Calmly butchering produce on a Sunday evening

It’s finally happened.

I’ve turned into my dad.

This evening, during NPR’s new age music programming, I found myself washing, drying and chopping up every bit of the produce we bought at the store today, and then packing it away in neat little plastic containers. I even parceled out the Greek yogurt into containers and taped a Lactaid tablet to the top of each one.
I had to check myself in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t sprouted a beard. This is exactly the sort of anal-retentive behavior my dad used to display. He’d crank up the space-age music (“Bladerunner” theme anyone? John Williams?”) and hack up a cantaloupe.

You’d kind of worry that he was dealing with some “Alien Nation”-related aggression issues.

Dad used to call the Alien Nation aliens "cantaloupe heads." But then again, he also called asparagus "Fraggle tails."

Seriously though, he may have had a point. Not about the aliens. About the produce.

Continue reading

Lunch

This morning, I packed a lunch for my husband and myself. I wrapped up sandwiches, and diced fruit and folded napkins and nestled them all together in the picnic basket my mom gave us for a wedding present.

I was amazed by how happy the act of making lunch made me.

Continue reading