On Mother’s Day I decide to go to Whole Foods to buy enough flowers to fill vases all through the house. I usually go there to buy a tiny $10.00 clutch of posies – they fit perfectly in a small sweet vase I put on the mantel and I try to replace them regularly. I buy them again on Mother’s Day but don’t stop there. Surrounded by the cacophony of dads and small kids all choosing last minute treats, I select pink and purple lilies for the large clay colored pottery vase we got as a wedding gift from a theater friend. A different bouquet of giant lilies, roses, dahlias, daffodils, daisies – all yellow. Those will go in the stoneware pitcher decorated with bluey purple cornflowers around the bottom. And a clutch of five giant pink peonies, with long firm yellow green stems, meant for a tall straight-sided glass vase that I will put on the side table. There are other gifts for me at home, Bloody Marys with pickled okra and horseradish, Eggs Benedict. I pay for my flowers, armfuls of blooms, and carry them out wrapped in brown paper.
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I can’t help it – I’m so charmed by how the dog takes a proffered treat from my hand: A sniff – head an inquisitive 45 degrees. Having judged the gift acceptable, with lips pulled back he arranges his sharp teeth delicately around the bone. I would imagine that I would probably be so deliberate myself if I had only paws and had to carry everything with my mouth – although this dog is indiscriminate in what he is willing to gnaw on. This week alone he has used those teeth to chew up two pairs of sandals, my husband’s childhood Bible embossed with his name (the gold lettering and front leather cover now in shreds, though most of the contents were spared), a couple of socks, my sleep headphones. It’s been a busy workweek and I haven’t taken him to the dog park in a few days, and he is finding ways to be active elsewhere. What an infuriating goof. He’s a love, a destructive love. I will take him to the park today.
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I am growing some cherry tomatoes in a pot on the back deck. And by “some cherry tomatoes” I mean that I get one wee ripened red tomato every two weeks or so. It’s not exactly a bounteous crop, but there is nothing better than a warm just-picked cherry tomato, and I savor that treat on the rare occasion that one is ready. No one else here really likes tomatoes much so they are all mine. I don’t have the patience to be a farmer – so much tedious repetitive labor – but I do like eating foods that I have grown myself. As I sit here on the couch by the back window, I see there is one ready today – the little sliver of red peeking from behind the green leaves. I will slice it in half, sprinkle a little salt and pepper, wrap each half in a leaf from my basil plant and pop it in my mouth. A little summer treat.