There are always things about the boys moving to the next phase that I don’t anticipate. There was a time that I thought I would never again sleep until I awoke on my own. Then one day I opened my eyes and realized that the only thing that disturbed my slumber was my own whirring mind.
This summer they have all reached a liberating level of independence. There is still plenty of “will you?” But instead of “Will you play Candyland?” it is “Will you pick up (insert name of friend) so we can go (do anything more fun than being here)?” And, of course, the oldest is driving, which I thought would be terrifying but is also the most incredible relief.
Which leaves me time to contemplate important things like berries. Berries are another item on the long list of “Reasons I Love Summer.” I usually have a bowl in the morning with my coffee and the paper, delighted at the idea that they are “healthy” and satisfy my nearly insatiable sweet tooth. Blackberries deliver a unique thrill as my mother forbade me to eat the ones that grew over our wall when I was a girl; it made them better then and it makes them better now.
As I eat alone, before the rest of the pack is awake, I’m not bound to set a good example and I’ve abandoned the spoon. I eat them with my fingers. Dewey and cool, I select the perfect combinations by feeling their shapes in the bowl while reading about the news of the day. It must be the color that attracts because the skin gives no hint of the flavor; there is no satisfaction until you bite. And each day I think, “Apple, shmapple, hardly tempting at all.” Berries are the most sensuous fruit.