Once More into the Deep

I am thrown onto my own resources for tapping the deeper darker elements of my psyche. Am I up to the task?

 

Probably not, but let's see. How do I even start? Peer at the navel again. No, all that gets me is an image of a navel . . . orange. I've been thinking about oranges recently, about peeling them and eating slice after slice, hoping I managed to buy the kind with thin, chewable membranes, since I just can't deal with tough, fibrous matter. Perhaps all those past years of bruxism have filed down my teeth (and talk about deep and dark—whatever fed that bruxism was certainly not sweetness and light, was it?) Anyway, oranges. I love the way you can twist a bit of orange peel and actually see the oil spray from it and fall into your Negroni—droplets, droppellini, minuscule bubblets of orange essence.

 

Oranges. I'm remembering my mother cutting oranges by the dozens to feed the bottomless maws of her six offspring. She always cut them into eighths, skin on. You had to peel the mouthfuls of flesh from the skin with your teeth, and you always ended up with a sharp acid sting right in the corners of your mouth. It was not a pretty sight, watching the six Johnson sprouts wade into a platter of orange eighths. There's no delicate way to eat an eighth of an orange.

 

My favourite aunt was the first person I ever knew who routinely squeezed fresh orange juice—every morning—for her family. I at first faulted my mother for not doing the same for us. A little older, I realized that it was my aunt's maid who did the squeezing. And the juice was being squeezed to supply a civilized family of three well-behaved children, not a horde of Mongols like our six wild ragamuffins. Still, when I was ten I was pretty impressed by those daily servings of fresh-squeezed juice, no matter who was doing the work. And then frozen orange juice concentrate was invented and everyone could have somewhat fresh orange juice all the time.

 

This hasn't brought me any closer to deep, dark secrets. On the contrary: don't oranges put a bit of sunshine into life? And speaking of sunshine, let's have a round of applause for the Height of Summer!

 

 

Copyright 2012 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com