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PumpkinAnkles has gone dotcom!

May 9th, 2009 by witherow

That’s right, folks! Pumpkins Don’t Have Ankles has moved to its own domain! Check it out at pumpkinankles.com and reset your bookmarks.

Everything on this site has been transferred to the new one (though I’m still working on restoring some of my pics), and all new posts will be there.

So what are you still hanging around here for? Go to the new site! Go!

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Ye Tragical E-maile

April 2nd, 2009 by witherow

First, I want to say that something very exciting is happening to Pumpkins don’t have Ankles … it’s coming soon … it will blow your socks off … or your sandals if you’re not wearing any socks … You’ll see soon.

Some time ago I received the following email from my sister Becky (a.k.a. “the great f”)

BECKY:

Subject: TRAGEDY!!

the coffee grinder stopped working this morning! mid-grind, no less, so i have some half ground beans now. alas! =(

MY RESPONSE:

“Alas and alack!! And art thou gone, noble grinder, yea, and the beans which thou hast ground so sweetly??” –Shakespeare, the Taming of the Shrew

BECKY:

uh… i didn’t know they had coffee grinders in the 1600s.

ME:

“Question not thine eldest sister, for surely she knoweth all things Elizabethan.” –Hamlet, Act 2 scene 1

BECKY:

i think you’re making this stuff up. we all know that willy didn’t  like his older sister, and that he would never say something like this.

ME:

“Shall I compare thee to an eldest sister?
Such ladies are lovely and so wise,
So thou hast better watch it, mister,
If thou darest imply otherwise.”

–Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

Thankfully this story had a happy ending, because for my birthday a few days ago, I received not only a new coffee grinder, but a BRAND NEW coffee maker! With a timer!! and a burner that actually keeps the coffee hot!!!

It’s the little, caffeinated things in life …

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Which would be an awesome name for a band

March 17th, 2009 by witherow

In honor of St. Paddy’s Day, and of my late little Irish grandmother who used to love this holiday, here’s a tribute to all things Irish.

Wait. “All things Irish” is probably going to necessitate a much longer post than I’m willing to write. So how about I just talk about one thing Irish, that thing being Irish music.

I actually listen to Celtic music all year round, not just in March. I’ve always liked it, but have been more interested since I went to the Scottish Festival last June (see the post “A Wee Bit ‘O Scottish Fun) (yes, I know all of the pictures are gone) (yes, this makes me sad and I am trying to work on a solution to this).

By Celtic music, I’m referring to traditional or mostly-traditional Irish/Scottish/etc. I like interpretations of old folk songs, because I’m fascinated with people and cultures, and folk music is like a snapshot into the world of common people.

I am not so fascinated by synthesizers. So I’m not into a lot of music that’s labeled Celtic.

Right now my favorite groups are Altan and a now-disbanded group called Deanta (pronounced JAUNT-ta) (because Gaelic is like that). I like Deanta except for when they sneak ’90s-style saxophones into their traditional pieces. Because ’90s saxophones make me think I’m in a department store restroom or something. And they sound, so, well, ’90s.

But there are plenty of other Celtic groups out there (some that I like, some that I don’t) that have some pretty wicked awesome names, including:

Okay, “Whistlebinkies” probably doesn’t qualify as “wicked awesome,” but I did think it was funny.

There are also some great album names, including:

Actually, I’m thinking about maybe becoming a Celtic Diva myself. But there are some obstacles:

Obstacle one: my mediocre voice. Um, I’ll just sing low and crackly. Yeah, that should work.

Obstacle two: Backup music. Too many of my friends are musicians, which means they’re not going to play anything if I’m writing it or singing to it. Hmm.

I can’t play fiddle, harp or accordion to accompany myself. I could maybe pick up flute, but that would be hard to sing along with. My guitar skills are not quite what they’d need to be.

But I do play ukulele.

