The Basement Apartment and the Pumpkin

I am jumping ahead a little but will return. I have thoughts and memories I want to make sure I get down. I hate remembering something and going "Oh yeah that would be great", then not remembering but racking your brain trying to conjure up those thoughts that were so fresh just a short while ago.

Dad and mom had gotten a divorce. I know what dad said but never had the courage to ask mom why thou. I am not sure if I really want to know or not. It was so long ago I don't think it matters and besides I'm chicken to ask. I only remember moving after it happened. I wish I remembered how I felt. It would be such a help I believe for me now that my children have and are going thru the same thing.

This is where my seemingly endless moving adventure started. Dad choose a 1 bedroom basement apartment for the 3 of us to live in. Dad had the bedroom, I had the sofa bed and Mike I don't remember where he slept. It was an older building, we even had the old fashion radiators. I kindly called them heaterators. With a brick exterior and a large yard with one of the best trees a boy could hope for in the front yard. Just so there is no confusion the building was a converted house with several apartments with ours in the basement.

The tree in the front yard captivated me to the point I felt I needed to conquer the tree. This could only be done in the one way a little boy could could imagine, Climb It. Boy did I. Everyday to be honest.

We battled often in that front yard. I lost a number of times, requiring the need to call in reinforcements. Screaming from the top of my lungs for dad (aka the Reinforcements) to come rescue me from the evil and maniacal tree. Victory days were most often celebrated by sitting from a branch I had not yet conquered and viewing my bounty from a level that gave me a view of the whole yard.

Dad was not a very good cook I believe, because we seemed to eat Hamburger Helper 3 or 4 nights a week. Sitting from his chair he always did proclaim what a good cook grandma was thou. Pies and cakes is what he talked about mostly. This was a man who did not believe dinner was anywhere close to being completed unless there was something sweet to follow the main course.

One day after going on a kindergarten field trip to a local pumpkin farm, I brought home my prize pumpkin I was allowed to pick. It wasn't huge by any standard but it was the one I choose. Showing off my pumpkin to dad, it immediately made the man think desert for some reason and he had the idea that if we bring it to grandmas house she would turn this orange ball into pumpkin pie. I was sold instantly and agreed we should do this.

Dad could be a really cool guy but sometimes I wondered about him. As an example and to complete my pumpkin story is one of the reasons I often wondered about the man.

Like I said the guy came up with a an awesome idea of turning the pumpkin into something sweet and yummy but the follow thru, well sucked. He did call grandma and tell her but a complete stroke of dumbness swam over him which compelled him for some reason to place the fresh picked pumpkin on the heaterator/radiator. I assume you picked up on the fact it was fall and we still lived in Maryland at the time, so the heaterator was on every night, especially in the basement apartment.

Are you laughing yet? I still get a little chuckle from it even today. If you can only imagine what my poor pumpkin had to combat every cool evening. It gave a good fight but after several weeks of fighting off the heat from the heaterator it finally succumbed and became just pure mush. It wasn't till the orange corpse began to stink to the point even my father could no longer stand entering the kitchen he decided to give the pumpkin a proper burial. The burial involved several trash bags, a paint scraper, several rolls of towels and my dad bitching about what a mess it was.

Funny thing is this story made me think back and I don't believe in my entire life I ever had had the chance to taste one of the wondrous creations my father always and probably still brags about my grandmother's cooking. I don't have a doubt she made great pies and cakes, but I sure would have liked to have tried one for myself before she passed away.