Pumpkin Festival

A few years ago someone, who shall remain nameless (since I don't know who it was), came up with the idea to "borrow" from Keene, NH and start a pumpkin festival.

What exactly, you may ask, is a pumkin festival? Around here it might be the night when the locals go feral and start knawing on the pumpkin heads of innocent scarcrows. But why limit them to one night? (I do not qualify as a local yet. I haven't been here long enough and I am still shunned by the good christians who live here. Oh my God! Who said that? It wasn't me. I must have been possessed by some vampirical pumpkin).

Okay, a little digression, but I'm back. And no. I'm not bitter.

Ah, the pumpkin festival. Celebrating that most pagan of holidays, Samhain. Townsfolk bring their carved pumpkins to the village green during the day. They are set up for display on tables, chairs and haybales. Then, around dusk, the jack-o-lanterns are lit. The road is closed. The band is set up and ready to play. Popcorn is popped and cider mulled. A cresent moon glows in the deepening sky. And the locals arrive, many with small people, some of whom are spookily attired.  And some of whom are the requisite princess.

There is a spooky haunted graveyard covered thickly in "fog" and making it very difficult to breathe. The spooks in the graveyard are mostly third graders standing on the side and then jumping in front of trespassers as they wander along the path. They are not particularly scary but they are having too much fun to care.

As night descends the true artistry of the illuminated carved pumpkins reveals itself. Some are amazing. Some are traditional. But the best ones are those that were carved by the kids. Without help from an adult.

At the peak of this two hour event, the green is mobbed. It's too dark to really see who people are. There is a steady flow of bodies moving past the display. The band is in Pink Floyd mode, playing "Dark Side Of The Moon", and the only screams coming from the haunted graveyard are those of the self-appointed scarers.

About a half hour before the event ends, the cider, hot chocolate and popcorn starts to run out. The crowd thins and one-by-one the jack-o-lanterns start to disappear as they go home with their owners.

Our third grader has spent the evening with his cronies trying to scare people. He seems unconcerned that he didn't really have a good look at the pumpkins. And, because we stayed until the bitter end, he's ready to go without complaint. It's cold and he's tired.

Promptly at eight, the band thanks everyone for coming and launches into their final offering. A rock/heavy metal version of Louis Armstrong's "Wonderful World".


A fitting ending.

Musings on Small Town Relationships

Yesterday I was reading a magazine article about friendship. How having friends is necessary for your health and how friendships change as we move through our lives.


The author gave an anecdote about picking up her child at school and trying to make small talk with another mom. The other mom was, to put it kindly, unreceptive to the author's attempt to connect. The author felt that it may have been that the other mom was just not very social, until some more moms arrived and the other mom was at the center of the gaggle.

When I read this it gave me pause, because this is how I feel about many of the moms in my small town. When I pick up my son from school, which I try not to do too often, this is the very scene that meets my eyes. Groups - no cliques - of moms standing in their little circles. Excluding. There are a few of us, the excluded, who smile a brief sympathetic smile to each other. This is a place we hate to be. It's more than just being alone in a crowd. It's being ostracized by the crowd.

High school never ends for some people. They never really grow up. Just move from clique to clique.

One mom in particular has a son who, at one time, was in my son's class in school. The boys are involved in the same activities/teams, and yet not only will she not speak to me, she will not make eye contact with me. I happened to see her in the grocery store one day recently and I actually went out of my way to avoid crossing paths with her, which created a great deal of anxiety and I ended up rushing aimlessly around the store. Just so I wouldn't have to make the pretense of being polite to someone who wouldn't reciprocate. In the end, it was futile for our paths crossed anyway. I tried to be pleasant and said "hi". I got a terse, barely audible "hi" in reply. With no eye contact past the moment of recognition.
You may think, well - don't be polite, just ignore her. But, see, here's the thing. I wasn't brought up that way. I was brought up to be polite and outwordly friendly to an acquaintance.

I'm trying to get over that.

And I'm trying to understand the blatant judgemental dislike this woman has for me. Obviously, I can't let it go.

But, owing to the season, I can offer a theory...

She's a witch.

Books, Coffee and Trader Joes

Books are probably one of the most important things in my life (next to my son and coffee - GOOD coffee). Now if only I smoked, eh?

As mentioned in yesterday's post, bookstores are scarce around here. One of the the first things I missed when I moved away from suburban sprawl was Trader Joes. The second thing I missed was Barnes & Noble. A big bookstore with a cafe serving Starbucks in the back, and only about a mile and a half from home.

That bookstore was a destination for me. I'd go in, get a coffee, and browse the new age section, the children's section, the magazine racks. Get a bunch of stuff to peruse and go find a place to sit. If I was lucky it was one of the comfy chairs.

Then we moved and I pined. I pined for the bookstore. I pined for a nearby Starbucks. I pined for Trader Joes.

I have very simple needs. Good coffee, a good book and good, inexpensive food.

My Mom and I took a road trip to the nearest Trader Joes a couple of days ago. It's a 60 mile roundtrip drive (Trader Joes are you listening?) I'll go back again sometime before Christmas. After that it'll be a few months until I make another trip. sigh.

A Starbucks appeared in the hood a couple of years ago. When I say "in the hood" what I really mean is that it's in the next town over which is about 8 miles away. But I go. I have to go. The same town has the only decent bookstore within miles, although there's no cafe. But they do carry a great selection of bags. As in purses. As in cool accessories. As in I'm a girl, okay?

And cards and journals too.

It's a tradeoff. Today I will suffer through a cup of joe I make for myself. And it will probably give me a headache. But I get to live in a town where chickens wander along the side of the road, there are only three traffic lights, and rush-hour is the backup in front of the elementary school during morning drop off.

Across from the school and down the road maybe a quarter of a mile is a view of the river as it winds it's way through town. This time of year it's a sight to behold. The river becomes glass and the sky and foliage reflect like mirror images. It reminds me to breath. Which is good because I'm usually stuck behind someone doing the speed limit.