Thinking Out Loud
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"It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato." - Lewis Grizzard
Every year, right about this time, the sides of my mouth are cracked and sore.
I had narrowed it down it's cause, long ago, and attribute it to the acid in tomatoes that I consume in unabashed abundance, during the month of August.
For as many summers as I have been on this earth, I have had a love affair with lush, ripe, homegrown tomatoes of all varieties, large and small.
They entice me to devour them on a daily basis and often several times a day.
I regularly prepare tomato wedges on a plate, with a little onion, chopped into tiny pieces so as not to overpower the tomato, (the main attraction and star of the plate) and I add a healthy dash of salt and pepper. Usually quite pleased I have just made myself the perfect lunch.
Just like my grandma used to do.
All the neatly cut portions, arranged by her loving hands, onto the turquoise melamine plates that were in her cupboard as long as I can remember. Served with love and usually with the chocolate sandwich cookies she kept in her cupboard.
A daily snack of an old butter bowl full of red cherry tomatoes, picked right from the vine on my patio plant and still warm from the sun, that have a flavor that can only be experienced, not described.
Just like when we were kids growing up, 'stealing' them off the vines in kindly and exceedingly patient, Mr. and Mrs. Drave's garden, before we'd innocently and unashamedly knock on their door to ask for salt.
I enjoy the epitome of a summer dinner, the "BLT", several times a week during the dog days of summer, when tomatoes are as available as candy canes in winter and are just as delicious.
It reminds me of family dinners, the toaster on the gray Formica kitchen table, as my brothers and I fought for the rights to the newly browned slices of Spatz bread that popped up every few minutes.
While my mother carefully pulled hot ears of fresh corn from the kettle on the stove and my dad passed around the sliced garden grown cucumbers.
I noticed today the sides of my mouth are getting a little tender, but I'm not ready to call it a summer yet.
I'm tough, so I'll just suffer through with chapstick alongside my shaker of salt.
Besides, the windowsill is still full of too many pleasant thoughts, to give up now.
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Diane Szczepanski |
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