Sunday, January 30, 2011


“The blade of the paring knife broke off right in the handle,” I told the Saint* sadly. “Can we fix it?”

“We can afford to buy a new one,” he said.

“But Auntie Marg gave us that one when we got married,” I said, my eyes filling. “I think of her every time I use it.”

And never more often than since I began my super-healthy new lifestyle which, to be honest, requires a lot of peeling and chopping.

I thought about her again, gone to that big kitchen in heaven, as I looked at the two halves of the Henkel lying on the counter before turning my attention to quartering a Granny Smith apple with my Opinel pocket knife. I think of my cousin Tea every time I use that, because it was a gift from her after a backpacking trip that included a collapsing tent, excellent sausage, and more cougar scat than I ever want to see again.
When I finished dissecting the apple, I threw the core in the compost.
It’s the best compost bucket I’ve ever had, complete with flowers and gems and multifaceted beneficial insects. See the pink ladybugs?

I think of our niece Enn every time I add to its stash, because she’s the one who made it for us…

*This is not a completely sarcastic nickname

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