(no, for real, I do)

(don’t laugh, it’s a great instrument)

(I bet my ukulele could beat up your piano, so there)

So … maybe I’ll come out with a recording called Celtic Ukulele. Yeah, that’s a good name. And my band (or, uh, just me) could be called something like the Ukulele/Emerald Isle Connection. Or Uke in the Chimney. Or … Witherow and the Loosely Defined Concept of “Music.”

Oh, yeah. This is going to be bigger than Riverdance, just wait and see.

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Meditations on Christmas

December 24th, 2008 by witherow

Merry Christmas, everyone!

 

Today’s post is going to be a little different, meaning it’s actually going to be about something, instead of me just blathering on about raisin armies or whatever it is I talk about on here.

 

That’s because Christmas always makes me more meditative. The thoughts I’m meditating on this Christmas are twofold: “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light,” and “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

 

The people that walked in darkness …

In preparing for A Jerusalem Story, I did some reading about the historical setting in which Christ was born. It wasn’t the cute pastoral land so many children’s nativity plays would have us believe. Israel in the first century was a violent, unstable political landscape. When Herod the Great took power, he massacred Jews by the masses, including women, children, refugees. And he didn’t hesitate to murder anyone who was a threat to his throne, real or imagined, including several members of his own family.

 

But the terrors of Herod were nothing compared with what was still coming. In a few decades, the Romans would crush the Jewish Zealot revolt and Jerusalem would be devastated. The Temple would be torn down, stone by stone, and perhaps a million people would die, many brutally.

 

God’s people lived in the shadow of death.

 

But there was still Hope.

 

Simeon, a somewhat mysterious character in the Nativity account, waited for this Hope with his last breath. T.S. Eliot, one of my favorite poets, captures a little bit of what this might have been like in his masterful “Song for Simeon.” Here’s just a part of it (go read the rest; it’s amazing): 

 

Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation
Grant us thy peace.
Before the stations of the mountain of desolation,
Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow,
Now at this birth season of decease,
Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and unspoken Word,
Grant Israel’s consolation
To one who has eighty years and no to-morrow.
According to thy word 

 

In these darkest of times, God did not forget His people, but came to suffer with them, for them. 

 

“The people who walked in darkness
      Have seen a great light;
      Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,
      Upon them a light has shined. …

For unto us a Child is born,
      Unto us a Son is given;
      And the government will be upon His shoulder.
      And His name will be called
      Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
      Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

And the Word became flesh …

My second thought is the whole mystery of Christmas, the great paradox of the Incarnation. How could the Immortal put on mortality? How could the Word that spoke the world into existence be given an infant’s babbling tongue? How can the life-sustaining Creator become a creature, and one that needed a mother to feed Him, rock Him to sleep and keep Him warm? How can He be both God and man—at the same time?

It’s a mind-bending paradox, one that we will never understand but can always kneel and wonder at.

Mark Lowry reflects this mystery in “Mary, Did You Know?”: 

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy will calm the storm with His hand?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

 

But I think John Rutter captures it the best in his lovely “Candlelight Carol”: 

 

Shepherds and wise men will kneel and adore Him
Seraphim round Him their vigil will keep
Nations proclaim Him their Lord and their Saviour
But Mary will hold Him
And sing Him to sleep

 

 

Find him at Bethlehem laid in a manger
Christ our Redeemer asleep in the hay
Godhead incarnate and hope of salvation
A Child with His mother that first Christmas day

 

 

How great a mystery. How great a love, that He would come to dwell among us, knowing He would be unrecognized, dishonored, persecuted, killed. For us.

 

Gloria in excelsis Deo. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men.

Merry Christmas.

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

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25 bottles of bubble bath

December 7th, 2008 by witherow

This Saturday was the annual Greenville Christmas parade. As is tradition, Bob Jones University builds and mans a float for said parade. And as is tradition, it is my department (specifically, my boss) who must spend weeks ordering giant light bulbs and setting up the amplifiers and building snowmen out of liquid foam and pretty much building the set from scratch.

So these past couple of weeks we’ve all been helping out how we can. This year’s float featured artificial snow machines, and so I was sent to Wal-mart to pick up the “snow” ingredients as well as a few other items.

