ORANGE PEEL
When I was a kid, I was obsessed off and on with the idea of a perfect, completely self-contained food. By which I mean the food, once consumed, left no trace of itself. The closest I ever came was an apple, if I ate the core too. But I still spit out the seeds. I often considered a banana, but I felt that I would have to be starving to be able to bring myself to eat a banana peel; I could hardly stand the feel of those clingy strings on my teeth, let alone the peel. I tried to eat all of an orange once when I was four. I paced the sidewalk in front of our townhouse in San Francisco, watching the traffic as I methodically chewed. The first part was easy, of course, but I think I only got determinedly through about two thirds of that damn peel before giving up and throwing the rest into the sinkhole that would never stay filled in our tiny front lawn. That sinkhole was another thing I thought a lot about. A foot and a half across, a foot deep. Didn't matter what they put in to fill it up, it always sank. Found out later it was part of the San Andreas fault. I have a lot of affection for that fault line. Reminds me of when I was a kid.
When I was a kid, I was obsessed off and on with the idea of a perfect, completely self-contained food. By which I mean the food, once consumed, left no trace of itself. The closest I ever came was an apple, if I ate the core too. But I still spit out the seeds. I often considered a banana, but I felt that I would have to be starving to be able to bring myself to eat a banana peel; I could hardly stand the feel of those clingy strings on my teeth, let alone the peel. I tried to eat all of an orange once when I was four. I paced the sidewalk in front of our townhouse in San Francisco, watching the traffic as I methodically chewed. The first part was easy, of course, but I think I only got determinedly through about two thirds of that damn peel before giving up and throwing the rest into the sinkhole that would never stay filled in our tiny front lawn. That sinkhole was another thing I thought a lot about. A foot and a half across, a foot deep. Didn't matter what they put in to fill it up, it always sank. Found out later it was part of the San Andreas fault. I have a lot of affection for that fault line. Reminds me of when I was a kid.
SINKHOLE SOMEWHERE IN NORTH CAROLINA
4 comments:
What a beautiful photograph!
There's always blueberries. Or raspberries. I can eat the peel of a lemon if I eat the lemon in wedges. I used to do that with the lemon wedges in my iced tea, just to freak out my friends.
Wondrous is the mind of Katherine.
Yes, and not only would whatever I put into the sinkhole to fill it shortly vanish, the doors and windows were always slightly out of alignment. Seems like some kind of allegory for life, but I can't think of what---or, maybe I just don't want to.
That was also about the time you decided you needed to have a baby and attempted to convince the neighbor boy to assist. But, when his mother got wind of it, she banished you in horror from ever playing with him again. She was a deeply unhappy Mormon divorce', as I recall.
What about fig?? A fig is a seriously under estimated fruit. yet, I realize this is missing the point. I appreciate your wit! Oh...and a tomato!
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