My parents faces, for a second day. The golden ripeness of my plum CSA share ready to be made into jam the old fashioned way from "Happy Farmer Al's" family recipe. The new, bright eyes of a two-week old baby.
Friends voices punctuated by cooing and crying. The plop of preserves in the making. The successful pop of the canning lids at the end of the day.
the mush of 25 pounds of ripe plums as I pitted them and dumped them into the biggest pots I had. My elbows hitting my mothers elbows as she reached across the bowl for a new plum. The gentle stab of a persistent and familiar headache behind my right eye.
sweetness. light. humidity. heat. richness. spice. savignon blanc.
Oatmeal waffle breakfast (complete with strawberries and whipped cream). Leftover lunch of every-vegetable, "Live longer" casserole. Spicy pakistani curries of lamb and chicken and chickpeas over the sweetest brown basmati rice. Brownies with the new parents. The tartness of a finished plum jam.
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A friend posted on her facebook today the quote "Work is love made visible" (Gibran). Today our work was love made edible. It was very, very good.