Don't ask me why, because there is no earthly explanation for it.
But I love mushrooms.
I don't remember exactly when I became obsessed with mushrooms, but it was sometime in middle school. Perhaps it was the abundance of mushroom-themed random stuff to be found at my favorite childhood thriftstore, the DAV (Disabled American Veterans, sadly no longer around). I collected countless ceramic mushrooms, 60's ad 70's mushroom cutting boards and weird wall pieces, a large original oil painting, hot plates, you name it. My grandma gave me a quilt with the solid piece backing the quilt as a mushroom pattern. My roommate while I was dating the Big B got me a huge ceramic mushroom cookie jar, mushroom salt & pepper shakers and a neat yarn-pull pattern for hanging on the wall. I bought the mushroom pattern juice glasses at Ikea and traded with my sister to get more of the ones with 'shrooms on them.
My favorite shirt ever found at the Ragstock thrift store was of a big iron-on printed mushroom all faded and cracked with the yellow of the shirt showing through and letters beneath that used to read "Hobby".
My current kitchen is a study in fungi. They cover the window sill, the stove and the walls. I cackled with glee the other night as I unpacked a box that had traveled with me, unpacked, for several years worth of moves and discovered a set of plastic coffee cups with a 70's mushroom pattern on the outside.
So when my unexpectedly home-again roomie came upstairs and asked to borrow rubber gloves so he could swipe some of the neighbors' mushrooms, I was intrigued.
He explained how he had driven past these huge white mushrooms the other day and now he wanted to go back under the cover of darkness and steal them.
Why is the obvious question, but with my roomie the answer will often either astound, stupify, make you shake your head, or prepare to call 911.
He's gotten it into his head that these must be edible mushrooms.
"They're huge! They must be as big as cereal bowls!" he exclaims. "There's no way those aren't edible."
I have to laugh but I offer to accompany him on his 'shroom thievery and I grab up the rubber gloves and my camera and we head out just after dusk.
The first yard is on the way to my morning bus stop and we're giggling as we walk and the neighbor's dog barks at us from behind the chainlink, thinking how we must look to anyone who sees us: me in my work outfit of nice dress pants, shirt and cardigan, he in shorts and a camo tee, hair still parti-colored straight down the middle in yellow blonde and reddish dark brown, he carrying an empty Target bag, I carrying yellow rubber gloves and a camera case.
We reach the yard and I flop down onto my stomach to snap a few shots. The flash appears astonishingly bright with its light show behind my eyelids, proof that my retinas have been overcome. I can't help but think how the flashes must be attracting the attention of the homeowners and my roomie must think so too because he urges me to start grabbing them.
For all that he's hoping they're edible, he's not taking any chances if they are poisonous and urges me to handle them with care as I break them off one by one and gently place them in the crinkling bag.
Nefarious deed done, we hastily retreat down the street, laughing at our own antics.
I tell him that the house across the front yard had some biggies too, and before we head back we traipse over there in case the 'shrooms are still there.
They are, and he urges me to "take all of them!".
He holds the bag's handles ever so carefully so he doesn't crush their delicate heads or soft fan-like underbellies.
Back in his kitchen he spreads out a length of paper towels and takes them out, one by one. The largest are the size of salad plates and he can't stop thinking about whether they're safe to eat or not.
My opinion? Not so much.
"That's like 15 pounds of mushrooms," he says to me, eyes full of fervent excitement. "What a waste it would be if they weren't!" I don't think he can wrap his head around the idea that something that can grow this large in just a few days could be inimical to man.
I snap some photos, he snaps a just-poking-fun one for me, and rushes off to research his 'shroom stash and find out if he really did steal something valuable from the neighbors or if he just rid them of some nasty fungus growing in their lawns.
"Can you imagine the news headlines?" he chuckles.
"'Neighborhood Mushrooms Stolen In the Night'" and he giggles again.
"Don't forget to email me the pictures right away!" he calls as I make my way back upstairs.
*Okay so it's barely still Monday where I'm at, but I've thought about an appropriate theme for awhile and this was just fortituous coincidence.
