficult workout that I have ever attempted. You basically bike to music at high intensity without any rest period for sixty minutes. I have found that spin class is now ruining songs that I once really liked.

I first discovered this phenomenon in college when I was taking an aerobics class. The instructor always played "I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles." (Not that I had a particular affinity toward this song to begin with) I think that is the name of it. Was it the Pretenders or I can't remember who sings it, but he used that song for the most difficult part of the class, and whenever I would hear it outside of class, I immediately became winded.

In spin, during sprints, the instructors seem to enjoy playing REM's "End of the World." I like this song, something about Tommy Boy, but whenever I hear it, I picture David Spade and Chris Farley singing in the car, and I laugh. I think we can all relate to acting like we actually know the words to that one. Now when I hear it, my legs ache and I want to cry. I also like Nickelback's "Rockstar," but no, that now reminds me of horrible hill climbs. Something as innocent and fun as "It's Raining Men" is now a sprint song, as well. Songs I enjoy are slowly becoming painful reminders of pedaling to exhaustion.

Even the tunes that Anna and I listen to on Radio Disney aren't safe. I'll admit it. I like Corbin Bleu's "Push It to the Limit." You know, he's one of the kids from High School Musical. My spin instructor played that in class on Wednesday. Now instead of wanting to dance when I hear it, I'll have memories of sprints again. Don't get me wrong, I love spin for the challenge that it provides, but I don't want to be reminded of something that almost brings me to tears every time I participate.

Maybe this is why I listen to talk radio when I run. I can remember what segment was playing during certain runs and where I was on the trail during that segment. Seriously, when I was training for a half-marathon this spring, I remember that Andy Phillips was on the Rick and Bubba show and I was just passing Homewood High School in my run. I can also remember that Dunaway and Brown were doing their pick 3 when I was running by Brookwood Mall two weeks ago. It's weird, but, you usually only hear those segments one time.

The only type of music that is safe from being spoiled for me is cool down music. The instructors I have usually play praise and worship music for cooldown, which is perfect. For one, your finished with class, but it also reminds me that God gave me the physical ability and opportunity to participate in class and for that He deserves praise. It always leaves me wanting to do it again. Maybe as I become a better biker, the music will start to serve as a reminder of success. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go listen to my High School musical soundtrack.....

Topsy Turvy

The PAC-10's mighty roar sounds more like a meow after Stanford stunned USC Saturday night and UCLA fell victim to an, until then, WINLESS Notre Dame. Victory could not have tasted much sweeter for Les Miles, whose risky calls allowed the Tigers to eek past Florida, but we all know his grin widened when the final of the USC game was announced. LSU is undeniably the number 1 team in the nation, for now. The bigger question is, who deserves the all-important number 2 spot?

It seems that the pollsters in their infinite wisdom have crowned fellow PAC-10 rival Cal #2 in the land. Is that because they beat a mid-pack SEC team? Is it because they beat a "tough" Oregon team? Must we have a PAC-10 team in the number 2 spot because their conference has been heralded as the second toughest in the land? I know I'll be cheering for another "upset" when Cal meets USC on the field. Let's mix things up even more, shall we?

What about Ohio State? Did their 2006 championship game loss to Florida also cause them to lose their status as media darling? South Florida, anyone? They toppled the then highly-ranked West Virginia Mountaineers and an Auburn team, that seems to have finally found its rhythm.

Is there a one loss team that is more deserving of the number two spot than Cal? South Carolina looked impressive against Kentucky. If the SEC is the best conference and South Carolina's loss came to a fellow SEC team then.....? Oklahoma played well against a Texas team that struggled against a Kansas State team that, until Saturday, had been playing good football.

How tough are the Big 12, Big East, Big 10 really? Another question that must be answered before choosing for the coveted number 2. Obviously pollsters still feel that the SEC and PAC-10 are the two toughest conferences, or do they? Why did USC fall all the way to number 10? Weren't they number 2? The second best team in the country? Now they rank below West Virginia, who I don't think deserves to be ranked that highly.

In a year where so many top-ranked teams have been upset, I think all of this question asking begs an even greater question: How do we know who should fill the number 2 spot? Obviously, polls are unreliable. Why is the number 2 team on the totem poll so important? They get to play for the national championship, a championship that truly doesn't amount to much. Why, you ask? Just look at how well those human voters, entering numbers for the computer rankings, have done at picking and choosing thus far. Does anyone remember the Michigan pre-season hype???!! I think if this season has taught us anything thus far, it is that college football desperately needs a playoff. Tangible answers to hypothetical questions played out on the field, not mythical championships leaving legitimate teams on the outside looking in. But more on this later....

