I was shopping at Costco recently when I bumped, quite literally, into a man who was pushing a flatbed and I laughed a little to myself about how hard they are to steer. The secret is that you should always pull a flatbed, not push it. Anyway, as we apologized to each other, I looked, really looked, at him for a moment and was struck by how like Ken he was, a little taller perhaps but slender, with a graying beard and thinning hair, very professorial in the inexplicable way that Ken was.  

By the third near-miss, I had noticed that his walk and mannerisms were also very similar to Ken, even his clothing. I started wondering how his wife would respond if I went up to her and said, “Hey, this is weird but your husband reminds me of my husband. Would it be okay … I really do know how this sounds but … would it be okay if I ask your husband for a hug? I’d just like to pretend, for a second, that my husband is still here.” 

And then, before I could give into the impulse and get myself banned from Costco, I turned away from them, my tears soaking the edges of my mask. 

They seemed to be everywhere I was after that (even parked next to me in the lot). I got used to it, even rather enjoyed bumping into them and lightly eavesdropping on their conversations. Poor man was married to a mouthy woman (a lot like me!) and like Ken, he never quite figured out how to operate that flatbed. 

Last month’s storm gave us roof damage in addition to all that ruined food (and a remarkable case of food poisoning). When you live in a three-story Victorian house, finding shingles on the ground is even more than normally disconcerting because you can’t see your roof. Finally, an opportunity to use my homeowners insurance! The inspector came out last week with his 36-foot ladder (not big enough), remarked on the steepness of the 12-foot gables, and confirmed the damage. 

Yay! Insurance is going to buy me a new roof! 

Haha. Hahahahaha. 

No, it isn’t. In fact, the damage is below my deductible. But the roof inspector said I need a new roof pretty much as soon as I can swing it. Yeah. I figured that out when I picked up the shingle and felt how crackly it was. As my kids would say: OWNED. 

Now, let’s circle back to the food poisoning story:  I won’t actually share the really gory details. I’ll just tell you that, when I threw out all the food, I missed something important — the condiments. Specifically, I missed the mayonnaise. Thankfully, I am the only person who puts mayo on her cheeseburger so I am the only one who spent six hours vomiting. It was bad — we won’t discuss how bad — but I would have felt much, much worse if I’d poisoned my kids. So, if you ever have a power outage, learn from me and don’t forget to throw out the mayonnaise!

And now, without further ado, let’s talk about the gift of summer fruit. Our blueberries are beginning to ripen. Our peaches are still growing. This year, we’ll attempt to save some of the peaches from the squirrels. Yes. I know it’s fruitless (hehe)…sorry, couldn’t help myself.

We’ve been cooking lots of fresh fruit recipes for our post-pandemic summer picnics. My personal favorite will always be strawberry pie but the blackberry lattice pie was outstanding. Sadly, the raspberry crumble pie failed completely. It looked great straight out of the oven but became so watery that we had to throw the whole thing out. Heartbreaking, to be honest. 

Our final berry creation — for now — was a triple berry — blueberry, blackberry, raspberry — compote that we developed to drizzle over my mom’s lemonade cake. So tangy, so aromatic, so good. My mom would be proud.