We needed four gallons of each of three ingredients. The distilled water was easy. You just go to the bottled water aisle (OK, why do we even have a whole bottled water aisle? Are there really so many ways to put water into overpriced bottles that we need dozens of varieties??) and pick up four jugs of distilled water, each containing one gallon.

Next on the list: isopropyl alcohol. That wasn’t so easy, because Wal-mart didn’t have gallon jugs of that. The largest bottles they had were quarts. And they were all on the bottom shelf. Of course. So, glancing over my shoulder at other customers and trying to look casual, I got down on the floor and proceeded to load 16 bottles of isopropyl into my cart.

Last ingredient: bubble bath. Specifically, Mr. Bubble bubble bath, because Mr. Bubble bubbles are the best for snow. Or so I was told. (Incidentally, when my boss was giving me the list of things to buy, he just said to get Mr. Bubble. Which somehow I was confusing with Scrubbing Bubbles. Which is like toilet cleaner. Which made me wonder why we would be shooting it at the children riding the float. But thankfully he set me straight and thus averted several awkward lawsuits.)

So I find myself in the bubble bath aisle. Mind you, I never have had a bubble bath in my life, so I have no idea where to look for the venerable Mr. Bubble. Having come to the end of the aisle, I happened to turn around and—lo and behold, yea verily—Mr. Bubble. In teeny tiny bottles.

All in all, to make four gallons, I had to fill my cart with 25 fluorescent green and bright blue and hot pink bottles of bubble bath. (If anyone from the Greenville Wal-mart is reading this, um, you’d better go restock the Mr. Bubble shelf. Because I took it all. Every last one. It was almost Grinch-ish of me.)

So now I am wheeling around a cart filled with an army of Mr. Bubbles with reinforcements of isopropyl, and I realize how poorly I have planned because I still have several things on my list. And wouldn’t you know, all of the items are spread randomly throughout the store.

I lug the Mr. Bubble to the garden center to find charcoal for the snowman faces. I lug it to the hardware section to find staple gun staples. I lug (and in case you were wondering, it was heavy and made the cart really hard to navigate) it to the Christmas section, the craft section, and finally the produce section to get carrots for the snowman noses.

And as I was lugging, I tried to come up with things to say if anyone asked me about what seemed to be unconventional purchasing habits.

Things I could have said (with recent input from a few of my friends):

1. It’s for my swimming pool. It’s going to be WICKED AWESOME!!

2. Well, my family’s coming to visit, and I read bubbles are good de-stressers …

3. Bubble bath stock … that’s where the real money is.

4. Bubbles bubbles bubbles bubbles! My bubbles! (this one would work best if paired with a slight facial twitch)

5. Bubble bath? Aw man, I thought this was vanilla extract …

6. The Reedy River will never be the same. Ah-hahahahaha!

7. Bubble bath? Um, what bubble bath?

Disappointingly, no one asked, though I did get an odd look or two. And no burning cars crashed into my trunk on the way back to campus (which I had wondered about, seeing as my trunk was filled with rubbing alcohol and charcoal. I would imagine a fiery crash could result in a gigantic flare-up, possibly an explosion, and the distinct possibility of little flaming bubbles in the night sky. Hey, don’t you ever wonder about stuff like that?)

Thankfully, there were no exploding cars and the Mr. Bubble made it to the parade safely.

If you accidentally got on this page because you Googled “bubble bath,” “Scrubbing Bubbles” or “exploding cars,” thanks for reading. You may go back to your surfing now, hopefully somewhat entertained. Check back again some other time. Tell your friends.

And I hope you find some really wicked awesome pics of exploding cars.

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‘Tis the season … to instant message

November 29th, 2008 by witherow

Decorating for Christmas on the heels of Thanksgiving reminds me of last year at this time, when I was at the apartment decorating, and my roommate Steph was still at home eating turkey and stuffing and mashed potato sandwiches (I assume). I saw she was online and sent her a message.

