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Pumpkin Guts and Feathers

Yesterday I awoke to find someone had been sick on the couch in the den.  I stripped the covers off six cushions, washed the covers then attempted to stuff the cushions back into the covers.  Not fun.

This afternoon I put in a call to my college roommate.  We hadn’t caught up in a while and had been playing phone tag for weeks.  A lazy Sunday afternoon seemed the perfect time to connect.  Steph and I have traveled many miles of life together and fall right into our comfort zone regardless of how long it’s been since we last spoke.

She was, oddly enough, attempting to stuff couch cushions back into covers.  As she huffed and puffed on the other end of the line, I ran through all my latest news.  I had been working on my next novel and had come across several entries in my journal from a visit I had with her in 1982.  I had just come back from life overseas and was in total limbo.  She had a great job, a beautiful old Victorian house and a longtime boyfriend.  Not to give too much of the story away, but I ended up married to her boyfriend.

As I read the entries to her it all flooded back.  We laughed at the irony of life and the innocence of not knowing the future.

“This is like Halloween all over again!” Steph suddenly blustered.  “The strings from inside the covers are so tangled I have to scoop them out like pumpkin guts.”  Couch cushion covers rebelling.

By the time Steph finished re-stuffing all her cushions, an hour had passed.  Before we hung up she commented that her kitchen now looked like a scene from a Disney movie with cushion guts and feathers everywhere.

I promised to write it down so we can laugh about it in ten years…

Steph on her porch in Vermont, 2010

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