The food season has started in the little green house. May is the time when I kick into full speed ahead mode in the garden, planning and planting and already thinking ahead to what I can set aside for the long winter months. Today I picked, cleaned and set aside 20 quarts of strawberries that will somehow magically become pie, ice cream and cobbler when we need a little a little extra sunshine at the end of the year. I even saved a few from the freezer bags for strawberry margaritas this weekend.
So, I'm telling all this to you now by way of explanation for what is bound to be a pretty paltry post. All I have to share tonight is the image of a boy and his mom, at dinner time, sitting at a table in a local restaurant, passing notes back and forth.
Me (passing the menu to the boy): What would you like to a eat?
Oliver: A bagel, toasted with butter.
Me: What kind of bagel? I see there is a list there.
Oliver: ev. ... (meaning an everything bagel)
Me: And what about to drink?
Then, later (regarding the live music at the restaurant; the musicians being friends of ours with whom Sami the banjo boy frequently "performs"):
Me: I like this music. It's different than they usually play. Have you ever heard this kind of music before?
Oliver: Yes. You have a CD.
Me: But I haven't played it in a long time!
Oliver: I know.
Me: It's called Klezmer music.
Oliver: I know.
Me: If you like it then maybe Bruce and the others would feel happy if you told them.
Then, on a new sheet of paper:
I really like the music.
Before we left, Oliver and I walked to the small stage and Oliver held up the notebook so the band could read it. The look of pride and happiness on Oliver's face as our friends read his note with astonishment said more than every word on the page.