Time for a little something…
I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the last of the raspberries and some half-and-half. And I put them into a brown-eyed-susan bowl.
My taste for fruit has not returned, so I did not get the enjoyment on my tongue that raspberries bring, although I suspect my taste buds are locally happy even if my brain didn’t globally register a thing. (Or maybe even that isn’t true. Maybe those taste buds are shot. Still, I choose to behave otherwise.)
In any event, the joy of this was the bowl.
Some of you might know these brown-eyed-susans.
For those of you who do, you will remember summer days of picking raspberries on Stonewall Road. Of mounds and mounds of them for breakfast, for snacks, for just about anytime. And you might also remember those brown-eyed-susans on the plates and the bowls and the juice pitcher and the salt-and-pepper shakers that were in that kitchen that looked out onto that yard where those red raspberries used to grow out beyond the euonymus-topped rock garden and along the line of Cedar trees.
Maybe I didn’t taste the raspberries tonite. But they sure were good.