ME
I decorated the tree. :)
You’ll like it.
my theme was “bananas”

STEPH
oh boy.
so, are you friends with Dante yet?

[Dante is Steph’s beta fish]

ME
um, yes. Isn’t he there with you?
confused by your random question!!

STEPH
yes.
he’s here with me.
he’s been pouting all weekend.
i have Dogbook for Dante
he is friends with Marzipan and Becky

ME
Hahaha! can he be friends with me and Mocha?

[Mocha is my family’s overweight toy poodle]

ME
Oh, fyi
Dante isn’t a dog

STEPH
um, isn’t it what’s on the inside that counts?

ME
dog biscuits?
That’s what’s inside of mocha

STEPH
He’s the spirit of a dog in a fish body
OH!
you haven’t commented about my latest word in Scrabble . . .

ME
let me go look at it …

[I then proceed to look at our online Scrabble game, where I discover Steph has played the word “bridoon” and placed it in such a way that she earned 70 something points.]

STEPH
HAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!

ME
we hates you, precious

STEPH
bridoon.
used in horseback riding.
thank you, riding lessons in 7th grade!

ME
I cannot begin to describe how deplorable that is

STEPH
BRIDOONS!!!!

ME
I shall now lament.
brace yourself.
alaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!

STEPH
I know you don’t have that many As.

ME
is this a slam on my academic record or something?

STEPH
no; it’s the letters you may/may not have for your Scrabble game

ME
That was a lament, not a move

STEPH
you might actually get more points that 3 per move if you use that many letters . . . ;)

ME
hey now …

STEPH
hee hee. jk
well, i’m going to go eat dinner now.

ME
Okay. I’m going to put mousetraps in your … I mean, eat some chips and salsa

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Some Post-Election Humor

November 15th, 2008 by witherow

Now that the national elections are over and we can go back to our normal lives without tripping over “Schmoe for Senate” signs in our yard or listening to hours of “paid for by Rich Politicians” advertisements, it’s time to look back and make fun of the whole campaigning process.

Some time before the elections, my friends and I were emailing each other, trying to determine a night to celebrate our friend Brian’s birthday. We couldn’t decide whether we should go with Thursday or Friday. Then our friend S.Austin, who works as a grad assistant for our school’s English department and who had obviously had enough of all the political propaganda, wrote the following:


S.AUSTIN:
And now for the public service announcement about why everyone should VOTE YES FOR PROPOSAL THURSDAY:  the dining common is serving pizza joes for dinnenr. Bah.

My name is Stephanie Austin, and I approved this message.

MY REPLY:
Stephanie Austin will tell you that the dining common is serving pizza joes.  She will tell you that this is a BAD thing, using strong words like “bah.”

But sources tell us that back in April of 2004, Stephanie Austin in fact ate a pizza joe of her own volition! Can she really have it both ways?

Austin also claims to be an English teaching G.A.

Then why can’t she spell the word “dinner”?

Stephanie Austin: an expert on pizza-based meals? You decide.

Paid for by PumpkinAnkles, Inc.

STEPHANIE CONNORS:
I, a non-biased third party, would like to take this time to take about how, without the cooperation and help of all the world, we will never be able to have world peace.

Tell me, what is important in this world?  Whether or not someone, someplace, at a pizza joe?  Whether or not dinner may or may not be spelled correctly?  Whether or not there are spaces between the words “pumpkin” and “ankle”?

What is important is that all of cross party-lines, put aside our personal preferences, and join together to accomplish Good.  And that we Change.  And that we Recycle. And that we Save Polar Bears.

So, bring your Polar Bears, Change your plans to Mellow Mushroom, and let’s all join together for the Good of Brian’s party.

(We’ll recycle the party hats.)

MIKE:
I vote for Friday. That’s my conscience. I must be true to it.

S.AUSTIN:
I vote for Friday too. Unless, of course, voting for Saturday will make me a more likely candidate in November.

ME:
SEE HOW SHE FLIP-FLOPS AND PANDERS TO THE WHIMS OF THE PEOPLE???

paid for by PumpkinAnkles, Inc.

