Is there nothing so wonderful as catching up on your Google Reader in the hotel room the night before a trade show with a cuppa decaf non-fat mocha by your side, knowing that the happy reunion with your bestie is just minutes away?
I'm in my element, and ever grateful for the opportunity once again.
Image from Mother Earth News
I've been all about the strawberry these past few summery weeks.
Plump and juicy, my favorite thing is to grab a big'n and eat it over the kitchen sink, its toothsome goodness dripping down the palms of my hand, the folds of my fingers, and if I'm really lucky, some of its syrup will even trickle down the insides of my wrists.
When I was a teenager, we had a huge plot of these succulent sweethearts in our backyard. My mom would beg us to wait to pick them until they were large enough for eating, ensuring that the longer we we could stave off temptation, the sweeter the reward.
But it was hard to wait. Because really, there's not a whole lot more fundamentally wonderful than picking a strawberry off the vine and biting into it. Sweet and warm, it is soft--yet substantial. Delicate and complex, it is heavy--yet light.
It is summer in one bite.
These days I do my best to buy organic strawberries. They are one of the "Dirty Dozen"--fruits and vegetables that must be organic because the pesticides seep into the actual fruit and take up residency. No sense biting into a deep red delectable morsel if you know it could give you cancer down the road.
They are more expensive, but I'm finally getting to the point where I don't enjoy eating foods I know are not good for me. Peanut M&Ms being the exception, of course.
So, in honor of this delicious delicacy, I thought I'd offer up my current strawberry recipe obsession. Share it with a strawberry lover near you.
Cath's Super Yummy Strawberry & Spinach Salad
Organic baby spinach (another one of the Dirty Dozen)
Organic strawberries, sliced
Feta cheese, crumbled
Smoked almonds
Brianna's Blush Wine Vinaigrette Salad Dressing
Toss together and enjoy.
And you, how are you feelin' about strawberries these days?
Crawling in from underneath
As low in the horizon and as far south as it will ever be
Bringing warmth
And fulfillment
Bringing light
Like a candle in the sky
Winterlight.
I am alone on my porch, watching the sun rise above the mountaintops, the light illuminating the view in front of me in gradual increments. It is chilly, but I am enveloped by my favorite quilted coat and the double-layered polar fleece blanket that my daughters made for me one Christmas long ago.
Knowing that these mornings are fleeting. It will soon be too cold, even for morning porch-sitting in bundles.
But today, I do not mind the crisp bite that numbs my nose, the shrill chill that slows my fingers as I type, nor the sinking cold that is penetrating my body through the chair.
For it is fall. And my 45 years of living tell me that it must be seized. Capture it before it strays.
So I am here. On the porch. With my coffee. Petting my dog as he comes up for an occasional love. He's checking to make sure I am still around, saying "hello" in the process, a ritual we have been perfecting for many years.
Walkers pass in pairs. Joggers lumber in the cold. Cars speed with abandon. Bicyclists sweep by in packs. Trucks pull trailers with empty loads.
It is a busy morning in my town.
Children play in the yard next door, their voices ringing through the trees, and a twinge of yearning for my own long-since children pulls at me deep inside. Motherhood is the most rooted tether I know.
I sense the shadow of geese in flight overhead. They chatter in the distance. I wonder how much longer they will stay.
And still, the sun's rays creep ever higher, intensifying the current palette, promising warmth as its aperture widens.
A sheltered calm takes residence as I breathe in the clean, biting air. I inhale deeply, its terse rawness resonating deep inside my lungs.
My thoughts turn to Beccah, whose heart needs mending, having broken up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years.
To my devoted husband and the constant gift he is to my life.
To a friend who has become a paraplegic in the five years since we were last in touch. I did not know. I wish I had known. I am so sad.
To my father-in-law, recovering from yet another surgery. Missing him. And her. Still so devastated that they moved so far away.
To my father, long gone. Knowing how much he would appreciate this day.
To the hike we will take later this afternoon. To the other we will take tomorrow. Dropping everything--the laundry, the errands, the cleaning --to embrace this ephemeral season.
When the sun breaks through the trees, solidifying this moment:
Commanding my awareness
In the glow of this magnetic autumn morn.
This is home.
Our gathering place.
Where we are most ourselves
In this, this season of beauty.
It is the time by which we measure all others
Though this first bloom is as but in a dream
And this jubilant shade of joy does seem so near
While lingering stillness captures us and keeps us
And Summer wraps her winged arms full 'round us.
For this, this is home.
Under this canopy, attached to the sky.
Home.
...is pinching off a sprig of basil for your Margarita pizza and being jettisoned to summer in a sniff.
