Tuesday, July 8, 2003

Bing Crosby's Cherries

There are cherry pits and stems scattered around my house. I've seriously decimated the number of cherries that were in the container now that my family has left me alone in the house; I'm addicted to the deep, scarlet color of the fruit, to the soft resistance to my teeth, to the simultaneous sweetness and tartness of the little red bulb. I try to eat only what's in season (or what can be kept in a root cellar or other storage, like apples in winter), so as we move into summer the abundance of fresh fruit is astounding. Someday I'll be older and I'll have the time and energy (and desire) to can fruit for winter, but for now I'm young and impetuous so I just bite in and enjoy the moment.

Starting today, I am living on my own. I'll pile all my groceries in the back of a neighbour's truck and be driven up to North River, and will unpack everything into the little farmhouse that could. The phone will no longer be tied up by step-sisters on the Internet (of which I only have one), and the kitchen will be all mine, instead of filled with puppy dog and newspaper. I have my stereo, I have lots of food (it seems like every week I bring enough up to feed a small village), I have my sarong and swimsuit. I have plenty of books to read, I have a bunch of copies of "The Way You Feel When The Sun is On Your Face", my long-titled short story of Whistler origin, which needs working on, and I also have a dictionary. There's a river nearby which is absolutely perfect for all those things you do in rivers, and a job which is more fun than not, and two room-mates who like the same things I do, namely sleeping and hanging out. There won't be as much Internet contact as now, but I should be able to post once a week. And in the meantime, you know I'll be spending my time as wisely as I know how.

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