mud pies to medicine: Juicy

Monday, March 26, 2012

Juicy

project 52 p52 weekly photo challenge my3boybarians.com

In order to purge my body of a whole month of indulging in whatever food my boyfriend was craving (Five Guys, Thai take-out, Pizza "Pie") I bought a bunch of fruit. This pomegranate had been sitting in my fridge for a while. I hadn't gotten around to eating it because, frankly, I had NO idea how to cut/serve/eat a pomegranate. Then divine intervention in the form of a facebook newsfeed post: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJ7dk9nDR-k <-- This guy is super happy about pomegranates but his method works and I finally got to have some of this deliciousness!

So this is my first entry for P52 Weekly Photo Challenge! The theme this week is hungry! Check out the other submissions here.

1 comment:

little macaroon.March 28, 2012 at 2:21 PM
This is such a totally luscious photo - great shot!
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The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.