A_Candle_Undimmed

Unwelcome Lunch

Unwelcome Lunch
By Yenna Buchay

In August and September, our church sets out a table near the front door. Gardeners leave extra produce and anyone can take items. I enjoy this lovely way to share and always check what’s available.

Last Sunday, I picked up half a dozen yellow fruit that looked like small apples, a bit larger than golf balls. Small green polka-dot spots covered the skin. Maybe an apple variety I’d never seen?

Some of the fruits had round, brown holes, about the size of pencil erasers. I didn’t mind. I’d cut out bad parts and cook applesauce.

For lunch the next day, I bit into a piece with no obvious defects. It tasted like a pear with a slight apple flavor, quite delicious—until my tongue landed on— a worm.

I guarantee you—worms are not tasty—especially raw. Some cultures appreciate them as a high protein meal. Not me.

Maybe worm-eating folks cook their critters first. Fortunately, this worm was too small for a baked item.

I dug the remainder of the long, narrow body out of the fruit’s core and gave him a one-way trip down the disposal. Being only half present, he failed to object. A wise choice, for both the worm and I.
Besides this wiggly thing, I do wonder what I ate. Probably not an apple.

(My friend, Denise, whose husband owns a nursery, suggested the fruit is an Asian Pear.)

Where's That Spider?

BEDTIME BATTLE
By Yenna Buchay

I like spiders, important members of ecology—if they remain where they belong.
Recently, in bed, I glanced upward and watched a large black spider crawl along the junction of our ceiling and the wall. Fenny arrived and I asked him to get rid of this critter.
He folded his t-shirt to swat upward. Then he decided not to kill the thing. I said, “ But its place is NOT our bedroom.”
“If I hit it, it’ll fall on you,” Fenny said.
“I’ll hunker down under the covers while you swing.” I pulled blankets over my head until only my nose peeped out.
Fenny couldn’t reach the spider with his shirt. “Try the broom,” I suggested.
He replied, “You’re good with that. You get rid of spidey.”
I snuggled tighter under the covers. “I’m already in bed.”
He laughed and headed for the broom closet. He returned, carefully placed the broom behind the spider and swept across the wall in his direction.
The spider disappeared. We examined the broom. No black body. We couldn’t find it on the floor.
“If it fell on the blankets,” I said, “It’s on your side of the bed.”
“But you’re sweeter, if it’s hungry.”
“Don’t tell the spider. God will keep you safe,” I turned over, my back to Fenny.
We never did find that bug. Maybe it’s pulverized deep in the broom.
Fenny decided a big, black spider, instead of small, brown and reclusive one, probably wasn’t dangerous. So we went to sleep.
No spider bites this a.m.! Thank you, Lord.

Chocolate, Chocolate!

Rabbit
By Yenna Buchay

Fenny and I often stop at a local chocolate store after dinner. We each buy one piece of candy.

We’ve heard that a small serving of dark chocolate has anti-oxidants equal to a glass of wine. I intensely enjoy the taste of wine. Therefore I limit myself to one small glass a year. Instead, we slurp on chocolate.

Easter Sunday, Fenny bought us favorite sweets. I joked lamely about chocolate rabbits and the clerk said, “Tomorrow everything’s half price.”

So Monday Fenny bought a large solid dark chocolate rabbit. We carefully cut off an ear on one rabbit for each of us. On Tuesday, we had the face, Wednesday, the rest of the head. We carved away a small chunk, day after day.

The rabbit body, we discovered, was hard to cut especially into small-sized pieces. This bunny must have been an aged duffer. Even my meat cleaver refused to neatly severe sections.

I stood next to my microwave as I prayed, “Help, Lord. How do we limit servings of chocolate rabbit?”
He delights in simple prayers, even when the answer is plain logic. The microwave!

I buttered a saucer and laid our half-bunny on its side. In two minutes I had flat rabbit. We each spooned out one teaspoon for that day’s ration.

Rabbit now chopped up easily whenever we wanted to chomp on a piece. Good-by bunny.

And thank-you, but I’ve had enough dark brown rabbit until next year.