When Nothing and Everything is Overblown
written by: Jen Schneider
I’ve read that the inflatable industry is blowing up. Even COVID didn’t puncture the inflatable party. After folks with extra time added pickleball courts and backyard pools, it makes sense that front lawn would be next. Just yesterday, I went to Lowe’s seeking a flapper for my toilet and nearly got run over, not by a reindeer but by an oversized Tweety Bird dressed in red and green underwear. While I don’t wish to dampen the holiday spirit, I wonder if this trend is primarily American.
As an introvert, I initially hesitated to populate my front lawn. Now, instead of vacillating, I take a proactive approach. Remember the saying, “If you can’t beat them, join them?” Well then, I (we) must!
This year, I thought I was covered. My Halloween decor included a trio of scarecrows, but they (and I) failed to scare away the blow-up invasion. Two days post the spooky season, a purple ghost across the street still blinked at every passing car, deer, and Amazon delivery while a seven-foot-tall Frankenstein to its right worked hard to protect the garden of ghouls from an early frost.
No sooner had the frights passed, the turkeys appeared. And they, with unexpected sides of gravy like adorable penguins on pumpkins (an illogical combination to all except readers of Penguin and Pumpkin) and light-up gnomes (fully dressed) simply made me hungry for more. I also admit a tinge of envy. In the battle to look forever young these mighty blow-ups are wrinkle proof. Plus, their makeup doesn’t smudge. It’s a fairy tale reality.
As I worked furiously to decorate my plate in comparison, I’d think of a Casper on the corner that, during Halloween, held a RIP sign. I wonder if that’s what my own Halloween blow-ups, now tucked away in my attic just behind my expanding army of Christmas-themed inflatables (last year’s post-holiday clearance aisles unpackaged and ready to take the neighborhood by storm) do on their off time. Or, perhaps, they battle rodents and birds’ nests for prime parking spots.
It’s true — the battle of the blow-ups comes earlier each year. No lawn is left undone. If fact, no sooner had the township begun their annual leaf-clearing routine, my neighbors began to flex plastic muscles under the guise of childlike play. Anxiety bookends!
No, I think – It doesn’t have to begin – or end, this way. The end is sooner than any of us think, anyway. With all the plastic, non-biodegradable puppets already relocating to landfills on the edge of town, who’s another Elf, Bride of Frankenstein, Nativity scene, or gift-wrapped box holding nothing going to bother? How can there be hype if there’s no need to populate? Let’s blow the marketing-creep schemes out of the water at their own game, folks. Ready? Let’s saturate!
Suddenly, the holiday season arrives fully dressed and arms open wide — now premiering before Daylights Savings! I thought I was back on track, inflation notwithstanding, after I splurged on a trio of turkeys, fully dressed, for my front lawn. But then the house down the street added a gingerbread McMansion with all the fixings as a checkmate to my early work. Most mornings, I stand at my window, coffee mug still hot, and marvel at the ten-bed newly blossomed plot. It’s pristine and a model that would surely warm a momma’s heart. Mamula on alert! There’s also a school of Big Mouth Billy Bass in full Christmas dress.
I’d been schooled. I knew I shouldn’t buy more. Lord knows I have plenty in my attic.
Only, I can’t access them because of a giant Snoopy that took up residence on the staircase. Such is life in an inflatable nation – hot air and pumped egos everywhere. It’s a never-ending party! Fun and games, until a pin pops.
Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. She is a Best of the Net nominee, with stories, poems, and essays published in a wide variety of literary and scholarly journals. She is the author of A Collection of Recollections (Next Chapter), Invisible Ink (Toho Pub), On Daily Puzzles: (Un)locking Invisibility and On Crossroads and Fill in the Blank Puzzles (forthcoming, Moonstone Press), and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups (forthcoming, Atmosphere Press).
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When Nothing and Everything is Overblown
When Nothing and Everything is Overblown
written by: Jen Schneider
I’ve read that the inflatable industry is blowing up. Even COVID didn’t puncture the inflatable party. After folks with extra time added pickleball courts and backyard pools, it makes sense that front lawn would be next. Just yesterday, I went to Lowe’s seeking a flapper for my toilet and nearly got run over, not by a reindeer but by an oversized Tweety Bird dressed in red and green underwear. While I don’t wish to dampen the holiday spirit, I wonder if this trend is primarily American.
As an introvert, I initially hesitated to populate my front lawn. Now, instead of vacillating, I take a proactive approach. Remember the saying, “If you can’t beat them, join them?” Well then, I (we) must!
This year, I thought I was covered. My Halloween decor included a trio of scarecrows, but they (and I) failed to scare away the blow-up invasion. Two days post the spooky season, a purple ghost across the street still blinked at every passing car, deer, and Amazon delivery while a seven-foot-tall Frankenstein to its right worked hard to protect the garden of ghouls from an early frost.
No sooner had the frights passed, the turkeys appeared. And they, with unexpected sides of gravy like adorable penguins on pumpkins (an illogical combination to all except readers of Penguin and Pumpkin) and light-up gnomes (fully dressed) simply made me hungry for more. I also admit a tinge of envy. In the battle to look forever young these mighty blow-ups are wrinkle proof. Plus, their makeup doesn’t smudge. It’s a fairy tale reality.
As I worked furiously to decorate my plate in comparison, I’d think of a Casper on the corner that, during Halloween, held a RIP sign. I wonder if that’s what my own Halloween blow-ups, now tucked away in my attic just behind my expanding army of Christmas-themed inflatables (last year’s post-holiday clearance aisles unpackaged and ready to take the neighborhood by storm) do on their off time. Or, perhaps, they battle rodents and birds’ nests for prime parking spots.
It’s true — the battle of the blow-ups comes earlier each year. No lawn is left undone. If fact, no sooner had the township begun their annual leaf-clearing routine, my neighbors began to flex plastic muscles under the guise of childlike play. Anxiety bookends!
No, I think – It doesn’t have to begin – or end, this way. The end is sooner than any of us think, anyway. With all the plastic, non-biodegradable puppets already relocating to landfills on the edge of town, who’s another Elf, Bride of Frankenstein, Nativity scene, or gift-wrapped box holding nothing going to bother? How can there be hype if there’s no need to populate? Let’s blow the marketing-creep schemes out of the water at their own game, folks. Ready? Let’s saturate!
Suddenly, the holiday season arrives fully dressed and arms open wide — now premiering before Daylights Savings! I thought I was back on track, inflation notwithstanding, after I splurged on a trio of turkeys, fully dressed, for my front lawn. But then the house down the street added a gingerbread McMansion with all the fixings as a checkmate to my early work. Most mornings, I stand at my window, coffee mug still hot, and marvel at the ten-bed newly blossomed plot. It’s pristine and a model that would surely warm a momma’s heart. Mamula on alert! There’s also a school of Big Mouth Billy Bass in full Christmas dress.
I’d been schooled. I knew I shouldn’t buy more. Lord knows I have plenty in my attic.
Only, I can’t access them because of a giant Snoopy that took up residence on the staircase. Such is life in an inflatable nation – hot air and pumped egos everywhere. It’s a never-ending party! Fun and games, until a pin pops.