August 9, 2015
(If we live with an open and grateful attitude, every day will bring a gift. This is one of 365 gifts during the year I turned 70.)
I am lucky being married to a man who likes to shop and to cook. And, since he doesn’t like the way I load the dishwasher, he also cleans up the kitchen. When he goes to the grocery store, he takes his time and his coupons. We always have fresh fruit in our kitchen, fruit that has been thoughfully examined—first with the eye, then with the hands and the nose. Once it passes these sensory tests—and if the price is not too high—then it comes home.
My mother, also, used to closely examine fruit that came down our back alley with the calls of the Baltimore A-rabbers. She insisted on the best or she would send the A-rabber on his way. In those days when peaches were my favorite fruit, we could get them only when they were in season in our area. Today, however, peaches are picked way too soon and shipped way too far. It is sometimes difficult to find a peach that doesn’t taste like cardboard—I’d rather eat no peaches than to eat peach-flavored cardboard.
Sitting on our kitchen counter right now are nine peaches, hand-selected by David who has instructed me how to eat them. I must start with the peaches on the left and then move on to the right. If I read the peaches that way, then each one should be perfect.
My gift today is husband-picked peaches .
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