A Field of Disillusioned Strawberry Dreams


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I was positively gleeful when my petite self hauled the 15 lb. bucket of strawberries inside and hurled them like She-ra onto the granite countertop.  Took a little doing, but I managed to force the lid open and much to my amazement, I didn’t see the sliced strawberries I had envisioned, but a soupy strawberry catastrophe.  Thus, it is with great humility and some respite that I dreadfully am forced to report that I fully understand why everyone dusted off their strawberry freezer jam recipes.  So alas, I called my mom, former jam maker queen, offered my “it seemed like the find of a lifetime in the heat of the moment” strawberry purchase, proceeded to drag them back to my car, with all my She-ra energy disappearing at this point, and drove them to over to her house.  She has dusted off her freezer jam recipe and has grand plans for the 15 lbs. of strawberries.  I may need to start adding my blog to the humor column occasionally, or perhaps when I see the cynicism in something, break out the corkscrew and bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.  Where is a Trader Joe’s close by when you need one on a holiday weekend?  Thank goodness I had the foresight to stock up several weeks ago.  Perhaps I have begun to fine tune some sort of psychic abilities and can see that a detour into a humor tunnel lies ahead.

When these moments happen, it’s best to sit back, enjoy a glass of vino, and laugh with (or at) yourself.


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