Dried Cherries


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Love is weird.

Love is weird. I’m not talking about the kind of love marketers shove down your throat every Valentine’s day. I mean the real day to day act of showing someone that you care.

For example, every time I go home, my mother sends me away with food. I suspect that all mothers have this instinct. If we had evolved from wolves, I’m sure she would insist on regurgitating something for my lunch.

This last visit home it was Cherries. It’s just me and Mom at the kitchen table. And it’s during a quiet moment — one of those moments in which all children secretly hope Mom will lean in and say, “I’ve always loved you best.” That she holds up a sinister-looking Ziploc bag filled with small dark pellets. “I want you to take these back to Charlotte”, is all she says. And honestly, it feels like she’s asking me to open up SouthEast distribution for whatever illicit substance is in the bag.

So I ask. What’s in the bag.

“Tart dried cherries from Michigan. They cost a fortune if you buy them in the supermarket. If you like them, I’ve got more where that came from. I ordered four pounds.” Okay, this is still weird. She found a source in Michigan and repackaged the Cherries into (what appear to be) carefully measured and weighed Ziploc bags. I’m a little uncomfortable with it, but I say, “Okay Mom, thanks, I guess.”

She also gives me a 3lb sack of onions. There’s really no logic to this behavior. But, today, that’s what real love looks like, a quarter bag of dried cherries and a 3lb Sack of Onions. Go ahead, put that on a greeting card.

2 replies on “Dried Cherries”

  1. Happy to hear about the Evil novel you’ve been working on, but I’m even happier to hear that getting sacks of Russet Potatoes from my mom doesn’t mean that she’s crazy.

    Looking forward to your next ‘cast.

  2. My mom always sends me home with cookies for my room mate Kyle. I get cans of beef broth and mushroom pieces, but Kyle gets cookies… I’m not quite sure how I feel about that…

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