I've been cranky for three days, the kind of cranky usually reserved for when the Angels are losing and 120 degree days with no air conditioning...only the Angels are on a 5 game win streak, the weather has been unseasonably comfortable and my AC works great. So what the heck is my problem?
I golfed yesterday. Badly. That didn't help. Then I came home with a headache and found a large bag of freshly picked figs sitting on the kitchen counter. My parents picked a bunch and forgot to take them. Great. Now what?
The Angels killed the Twins for the second day in a row, Sharon came home and did her best to cheer me up. Still cranky.
A full night's sleep, a lazy morning and a leisurely day weeding and watering in the garden and I was still acting like a baby with diaper rash.
I like to think this is Sharon's game, picking fights about nothing and trying her best to avoid being tricked into feeling better, but I'm just as bad. She doesn't do it often, but when the spirit takes her, look out. Like the time she blew up at me in the car and wanted me to drop her by the side of the road. I took her miniature golfing instead, forced her to pick a ball and a club and walked her to the first hole.
Fine! I'll do it but I'm not going to enjoy myself.
She struck the ball with all her anger and walked away without looking to see where it went.
Hole in one, baby!
She didn't believe me, knew that if it was true, she wouldn't be able to be mad anymore. She walked up to the hole and looked in. Done. She walked back with a sheepish look on her face and folded herself into my arms, laughing and crying at the same time. When things are so good, being mad is a losing battle.
But this morning I was still fighting it.
Sharon refused to be goaded into a petty fight. Instead, she plopped a cookbook in front of me and proclaimed we were making fig spread with my parents' forgotten fruit. Desperate to deny happiness, I took the opportunity to accuse her of bossing me around, being overly critical of how I diced.
If you think you can do it better, you do it!
And she did, chopped figs into neat 1/4 inch cubes while I performed the more appropriate task of juicing lemons. Some honey. Some pepper. Some stirring. Some sulking. Some sesame seeds. 45 minutes of unadulterated adolescent attitude.
All I can smell is lemons. It's going to be sour.
Undeterred, she tasted it.
David, this is good!
NO! It can't be! But it is. Hole in one. The next 30 minutes are spent stuffing our face with crackers, Iberico cheese and warm fig spread. Who can do that and be angry?
We eat well in this house, she said.
Despite ourselves, we love well, too.
It is going to be the best part of my morning tomorrow! Magnifigcent.
Posted by: JLB | 08/03/2009 at 03:37 AM