Pumpkin Everything!
I know it’s coming; the anguish, the frustration, and the anger. And when I talk about it, of course you know I’m talking about the end of the pumpkin spice lattes. Every year, Starbucks likes to taunt us, like the Mc Donald’s McRib, with the presence of something so spectacular, it can only be described as an experience unlike any other. Weeks and sometimes months this scalding beverage makes its appearance like a magician with flash paper, and then we are left with our mouths wanting more. But while it’s here, the taste of pumpkin appears in everything: pie, coffee, Oreos, martinis, beer, and even edible underwear. There are candles, bath freshener, air sprays, pumpkin car fresheners, pumpkin stands on the side of the road, pumpkins on billboards, pictures of pumpkins on calendars, and even tons of pumpkins stacked on trucks speeding down the highway. Like a junkie needing his fix, I move from place to place, unsure of what I will get, but still wanting it and angered at the outlets who have run out too quick for me to have one last taste fall on my wanting tongue and lips. I am unabashedly ashamed of this addiction.
Weeks before the season, I patrol the spice aisles looking for the cans of the stuff; the big cans, not those puny ones. I’m even starting to stock up on evaporated milk, ginger, cloves, cinnamon, and sugar in preparation. You can never have enough…NEVER! I take them home, open the jars and sniff with revel, for soon the canned gourd will make its appearance on my shelf, and quickly, methodically, pie will be mine. Yes! MINE! Every day, I get on my hands and knees and thank the pilgrims for picking this orange sphere to try. I’m sure it was some Native Americans that first tried it, handed it the pilgrims, and fell in love with the creamy concoctions that they could come up with. Today, we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all pumpkin preparations are not created equal. Yes, there are bad ones, but for me, they satisfy some primal pumpkin need.
Others look at me strange. I’m used to it. I’m even wearing a pumpkin colored shirt, and pumpkin tie. My obsession could be for something else, but I say it stemmed from holding on to the last colors of fall, before the blankets of white cover the grass, the roads, and thoughts of standing next to my car scraping off ice, snow, and everything in between. Let us embrace pumpkin. Let us stand up to the winter. And let us keep our pumpkin lattes, with much reverence.