"Upset" in the Swamp

Auburn flags have once again returned to car windows everywhere, flapping proudly in the breeze, as in the drivers' minds, thoughts of a season-salvaging comback are percolating. I hope they do not end up with a pot of disappointment, though. (Isn't it funny how quickly boos for Brandon and cries for Tuberville's job can change to congratulatory cheers?)

I was not surprised by Saturday night's victory over Florida. Shocking, I know, especially from someone who has been concerned by a team riddled with inconsistency. Why the lack of astonishment? Because when Florida is ranked, Auburn, it seems, always has their number. I did not doubt that the Tigers could handle Florida, even in "the Swamp." I realize that this is a different team from the one last year, and in 2001, and in 1994. The truth remains that Auburn has won four out of the five last games when Florida is ranked in the top four. Auburn's loss to USF and struggle against Kansas State also don't appear so dismal, considering both of those teams also toppled highly ranked teams this weekend.

That being said, Auburn does look like a team poised for a comeback, but questions still remain. Week-in and week-out, can Tuberville effectively utilize the two quarterback format? Will he have to, or has Brandon Cox again found his rhythm? Will the return of Lester continue to revitalize Auburn's offense? While I agree that Auburn looks to be slowly finding its way, I remain cautiously optimistic. Optimistic enough to return my own Auburn flag proudly to its place in the front yard.

Thoughts on Smoke's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Weekend

From Auburn flags to checkered flags.... I do realize that many of you have abandoned race season entirely for football, but how can you turn away from a sport with so many characters, or should I say caricatures??? Tony Stewart, love him or hate him, and I know most of you do. After all, there is no in-between with Tony. After his short-lived image makeover, Stewart has once again re staked his claim on the position of NASCAR's bad boy. (And while future teammate, Kyle Busch, has tried to steal the moniker for himself, we all know he could never be taken seriously enough by fans or competitors to truly claim the title.)

Since the death of Dale Earnhardt, Sr., Tony has long felt it was up to him to fill the void that Earnhardt left in the sport. You know, showing newbies the ropes, even if it means using a little tough love on the unwitting rookies, letting reporters and competitors know where they stand, and when "wronged" by a fellow driver, always taking matters into his own hands. A polite shove on the track or after the race. For some reason, all of this helpfulness seems to have built up a little animosity. It seems that NASCAR has possibly grown tired of Stewart's loose cannon approach to life.

This weekend turned out to be a rough one for the driver of the number 20, much of it of his own making. While I don't condone coarse language in public or even in the home, Tony was having a private conversation with another driver. NASCAR made the right decision in not fining Tony, but vengeance can be taken other ways. All right, I'm not suggesting that NASCAR restarted the race after a long rain delay because Stewart was in first place (even though NASCAR tends to be controlling, they didn't make it rain, God controls the weather), but how hurriedly would the track have been readied if Gordon or Johnson had been in the lead? All right, maybe I am suggesting that. This is a governing organization that expanded the chase from 10 drivers to 12 to be sure that NASCAR's FAN sweetheart, Earnhardt, Jr., and NASCAR sweetheart Jeff Gordon were part of it.

Stewart was leading when the rain started, and it poured and poured, and then the shadows of evening began to set in. The race was beyond the half-way mark. On a track with no lights, I think the wise decision would have been to call the race and go home, but that would mean Stewart, a Stewart who "embarrassed" NASCAR on national television (more than once), would not only win the race but would be first in points. No conspiracy theories, just questioning their judgment, that's all. After the restart, within minutes, cars were flying all over the track. The oil and rubber were gone, leaving the track slick. NASCAR's decision seemed dangerous and was detrimental to many of the "chasers" they seem so quick to protect. Again, bad judgment on their part.


(Disclaimer, Tony Stewart is my favorite race-car driver. Why? Outside of being a great driver, one of the best, I think beyond the bad boy, Stewart has a big heart. Like most NASCAR drivers, he seems to follow the principle of to whom much is given, much is expected, and dedicates much of his time to charitable work. I think the NASCAR image is as much of an act as anything.)