Aselin

In general I would classify myself as an optimistic realist. Most of the time I'm not wearing rose colored glasses and am OK with the realities of the world that might disappoint others. I don't get surprised by people too often - I experience other emotions derived from their behavior but surprise is not one of them. Also, I've learned I don't expect much from external sources. Life is what it is.

Last week I was at a small store that sells home decorations and produce. I know what you're thinking - how those naturally go together - well at this store they do. I often pop in to purvey their wares. Chatchke's I can't live without, vine grown tomatoes from a garden that didn't have to be tended by me, all sort of exciting things. Last Friday, it was Utah Peaches.

We all know about "Georgia Peaches". Back when we lived in Texas everyone would get all excited about Georgia peach season, so I got excited about Georgia peach season. Year after year the peaches would arrive, and while sometimes they tasted pretty good, they samplings I had were never freestone and always small. Small enough you wouldn't buy them in the store. Smaller than a plum.

I will never forget my first trip to my new in-laws home in Utah. The home was lovely, but what made a huge impact on me - surpassing my expectations - was the acreage of peach trees dotted across acres of manicured lawn. It was idyllic. Then, to go out early in the morning, select just the perfect peach fresh from the tree, so large two hands were required to carry it. Then to enjoy it for breakfast, bright, sweet. juice running down my arms - it is summer encapsulated. There is something alive and joyful in the memories of those experiences for me.

So this little store has Utah Peaches. I go in to check them out and they are spectacular. Two hand large, Blush of the color only a peach gets with the almost animal print of red across the rosy skin. Even the store clerk gasped when she saw the beautiful box. "These are the best we've had so far." I smile at my acquisition, carrying the hefty box to my car.

Home, I pull out one of the beauties, admiring it, smelling it, and then gently wash the fuzz off the skin. The smell is one of my favorites in the whole world and as I hold the orb of goodness with both hands I sink my teeth into the flesh...only to recoil, chew a little, then walk to the sink and spit like my disrespectful children used to do with my cooking before they were afraid of me.

Good grief this was terrible. Pithy, mealy, dry, no real peach flavor; it was awful.

Of course I figure I just got an anomaly peach so I slice up a second (too smart to bite into another) and it is the same. The third, the fourth. Awww crap. I'm so disappointed I want to cry. Now I have this huge case of peaches, inedible peaches, and the store is closed...and hubby is coming home. AAAAAAA he will see these. He is a peach bigot, deservedly so, he grew up at Peach Nirvanaland. Where can I hide them? He will be so disappointed in me...

My mind is racing, the panic making my throat tighten. Can I fit the box in the oven? Maybe somewhere in the garage? Under the laundry that needs to be folded - he surely won't look there. Suddenly, I hear the garage door. In panic I pick up the box, then I set the box down, then I pick it back up, finally - having taken too long in my indecision hubby walks in.

"Oh, you bought peaches." He smiles.
"Uhhh, uhhhh, yup. Soooo, how was your day? Tell me everything." The distraction attempt was lame, but it worked for the moment.

Finally, I can distract him no longer, he selects a peach to try. PLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSEEEEE let there be a good one in there. PULEEZE!!!!

As he's peeling the skin off he comments that it's not very juicy. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Then comes what I expected - the bite, the double chew and then the audible spit. "This is terrible."

"Yes, they all are, they looked so good, I can't believe how bad they are, I don't now what do to, maybe I can salvage them, maybe they'll be OK in pie..." I blather on.

"Well, did you sample them first? If they aren't giving out samples that's your first clue."

"No," I reply, hanging my head in mordant shame,"I just judged them by their cover."