I
seriously am thinking about carving a pumpkin for a Halloween decoration this
year, even though the last time I carved one, about 15 years ago, things didn’t
exactly go very well.
Back
then, I really was gung-ho about carving a jack-o-lantern…but not just any
run-of-the-mill, gap-toothed jack-o-lantern. No, I was determined to carve a
masterpiece. In fact, I wanted to
become the Michelangelo of pumpkin carvers. I was positive that when I lit up my
pumpkin and set it out on my front porch, people driving by would screech on
their brakes and leap out of their cars to “ooh” and “ahh” and snap photos.
OK,
so there was just one teensy weensy little problem: I’d never carved a pumpkin before. Sure, when I was a kid, my
mother had helped me carve a few, but she’d done all of the dirty work of
cutting off the top and scooping out all the pumpkin guts first. She’d even
held my hand through most of the carving, just to make certain I didn’t slip
with the knife and accidentally dissect one of my vital organs.
But
I wasn’t a kid any more, so I wasn’t about to carve something so traditional,
so mundane. I wanted to create something unique and exciting. So I invested in
an official pumpkin-carving kit. It came complete with an array of special
carving-tools that looked like a miniature version of a brain-surgeon’s kit,
along with an assortment of intricate patterns and detailed instructions. I was
revved up and raring to go. All I needed was the perfect pumpkin.
My
husband made the mistake of offering to drive me on my search for the perfect
pumpkin…an offer he later came to regret. He ended up chauffeuring me to
Hooksett, Litchfield, Goffstown, Bedford and to some remote town not even on
the map. Wherever there was a farm stand, there I was, thumping, sniffing and
rubbing dozens of pumpkins –as if I actually had the faintest idea of what the
heck I was looking for – while my husband sat yawning out in the car.
I
ended up buying five pumpkins – only because every time I thought I’d found the
“perfect” one and bought it, we’d pass by another farm stand and I’d make my husband stop. Inevitably, I’d
find another pumpkin I thought was even more perfect than the previous one.
The
actual carving of the pumpkin was a lot less fun than I’d thought it was going
to be. For one thing, sawing off the top and scooping out the innards was
pretty disgusting. Pumpkin brains, I soon learned, were mushy and wet, and full
of long stringy things that wrapped around my fingers and got underneath my
fingernails. The stuff didn’t smell too great either – kind of like a wet dog.
I
also had trouble getting used to the little tools in my official
pumpkin-carving kit. The ultra-slim saw slid through the pumpkin as easily as
if it were made of soft butter. On my first attempt to carve a witch sitting on
a broom, I slipped with the saw and
ended up “de-nosing” her.
I
mutilated three of the five pumpkins before I finally succeeded in carving my
masterpiece...so in retrospect it probably was a good thing I’d bought so many
extras. I ended up carving a whole scene – a haunted house complete with bats
flying around it and crooked trees next to it. I was so excited with the
finished product, I barely could wait until dark to light it and put it out on
the front porch to get the full effect.
I
must say, the end result was breathtaking. My husband didn’t exactly squeal
with delight and jump up and down the way I did after I lit the pumpkin, but I
could tell he was impressed. I’d made sure to buy a fat, thick-wicked candle
(with a flame as bright as a flame-thrower’s) to put into it. No cheap, squatty
little candle was going to be bright enough for my pumpkin!
That
night, I carefully set the pumpkin out on the top step. Then every 10 minutes,
I checked it to make certain no pumpkin-smashing vandals were afoot. At bedtime, I brought the pumpkin back
inside and set it on the kitchen counter for the night. I wanted to keep it
safe until I put it out on the step again the next night, which just happened
to be Halloween.
I
woke up the next morning to the sound of my husband’s laughter coming from the
kitchen. Half asleep, I walked out to there to find out what was so funny.
He
pointed at my precious pumpkin. “Look at it!” he said, laughing even harder.
My
mouth fell open and I gasped. My masterpiece, my crowning achievement, looked
as if someone had deflated it. It was nothing but a mushy pile, with my
exquisitely carved haunted house looking as if someone had dropped an anvil on
it.
“What
did you do to it?” I immediately accused him. “You were poking at it and
accidentally ruined it, didn’t you!”
He
stopped laughing. “Poking? I’d have needed a sledgehammer to get it to look
that bad! Sorry to say, but you’re
the one who ruined your own pumpkin!”
I
scowled at him (and believe me, my morning scowl could be downright scary).
“How could I possibly have ruined it while I was asleep?!”
“It
was that big fat candle you put into it,” he explained. “It generated so much
heat, you accidentally cooked your pumpkin!
During the night, it finally collapsed from being too mushy! You turned your jack-o-lantern into
pumpkin-pie filling!”
Despite
my ever-deepening scowl, he threw caution to the wind and chuckled at his own
words.
For
an ever-so-brief moment, I found myself wondering how he would look with his
brains scooped out and a big fat candle stuck inside his head.
Despite
my previous less-than-rewarding pumpkin-carving experience, however, I really
do think I might give it a try again this year.
The difference this time, however, is I’ll
buy some LED lights to put inside it.
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