Quest for Glory

Tonight, or this morning, depending on your point of view, I am in awe of the amazing pear.

I should have realized that I was a bit pear-crazy back when I noticed that I had 6 pears---two onyx, two wooden and 2 sequinned, on tables in the living area, even though I had given my daughter Sarah a whole basket full of wooden, paper, metal, sequinned and cotton pears just a year or so ago.  That was done partly from a spirit of downsizing, and partly, I think, from a sense that Sarah's daughter Emma and I were equally pear-stricken.

Where did this come from?  I never even saw a pear tree until I was in my 40s, and pears were not our fruit of choice in my childhood home.  No one I knew had a pear fixation.  I don't remember ever having spoken a word about pears until one of my friends served pears and brie for dessert.  I think I tried to spread the brie on the fruit---it wasn't a success.

But tonight, or this morning, depending on your point of view, I chose a Bartlett pear from the fruit bowl, calmly washed and de-stemmed it, sat at the counter with a very small square of dark chocolate and proceeded to slurp pear juice all over the various surfaces in my reach.

 It was glorious.