BUBBA JACK

Wednesday's little Art Project---the carving of Our Pumpkin---was changed up just a little---the Master of Carvery title was passed from Caro to Ganner, for she'd had a hard night at work, with loads of special orders, so she passed the torch (actually a new-fangled little electric pumpkin-carving whiz-bang which HE'D bought for HER). Parse that.

He suggested it, and was delighted, for he loves doing fun things with the Grands---we jokingly call me the Looker-Afterer, and him the Cruise Director. And showing a little child something special for the first time---that's an honor and a blessing.

We got started about nine a.m., with the breakfast table all cleared off and fresh white bags laid down to collect the debris.

First (with, I'm sure, our generations of pumpkin-carving forebears sending out a blanket sigh of resignation and dismay) they went to the Internet to find a pattern. Through pages of ghouls and ghosties and coyly arched cats and bats and moons, they persevered til they found what they were looking for: A plain old happy-faced Jack-o-Lantern, with goodwill toward all and nothing much on his mind:






He's all traced and drawn out (teeth added to the smooth smile by Ganner, who HAS to give a little tweak to the artistic process).

Herself, avidly helping and advising and reaching for pens, was given a small pumpkin of her very own, which she gravely considered from all angles, before drawing her own pictures thereon:


Chris laid aside the electric doohickey in favor of a little carving set we'd had since last year, still in the wrap. They must have had carving-with-kids in mind, for in addition to all the little orange-handled metal-sawtooth gizmos, there were three of perfectly safe plastic, almost like three versions of popsicle sticks, which delighted Small Helper.

But first, the ooey-gooey process of innards-removal---I'd figured any kid would have a wonderful time pludging around in those yukky pumpkin-guts, but ours RAN. And stayed away, whilst she peeked from between her fingers at the sight of her Ganner and me, as we plunged above-the-wrist into the unknown and emerged with dripping fistfuls of seedy goo.

All carved and candled:

Debris left in the operating theater:

There you have it---a Good Ole Boy pumpkin who will drive up and sell you watermelons off his truck. Or give you one. Or change your flat tire. That's what really lights him up.

And since he had a hat, Sweetpea's received a cute topper, as well---the lid from a container of candy corn. In all, a wonderful time. But it's just as well we serve our Thanksgiving dressing in a big casserole dish. I'd hate to have to stuff a turkey in front of That Child.