Guts

I have fond memories of pumpkin carving as a child -but let’s be clear…my joy was not found in the carving but in the de-gutting.

 

The kitchen table was lined with newspaper as images of Pete Rose, LaRosa’s Pizza, and Lazarus underwear models gazed up at me… almost honored to have been invited to the sacred annual event.

Armed with a sharpie and a Chicago Cutlery steak knife, the world was at my fingertips. The dishwasher hummed as my mother wiped down the counters after dinner. “Christmas Through the Years” bellowed from the dining room as it filled the kitchen with the sweet sounds of  “The Merry Christmas Polka”.

Yes, Christmas was still two months away…but our mother was convinced that the Christmas season was just too short…so our family began enjoying Christmas music on September 23rd every year…just as we do with our kids today.

My brothers would meticulously mark their unique design on the face of their pumpkin, while I ravenously cut a crooked circle out of the top of mine. The design could wait…but my urge to feel the guts of the pumpkin could not.

No tools necessary, I would scoop the glorious orange fibers with my hands, squeezing them tightly until I felt the seeds shoot out of my grip….one by one. I repeated the process until I was eventually scraping the wall of the pumpkin with my fingernails. A spoon was only necessary for a perfectly smooth finishing touch.

I would then reach the anti-climatic conclusion and quickly draw my two triangle eyes…my triangle nose…and a five toothed grin (three on the top – two on the bottom)…my specialty. 

I would rush through my carving so I could begin separating the guts from the seeds that were scattered across the table. My brothers were still drawing.

My mom would collect my offerings on a cookie tray…tossing the seeds with butter and salt and toasting them while the others were busy carving. 30 minutes later…sweet seeds of the God’s were offered up…warm…nutty…buttery.

I would volunteer to clean up the guts from the table. My mom was probably fooled into thinking I was selfless and giving…but no. There was definitely something in it for me. One last squeeze. One last squish. Feel the  slimy strings between my fingers one last time.

Forlorn I would go to the kitchen sink – my reflection staring back at me through the dark of the night. I hesitantly ran my hands under the hot water. Feeling the  slime slowly slip away as I watched the last strands of pumpkin swirl down the drain. It was as if I was washing away the moment…knowing I would have to wait another year for that ecstasy to return.

The Christmas music would break my trance – reminding me that I had no reason to mourn. A new season was on it’s way.

All of these memories flooded my mind as our children carved their pumpkins. Bryce watched in shirtless anticipation as Tom prepared his pumpkin for him.

 

Bradley hesitantly watched as Tom used a scooper – cringing with each load of fibrous goo he extracted.

Wincing….turning his head…wishing it would hurry and be de-gutted so he could get busy carving.

He eventually agreed to scoop the remainder out with his spoon…but he was not excited.

Just when I thought all hope was lost…I heard a familiar squish…shadowed with squeals of delight.

 

Spoon resting on the table, Karah dug with her hands…squeezing the guts until seeds ricocheted off the table.

Long after the  pumpkins were carved – she was still found squeezing the goo. The sweetest look of contentment rested upon her face as “Baby It’s Cold Outside” hummed in the background.

She washed her dainty hands in the sink as I wished I could hear the thoughts of her mind. Was she saying goodbye as the remnants of her experience floated their circular path down the drain? 

Her eyes came back into focus – with a beaming smile on her face. Jim Reeves broke into “Jingle Bells”…             

A new season was on it’s way. 

(Bryce)

(Bradley)

(Karah – Note…three teeth on top – two on bottom)