Tag Archiv: trying to do the right thing

Further to earlier Good vs. Evil post

Apparently my post this morning was clearer than mud but just barely. This is sad commentary if anyone knew how much time I spent trying to say it right, but I digress . . .

The point of the fruit that I didn’t want to throw out was that in the middle of a day, thinking about nothing in particular, and wishing to foist those second class grapes on my son, I realized something. Most days I do not spend a lot of time considering whether or not I should steal a car, or if it would be ok to vandalize the lawns of people who irritate me. On the flip side, I don’t seem to be being asked to sell all I own and move to South America, or to start my own charity by raising chickens for food banks. (Of course, I have seriously considered most of the above but that is a side note.)  Sitting there looking at those grapes, I realized that a lot of my choices are as simple and boring as whether or not I’m willing to take second best . . . in order to let someone who often doesn’t even know the difference have the very best.

If this still is not clear, I accept sympathies and just trust me that the grapes helped me think straight about what I think matters. (Even if they failed to make me talk straight.)

Good versus Evil

G1 (girl one – blame my husband, he started it so we wouldn’t have to spell when they were little) does not eat her grapes for lunch on Thursday. Excellent. I resend them on Friday. My job is to mark, “check,” on the mental list requiring me to provide healthy lunches.  I mark check. Grapes return as expected.

To the chickens or the fridge? I ask myself.

Nasty North American, there is nothing wrong with those grapes.

I put them in the fridge. North American digs can be very persuasive.

Saturday, G2 asks for grapes. Triumph. G2 is so busy being happy all the time I could feed her almost anything. Smiling, I remove tupperware of grapes from fridge, re-rinsing for extra love and set them by her place.

G2 leaves without touching a grape. She accidentally got too full on the carrots and cucumbers.

Fresh, clean, lovely grapes are put out in a bowl for guests who do not eat them. B1 swoops in quickly. “Mind if I have some grapes?”

Victory from the ashes. Problem solved. My hand reaches for the grapes in the Tupperware. I start to explain that these need to be eaten first.

And then I close my mouth. I realize that I want him to eat the grapes that were pulled off the stems on Thursday morning, and travelled back and forth to school twice so that I don’t have to. The grapes were probably not touched by a booger picker, but the possibility remains that they could have been. Possibly even more than once. Potential booger fragments in a cozy warm lunch pail, now little invisible armies all over the grapes.

Chicken food? I ask myself again meekly.

But I do not want to be a nasty North American who is too good to eat perfectly good food which probably does not have boogers on it. This is why I need my son to eat them.

I sit there staring at B1, who no doubt wonders about how much concentration is going into his request for grapes. Sitting in between two containers of grapes, I feel like I am in the woods watching the two roads diverge into the yellow woods. In the struggle, I am forgetting to breathe.

“Ok,” I say.

I get up and wash the old grapes one more time. I eat them, while watching B1 consume the whole bowl of good grapes. I am strangely content.