Speaking Of Things That Grow On Trees….
Pomegranates are back in season and, while I love me some ruby-red pomegranate seeds, I do not love the $2.00 a piece price tag. In fact, it makes me very sad.
My dad, the crazy ex-Texan, introduced my sisters and me to pomegranates around the time we were old enough to chew and, in so doing, created three little monsters. Each fall, we clamored over who got to break open the first fruit of the season. Our small fingers worked feverishly to mine the ruby-red seeds from the rind, never minding the stains left behind under our fingernails. And, each year, we ate more and more of the seeds, saving fewer and fewer for my father.
Poor man, right?
Please. I know all about how Dad used to hide the biggest pomegranates in the beer fridge in the garage, thinking we wouldn’t look there for them. I also know about the hidden Snickers bars and, while I’m on the subject; did he really think we didn’t notice him eating Christmas cookies in February? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Mom was stashing those puppies in the deep freeze just for him, is what I'm saying.
Nevertheless, when I visit my childhood home in the fall, I try to take a bag of pommies (as Dad calls them) home with me for my parents. I figure I owe them and, luckily for me, the prices will have dropped considerably by Thanksgiving which is when I will make my next trip.
In the meantime, I have no choice but to splurge on a couple of small fruits for the children (and a really large, super beautiful one that I will hide in the fridge in the garage for myself); the tradition will live!
My Dad just read this and thought to himself, “I have taught you well, Grasshopper”
Pomegranates are back in season and, while I love me some ruby-red pomegranate seeds, I do not love the $2.00 a piece price tag. In fact, it makes me very sad.
My dad, the crazy ex-Texan, introduced my sisters and me to pomegranates around the time we were old enough to chew and, in so doing, created three little monsters. Each fall, we clamored over who got to break open the first fruit of the season. Our small fingers worked feverishly to mine the ruby-red seeds from the rind, never minding the stains left behind under our fingernails. And, each year, we ate more and more of the seeds, saving fewer and fewer for my father.
Poor man, right?
Please. I know all about how Dad used to hide the biggest pomegranates in the beer fridge in the garage, thinking we wouldn’t look there for them. I also know about the hidden Snickers bars and, while I’m on the subject; did he really think we didn’t notice him eating Christmas cookies in February? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Mom was stashing those puppies in the deep freeze just for him, is what I'm saying.
Nevertheless, when I visit my childhood home in the fall, I try to take a bag of pommies (as Dad calls them) home with me for my parents. I figure I owe them and, luckily for me, the prices will have dropped considerably by Thanksgiving which is when I will make my next trip.
In the meantime, I have no choice but to splurge on a couple of small fruits for the children (and a really large, super beautiful one that I will hide in the fridge in the garage for myself); the tradition will live!
My Dad just read this and thought to himself, “I have taught you well, Grasshopper”
Indeed.
Gah, I haven't had a "pommie" since elementary school. I miss them. My mission is to buy one this season (or 10) :)
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