Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Pumpkin Pastiche

Not-one-bit-extra is an apt motto for my mom.  Poor dear was born into wrong era.  Her brain power seriously under utilized.  Married in the 1950's she had 2 kids and was a housewife and major volunteer.  Judge Judy never fails to amuse.  Especially her continuing success and earnings.  Why?  Mom could be Judge Judy, except bigger.  Mom could judge all the galaxies.  More, mom would pass judgment with the merest movement of her arched right eyebrow.  Clearly letting you know being stupid is the grander mistake than whatever brought you before that eyebrow.
No surprise I grew up liking a little bit extra.  Not much.  Just a tad, or less.
During the 1980's I worked at a garden center with many locations.  Christmas was a huge money maker for them, I still miss working there during Christmas.  Easter, Valentines and the other holidays were decorated too, lots of extra trinkets for sale.  I still use those holiday purchases.

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One Halloween/Thanksgiving I performed in a play during 3rd grade.  Evening performance, all the parents/siblings in attendance.  How was I to know?  Read the paper teacher had us take home?  My parents would really go?  I didn't want to go.  Quite elaborate, the play a celebration of Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims.  Speaking parts, singing parts, dancing parts.  About 6-7 kids chosen to line the front of the stage at floor level, no singing, dancing, speaking for them.  Each child with a large cardboard cut out tied around their waist.  I was one of those few kids chosen to be in front.  Each of us, a sheaf of wheat.
My dad, the NASA engineer, keep in mind this was the mid 60's, and I was a sheaf of wheat, when astronauts were dying, yet Kennedy and USA needed man-on-the-moon.  Standing thru the entire play, a sheaf of wheat, watching my dad get angrier, angrier.  I knew.  Not a star of the play, or even a speaking role, a sheaf of wheat.  It got quite ugly during the car ride home.  Best result?  Dad never came to a school event again.
Age 8, I didn't know it took a strategy to be a sheaf of wheat.  All of us wheat sheaves, should have staged a pop-up Wind Storm, singing a ridiculous song we made up, finally collapsing into a pile.  If dad was going to be angry, I should have, at a minimum, made it worth my while.    

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Pumpkins on our front porch, above, win zero awards for skill/talent, yet they pass my simple test question.  Does it make you smile?    
Seriously, it's one of my Garden Design questions.  Does it make you smile?
Garden & Be Well,   XO T
Cute Kills is a Garden Design rule.  Hmm.  Every rule meant to be broken.  Another Garden Design rule followed, Overdose on a Theme.  And, a favorite Garden Design rule followed, Dinky is Stinky.  You over it with my Garden Design rules?  I was too, at the front end of learning Garden Design.  Now, I understand Garden Design rules for what they truly are, PERMISSION.  Limitations?  Hardly.


Penelope Bianchi said...

Tara, that story completely broke my heart. Honestly.

I wish you could have had my mother for a week or two.

Just heartbreaking. That.

You are a survivor......and a brilliant one, at that!

Dewena said...

Seriously, a movie should be made of your parents. I can just see your mother's eyebrow going up.

I can't help feeling some for your father, although how very much the "father's" role has changed when men now even say "we're pregnant".

But I feel most for that young sheaf of wheat but can't help thinking that the Tara of today would have put on quite a show.

You sold me on your pumpkin display, that mix of stately plant stand and the mischievous jack o'lanterns. Would your mother's eyebrow go up or would she get it?