Where is my Pumpkin?

I love pumpkin.  The Libby's in the can pumpkin, not the mix.   It is good for you, helps with digestion and I just love the taste of it.  I find it nature's perfect food.  Well, since Christmas I haven't been able to beg, borrow or steal a can of pumpkin.   I went online to the world's warehouse, Amazon, and found I could buy a case of some no-name organic pumpkin for about 28.00.  However, the shipping was nearly 13.00.  No way. 

So I began looking for a substitute for my pumpkin fix.   Yams?  Too many calories packed in all that sugar and goo they pack them in.   So I may find myself buying squash and trying to cook it.  That was a disaster last time I tried, the stuff is hard as a rock. 

This is something I would normally call and commiserate with my Mom about.  We would probably find ourselves laughing at the silliness of not being able to find something that normally people only think about at Thanksgiving.    My Mom ate lots of pumpkin during her fight with MSA.   Constipation was a constant friend with her.  I know, icky right?  Grow up, everybody poops.   Anyway, I mixed a pumpkin concoction, generous with brown sugar, some olive oil and apple butter that was easy for her to swallow, tasted good and sweet and helped her go the bathroom.   I would go up once a week and make up her week's supply of pumpkin "crap" as she called it. 

I always thought to myself, how horrible that I have to spoon feed my mom in her bed with this mush.   But I look back at the those evenings with sweetness.   I would drive up after work and sit by her bed, watching "Bones" or "Law and Order" on TNT, fix her something to eat so my dad could rest, and make sure I fed her her pumpkin before I left.    She couldn't walk, so she was stuck in her room with her TV most days.   Life wasn't getting in the way, it was just us.  We could just be together.  I would hold her hand, tell her about my day at work, and also allow her to cry on my shoulder.   Mom wasn't a crying person, but this disease made her break down at the littlest things.   I remember one night when we both sobbed at "State Farms, I'll be there" commercial.   I can't watch that commercial now without thinking of her.  As I sit here, the work day winding down, I wish I had to go up and feed her "crap" to her. 

There are lots of things I can't do without thinking of her. 

Even looking for my stupid pumpkin.