I’ve been doing some thinking about why I love carving pumpkins so much…
When I was small kid, one of my best friends had a birthday right around Halloween, so her birthday parties were always Halloween-themed, with pumpkin carving as part of the party/sleepover plans. This particular friend was excellent at everything. She was a fantastic artist – she could draw anything – and much better than anyone else in our class, or even our age. Advanced in that way, that girl.
We used to walk around the neighbourhood singing together, harmonizing. Simon & Garfunkle. The Beatles. Abba. Even sappy John Denver tunes made their way into our daily ditties. We practiced the perfect “first kiss” on the backs of our hands together. We bought cigarettes and learned how to smoke together. We applied makeup on each other. We shoplifted chocolate bars from our local convenience store a few times, but then stopped it because we knew how wrong it was, and it felt wicked in a bad way. We were good girls.
She was whip-smart and beautiful. And funny. We re-enacted sketches from The Carol Burnett Show – mostly the Tim Conway scenes, which always made us howl with laughter. I always wanted to be like her. I felt so honored and pleased that we were friends. I think I’m digressing here… the point is, I learned to love carving pumpkins through my loving, long-time friendship with her. Though I haven’t seen her face in close to twenty years, thanks to Facebook, I “see” her all the time now, and my affection for her remains as it always was. (But I don’t live in the past. I’m not a freak like that.)
Every time I begin carving, I always think of her, still, after all these years. (She carved a wicked-awesome Michael Jack-o-lantern this year – stellar!!) My memories of her and of that time in my life make me smile. Life is usually pretty good when you’re twelve.
The thing about carving a pumpkin is you can create something amazing from something that was otherwise ordinary. I love that there’s a beginning, a middle, and an end to such a project. My life mostly consists of never-ending labour, that often goes unthanked, and is unpaid. There are definitely rewards, but they’re static and long-term. The health, happiness, and comfort of your family is tough to measure and feel good about on a daily basis. Life with The Little People is definitely Groundhog Day, over and over again. It’s hard to feel proud of the daily accomplishments, because there is just MOAR domestic activity at every turn. It’s often hard to see the forest for the trees. I know I’m doing right by my family. I know this, and yet, it is often so completely unsatisfying, I can’t help but wonder if this is all there is. Is this all I can do? Fold laundry and make meals? Really? Holy shit. I thought I was a smart person with talents once…
Which brings me to the carving. I just love it. It takes a focused, steady hand, which my father (a surgeon at one time in his life) taught me well. Respect the knife. Don’t be afraid – just cut, with intention and precision. Commit. (A good life-lesson, that.) When I’m finished with my piece, and I have a spooky scene or face staring back at me, there’s no denying that I’ve done a pretty good job. I can be so self-critical about anything I work at, I either become miserable about my near-failings or become paralyzed at the very thought of trying. Suck. I wish I wouldn’t do that to myself. Must try harder to stop this kind of thinking. It’s completely unproductive, and anyway, I should be much kinder to myself. I’m the only me I’m ever going to have.
I produce them to give myself a boost. They’re something I can feel proud of (when I’m not nit-picking about how they could have been better) and they remind me that though it may not be a terribly useful skill, thems still is some mad, MAD skills! They remind me that I can visualize something and make it happen (if I can be left alone long enough to concentrate and get my shit done) and the good endorphines I walk away with help me do everything in my life better – at least for a while. Lots of details in my head become sharper, and coming in and out of focus with my craft due to interruption of children’s needs and supper and such, I get better at snapping back to the task at hand quickly. I feel better about the juggling act I’m constantly doing. I turn out more complicated meals. The house is cleaner. The kids seem saner. Life is good again. I realise this has everything to do with perspective, but it’s nice to feel on top of my game, and not trying to get out from under all the time.
Sometimes it is necessary to find something to pat oneself on the back about. Something that makes me feel like I can actually do something worth noticing once in a while. Something that’s just for me. It’s not about accolades. Some things are just good for the soul. This thing is good for my soul.
And so.
Here are the pieces I worked on this year. I scrapped two I worked on – one awesome Obama got wrecked because the gourd was spongy, and wouldn’t hold up to my manipulations. I did another Michael Jackson, but I wasn’t pleased with the outcome, so he went to the trash. (Old mental habits die hard.) The first three pics were snapped in a huge hurry – the orbs were headed for display at the bar of the W Hotel in Old Montreal, and I only had a few minutes to get the shots. I wish I had angled them better, and lighting is always a bit of an issue with lit jack-o-lanterns, but these are the images:
Micheal, Ol’ Blue Eyes, Marilyn, Elvis, Elizabeth Taylor, Thriller.
Yay for me!
Why yes, I WILL have my single-serving of awesomesauce now thank you very much…
Pat, pat.
G.G.
