Confession

They say that confession is good for the soul.  In my case, "they" are the priests and nuns I encountered as a young person. Although I have gravitated away from the doctrines of the Catholic church - I call myself a "recovering Catholic" - still I must admit that between my parents' vigilance and the clergy's lessons, they managed to roughly civilize a half-wild child.

So, I no longer kneel down in a dark cubicle and listen for the slide of wood-on-wood as the priest opens the window and sits mysteriously behind the fabric screen to hear my youthful sins, but I do confess my transgressions from time to time.  This is one of those times.

My Beloved was out of town for ten full days on a combination business/pleasure/family trip. I would have gone with him, but I have committed to tutoring four second graders and I missed most of February due to a family illness, so I opted to stay home. Cora and I were holding down the fort.

When he goes away, I usually don't cook for myself. I eat all the things that I wouldn't normally indulge in - things that require little or no cooking and, often, things that are guilty pleasures.  Bologna sandwiches with iceberg lettuce eaten standing over the sink to save dishes. Bowls of cereal for dinner.  Serious ice cream. Cottage cheese and apple butter mixed with granola. (I know!)

Vegetables?  Well, there was that iceberg lettuce, right? 

Just as I dropped My Beloved at the airport, I arrived home to find that my sister had sent me a pretty good-sized can of peanut brittle from Plantation, the best peanut purveyors in the universe and makers of sublime peanut brittle - it's dense with nuts and only a little bit of sweet crunch to stick them together.  And, the day he left was the first day of our summer farmer's market here in town.  Rodriguez Strawberries were back with their fragrant, sweet, brilliant fruit. I bought three baskets. 

This week has been all about strawberries and peanut brittle. Oh, I may have made myself a chicken soft taco or two, but to be honest, I confess that I've mostly subsisted on peanut brittle and fresh strawberries. 

So, now you know my darkest secret. Am I forgiven? Probably not, as I didn't make a sincere act of contrition.