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Onto the story of the day:
The Scribe (my ten-year-old) is a lot like me. Last year she told me one of her theories. "When you make something, art or music, part of your soul goes into it," she said.
I nodded; I've told her that many times. When I really play my violin, or when I sit down and write something important, I might as well just pry open my ribs and show people what makes my heart beat. (Sorry for the visual, but Halloween is coming after all!)
"Well, that's why I'm worried about my pumpkin," she said.
"Because, I drew the face on it, and even helped with the carving. I loved that stupid thing and now my soul went into it."
"When I said your soul went into your work, I didn't mean it like that."
"But, Mom, I can feel my soul IN the pumpkin! I bet that's how Voldemort felt with those horcruxes. He spent loads of time making them, when all he needed was a few pumpkins."
I managed to hold a straight face. "You know, if you can feel it . . . maybe you're right." I didn't want to ruin the moment because she obviously felt very smart AND proud to be even more intelligent than a famous villain.
She stood like the toughest baseball player and folded her arms. "I'm just worried. My soul went into that thing. When the pumpkin starts getting old and rotting, if it still looks happy, that means I'll have a good soul. If it rots and ends up looking scary or sad . . . well, that means I've always had a bad soul."
"Scribe, that isn't how it works."
"Don't try to make things better now that I know," she said. "I'm old enough to see what kind of soul I'll have when I grow up. I've seen it time and again. Tommy is a great kid; his pumpkin smiled when it rotted. But Tawnie, I don't want to spread mean things, but her pumpkin looked worse than a grumpy, old frog."
"She has a bad soul?"
"Not yet, Mom. That's what her soul will look like when she grows up. It's kind of shocking since she's so nice now, but you never know how kids will turn out unless you have a pumpkin, or time to just watch 'em grow up.
"Anyway, all kids have good souls. Didn't you know that?" she asked.
"It makes sense."
"Of course it does," she said. "All true things make sense. So, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens when my pumpkin rots. I hope it'll still be smiling. I'd hate to be an evil adult. I'd probably be a bad driver if that happens and then people would roll down their windows and yell at me all of the time, like in the movies."
So, last night we googled "Rotting Pumpkins." I've realized, when it comes to pumpkins, The Scribe can spot a bad soul from a mile away.
"See," she said pointing, "whoever carved that one was really bad. And whoever did that, is an angel in waiting."
Here are some of the pictures we saw:
"A really sweet person carved that," the Scribe said about this picture, "probably an old lady."
"Because all old ladies are nice?"
"Most of them," she said, "the ones who like baking."
"What about this one?" I asked.
"That's a perfect example of someone who has a bad soul. Poor kid, I bet they don't even know what's coming!"
"That's one of the angels in waiting I told you about. The kid who carved that is probably even nicer than I am right now!"
"That person was okay, not really bad or good," she said.
"'Cause it's not smiling or frowning."
"And that," the Scribe hushed when she saw this last picture, "was carved by the most evil soul around."
"It doesn't even have a face! The thing fell in on itself because the evil was too strong."
So, can you remember what your rotten pumpkins looked like last year? What does your soul really look like?