welcome readers & writers! thanks to the writing types who contributed their genius to the blog on photog friday, spoof saturday and plain old sunday.
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today's photo prompt speaks for itself (it says that demery is a crazy lady who takes pictures of fruit in her local grocery store). writers, hope you'll relish writing about the photo; readers, hope you'll devour what we writers write.
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Georgia usually got her peaches fresh from the tree. But it just so happened that she wasn't talking to Gladys, who owned the house next door with the mini grove of peach trees in the back yard. So here she was in the grocery store, squeezing, sniffing, inspecting. Let's face it, she was outright judging each peach on the tray. Tut-tutting over how many of them didn't come close to meeting her blue ribbon standards. Oh, it was all Gladys' fault. If she'd never insulted Georgia's limp little lemon tree, they would still be friends, and Georgia's pie would already be in the oven. At this rate, she wouldn't get a taste of her oozy sweet, crispy crusted, ice cream topped favorite until the ten o'clock news. It would be more fun to eat her pie during Desperate Housewives. Then again, Desperate Housewives mightn't be any fun without Gladys. So maybe Georgia should make amends with Gladys, apologize for being overly sensitive. Maybe she should even give this pie to Gladys as a peace offering. Then again, how ludicrous would it be to even think of giving a peach tree grower pie made from store bought peaches. She started putting peaches back. So maybe rhubarb. Ooooh yes! Strawberry rhubarb with fresh lemon zest. Too late Georgia warned herself not to think of lemons. Or her lemon tree. That - what had Gladys called it? - lily livered lemon tree. Georgia's blood pressure shot up as she slammed the fragrant stalks of rhubarb back on their pile. She rolled her cart back to the peaches. Peach pie it was. A la mode. During the ten o'clock news. Without Gladys.
come write with me! story, poem or creative non-fiction. 250(ish) words or less - submit by clicking on comments below.
Perfection comes in many forms. A lot of people I know think of perfection as something without flaw. I would disagree. Sometimes the flaws are part of the perfection. For example, fruit is never really uniform. It has variation in color, shape, smell, texture. But I have had perfection before. A lady we knew named Sandy gave us some peaches she had prepared for pies. They were in a bag and could not have been more orange. We followed her directions and used them to make a cobbler. And those perfect peaches made an awesome cobbler. Now the cobbler wasn’t perfect in and of itself because, well, we just aren’t that good at the crust part, but there was nothing wrong with those peaches. Nothing.
ReplyDeleteRaising children is a lot like that. Each child is different. Variation. And despite our best efforts, we as parents are flawed in our responses, our teaching, our caring. You might say each interaction or moment is like a piece of fruit, full of potential. I would argue, though flawed by definition, that we can still be perfect parents because the perfection comes from the essence of who we are, are meant to be and what comes from our hearts. An unflawed parent that never lost his cool with his kid is not modeling how to deal with losing your temper. For a child to grow to survive and thrive in this world… well, they are gonna have to see that someone can get really pissed off and you know, not do something stupid.
Ultimately, I believe perfect parents love their children unconditionally and do their best based on that everyday… knowing that some days are better than others. Those peaches I had? Perfect. Could some peach out there have been better in some way? Doesn’t matter, because in that cobbler, all the most important things came together, flaws and all, and to this day I have not forgotten those peaches. Same with many moments from my childhood that were a coming together of love and learning and sharing from my parents. We don’t ever forget those.
Life is Like a Peach
ReplyDeleteGaze upon the colors of a peaches outer skin.
Most are often light, few have darkness streaked within.
Touch it very careful as it beckons a caress.
The surface must be cut for the journey to progress.
Taste the part beneath, all that is unseen.
Every lasting bit is there for us to glean.
Devour all there is to have without a thought to quit,
Just take a little care not to bite into the pit.
(was working on this during work, still want to share <3)
ReplyDelete"What do you have in your fridge already?"
Rob and Jo scan the recipe they printed from Google as they stand in the center of Rob's awkwardly long but surprisingly small kitchen. Another one of those weekends -- the kind spent in with a friend, a movies, a bedroom. Might as well pretend to do something productive. Peach pie it is.
Rob poked his head into the fridge. "Looks like just the eggs and flour" -- and as he opened cupboard after cupboard -- "I've got sugar in the cabinet. I also still have some cinnamon and nutmeg leftover from gingerbread cookies last month."
Jo, arms folded: "So you 'just' have all that, huh." She gives Rob a playful shove, and their eyes lock for an moment. Forced transition to lovers. Beautiful place.
Rob breaks it with a smile -- "Shut up" -- brings it back to the friends side of things.
"Love you."
"I love you, too. You're a great kid, you know that?"
"Yeah, you say that a lot," Jo points out, no mercy. "I've never made peach pie before. Are you ready to be my guinea pig?"
A pause. A thought. A nod. "Let's get some peaches."