2006/pickling

Sometimes I feel
like a Japanese
pickling crock,
a weight on
the lid.
A large stone
is good for
the job.
A wooden lid
is preferred.
And what to
pickle?
More then we
typically consider:
cauliflower
cabbage
anything
with the right
properties –
with the gumption
to survive
the process.
Ayurveda frowns
upon pickled
foods.
Anything fermented.
I live that
way now,
though I have
a pickle
now and then, or
a pickled beet
when eating out.
I made pickles
in my youth,
but not that
kind.
Refrigerator
pickles that
tasted sweet.
A recipe I got
from the woman
who was
my father’s wife
at the time.
Who sent the
letters that said
your father is
making wind
chimes,
and I am putting
up pickles.
Putting up,
it had a nice
ring.
Unlike the way
I usually use it,
as in putting up
with.
Which is what
my father was
doing at the time,
trying to put up
with her.
I didn’t know
how difficult
she really was
until I went
to stay one time.
But I’ve always
appreciated
the letters she
sent that kept
my father and I
connected when
we would have
slipped apart.
I have one of the
wind chimes he
made,
though it needs
repair.
As so many
things in life
recently have,
which is
a large part
of why my life
feels like
a pickling
crock.

7/16/06