As I commented on Katherine’s blog the other day, in response to her question, my five favorite fruits are raspberries, raspberries, raspberries…oh, yes, strawberries and blueberries…. In the photo above, the berry appears close to my wedding ring, and although I love Ted more, much more than any fruit, I feel passionate for anything raspberry.
The other morning, as I came back from my run and walked past our garden, I spied the second ripe raspberry of the year. I had seen the first one a few days earlier, but the next time I looked it was gone, probably serving as provender for one of the many creatures frequenting our yard at night.
The mood I was in that morning, after pushing my body through a longer route, and after losing the first one to someone/thing else, I decided I wanted that raspberry. I picked it and carefully cradled it in the palm of my hand. I brought it into the house and washed it in the sink, daintly rinsing my raspberry. Then I slowly savored it. In silence. By myself.
I didn’t tell the girls. I felt guilty that I didn’t share it with them. Of course, I could counter that splitting a raspberry four ways leaves only a tiny taste for each tongue. It was better not to mention it to them, for if I did, that would only tease them and make them mad. Mommy having a berry without them?
But I felt it was my selfish indulgence that morning. My secret selfishness.
If only my selfishness was a secret.
