Applepeelercorerslicer

Once I bought the handiest little contraption from a Pampered Chef party. I don't remember the party or buying it, but I know I did and I have it in my cupboard. The kids had it out today to start on our bushel of apples we picked... dozens and dozens.... So far, we've only eaten them, but we may make pies for a party we're going to this weekend. The funny thing is, when I make pies normally, I never use it. I know it's there and I know how to use it, but I go ahead and just settle for a paring knife. It's so much less satisfying and more difficult, but I think about the applepeelercorerslicer, sigh and go ahead and just peel by hand. I wonder why that is.

Now about love. Ain't it strange how people talk about it all the freakin' time? I mean, everywhere are people jawin' about, singing about, making films, books, moves on each other, looking at, feeling out, causing wrecks, making pretty all because of love. But I'm finding that most people really don't want love. Or they know it's there to access, but for some reason, don't use it. Maybe they think its too hard to use or it doesn't look like the way the expect it to look. Maybe they don't want to be troubled with the mess... mostly, I think they just forget how easy it is to do it when you don't think about doing it.

I was hanging out a someone one afternoon and she was telling me something about her husband, something sad and I reached over to rub her arm and I could feel the muscles underneath her sweater stiffen. Her body unable to warm to my touch. The body rejecting love. What is that... it's so strange.... and then the typical blowing off of the whole discussion with a toss of the head, chin up, stiff upper lipping it away with a "things could be worse," putting herself in a place in the past with someone she maybe once knew who lived a worse thing, or in the future of a potential worseness, canceling out her present sadness, null and void. Cutting herself off from herself ... and from me. And me having to pull my love back into myself like gathering up a dropped ball of yarn that could have connected us, knitting us into the warmth of true relationship.. holding the burden together...

It silenced me in curiosity.... I didn't push it.

What to do with all these apples....
What to do with all this love....
what to do..what to do....

My beloved kindred David Herbert .... sorely I miss his presence on this planet, they can't even find his ashes somewhere carelessly tossed in the Atlantic by a jealous Spaniard:

"Love has crept out of her sealéd heart
As a field-bee, black and amber,
Breaks from the winter-cell, to clamber
Up the warm grass where the sunbeams start.

Mischief has come in her dawning eyes,
And a glint of coloured iris brings
Such as lies along the folded wings
Of the bee before he flies.

Who, with a ruffling, careful breath,
Has opened the wings of the wild young sprite?
Has fluttered her spirit to stumbling flight
In her eyes, as a young bee stumbleth?

Love makes the burden of her voice.
The hum of his heavy, staggering wings
Sets quivering with wisdom the common things
That she says, and her words rejoice. " ~ DH Lawrence