Over-Compensation

The sky was a clear grey-blue when my bike sped down the hill toward the glow of Safeway. I was surprised to see stars, but there they were, light and bright. I hadn't seen them mapped out with such ease and grandeur since sleeping in a swag in the Northern Territory.

Operation Birthday Cake was a semi-success. Certain irreparable fissures ran through the top layer upon removal from the pan, presumably due to the moistness of the chocolate mass. Icing was a small improvement from recent attempts. Might have gone overboard with the engorged white hearts on the perimeter, however, because the sugar was beginning to get warm and less viscous after I'd done the border and shaky text.

A little peckishness caught up with me again, so impulsively, a chicken marinade was put on the stove above the busy oven. The proudest moment was when I figured out I could put the unused cabbage leaves from making dumpling filling (Safeway had chives today) in the broth for a little token veggie representation in tomorrow's lunch box. To celebrate the nearly endless spate of dishwashing, I had a little goblet of sangria in one gulp. Finally, I opened the pomegranate that had been presiding over the dining table. Then thought about writing a small collection of how-to pieces on eating complex things... like pomegranates and crabs and such. It'll be a gift to my grandmother, in vague memory of her teachings: how to pick out the snowy flesh of the freshwater shellfish with its own spindly wrenched-off limbs...

I'd like to say that the number of clear-red pomegranate seeds I ate was a multiple of seven, or that I had built a house out of them first, but that would simply be untrue.

They were perfect: sweet, tart, and pure fruit.

Time to close eyes to Mr. Cohen's gravel song as it floats on the waters dark.