S.AUSTIN:
Yeah well, I’ve spent years as a GA office wing organizer. Check out my amazing experience.

Finally, our friend Rebecca set us straight, using a dictator name she once chose from a how-to villain book:
REBECCA:
And then Mistress Blood Scourge sweeps in to do completely away with all democracies.  Mistress Blood Scourge says that Friday night seems to be the general consensus so we will go on Friday night.  Any who complain will become stains.

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I’m famous!

September 22nd, 2008 by witherow

Looky, everybody! I made it onto my friend Karen’s blog post! Check it out!

http://aussiegirl08.edublogs.org/

Isn’t that cool?

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Of Mustaches and Medicine Men

September 12th, 2008 by witherow

Ahh! I’ve been a bad, bad blogger and have let PumpkinAnkles sit unattended for two weeks! Let me assure you that I have only the best of excuses to offer, which I can supply upon request.

So, anyway, TWO WEEKS AGO I had an experience worth blogging about. My father came to visit for a few days. He’s been all over the world on business trips, including places as far-flung as China, Iraq, Holland and Greenland. Yes, Greenland. People actually do live there, though a “town” may consist of four houses clustered together. And there are no roads between said “towns” … you are expected to take a plane. Or maybe a dog team. Or maybe a bike, if you’re stupid.

So my dad got me a souvenir from this oft-ignored island (which, thankfully for him, he visited during the summer months, when the sun never quite sets).

This is a pendent … carved by a medicine man … made from a antler … that came from a reindeer … that was buried in a glacier … four thousand years ago. So basically, at about the same time that Jacob was wrestling with angels and trying to keep tabs on his kids, this antler was on the head of some reindeer that was frolicking around and getting run over by glaciers. That’s pretty cool if you ask me. Well, cool for me. Maybe not so cool for the reindeer.

On Saturday Becky and I took our dad to downtown Greenville.

Here Becky and I are looking off over the Reedy River while standing in “that building with holes in it where people get married,” as Becky’s old roommate once described it.

Here’s me and my dad in front of this cool fountain in front of an amazing hotel along Main Street.

OK, this sign wasn’t particularly spectacular, except that from a distance it looked like the first line read “smoking pets.” Which we thought was funny. And it kind of was. At the time. Just laugh, okay?

We also went to Mast General Store and found curiosities such as “pickled garlic.” (As soon as you open the jar, some vampire in Wisconsin drops dead.)


We also found this lovely set of artificial mustaches—one for every day of the week. I decided this would be a wonderful and unique gift for our very own Daniel Stephen Moses Nickerson, who was compelled to shave off his facial hair before returning to school and would possibly be going through withdrawal. So I bought the set and presented it to him on the day of the Great Shearing.

After our downtown adventure, our dad got some of the photographs from his world travels enlarged to poster-size and then framed them for our apartment walls.

Here are the ones now displayed in our living room:


An iron gate to a garden in Prague

An old stairway in China


And our personal favorite … A pile of rocks in Greenland. But what a cool pile of rocks it is! It’s probably the remains of a Viking settlement. Or an ancient grave marker. Or something some extremely bored Greenlandish teenagers did to pass the time. But still it’s pretty cool.

So there you have it. Greenland rocks!

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Football

September 1st, 2008 by witherow

For a long time I didn’t understand the mysterious game of American football (which, incidentally, is not the same as non-American football, which is the same as soccer. They make this confusing on purpose). Now, after doing a little research online, and even going so far as to watch a game or a half, usually in the middle of talking or eating salty carbohydrates, I now understand the basic premise of the game.

Basically, American football works like this: One lucky team member catches the ball and runs as far as he can with it until all of the 400-pound guys on the other team jump on top of him in an attempt to crush him. Then the officials blow the whistle, all injured players are cleared off the field, and they start the exact same process over again, just about 9 feet closer to the goal than the last time. If a player actually makes it into the end zone, he does a goofy dance to show everyone how glad he is that all of his bones are still intact.

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