Love & Apples

Love changes all things. Even late-summer fruit.

Hey, buds,

How’s your evening treating you? Are you super cozy in a robe and long blanket with your feet on the couch?

Did you have off today? Or did you show up to work like a regular old Monday?

Tell me what’s new.

On my end –

It’s dawned on me that I like “change” in the form of watching leaves shift color and shape but feel a quake of terror when faced with altering other meaningful areas of my life. Seriously! I almost upgraded my phone today, and there’s no good reason it should stir up that much anxiety.

Two photos… and in neither am I looking at the camera. Congrats to Alexis and Diony! (October 8th, 2023)

In other news, yesterday, I attended my third and final wedding for this season.

I enjoy weddings. I feel so safe around love. This weekend, when the bride danced with her mother to Celine Deion’s “Because You Loved Me,” my eyes started sweating. I was full-on dabbing my cheeks with the napkin. Fanning my face did nothing. Weddings are the one event where I feel comfortable un-shielding the sappy, lovestruck form that’s usually hidden underneath my tough exterior.

Love makes the difference.

It’s worth celebrating daily, through small intentional acts, annually, with anniversaries and mementos, and via gatherings for milestones and new chapters.

I admire love for its transformative property. Everything is so much fuller, brighter, and colorful with it —a shared walk between two turns into a heartfelt stroll.

And a routine task becomes a still-life painting.

One evening last week, after tending to my kitchen’s sink, counters, and floors, I did a final glance across all surfaces to ensure no single spoon or rouge cup of water remained between me and winding down for the evening.

What my eyes landed on was even worse.

When we awoke that morning at 5 a.m., Phil set aside strawberries and apples for me to core and dice.

It was now late evening, and I was not in the mood to core and dice, especially after clearing all utensils and cleaning all countertops.

I stared at the fruit and imagined responding, “I didn’t see them,” when asked if they were ready for tomorrow. But that would be untrue.

I considered knocking everything over and saying a tornado hit only this room in this house. But that would be unwise.

I also considered saying the goods walked away. But that would be unbelievable.

Instead, while removing the apples from their bag, I reminded myself I was not solely cutting late-summer fruit. I am showing my love is dependable. My love is as true as my word. I placed the final apple on the counter and surveyed the bunch.

I kid you not! The apples started looking like something out of a Cavaggio painting. (Still Life of Fruit on a Stone Ledge, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, ~1610)

The apples were a thing of beauty within itself.

The skins of the apples stretched, protecting their fleshy middle. While the ridges and shoulders bounced light and created shade. Within its mundanity lay something meaningful.

An extension of myself, my relationship, and my beloved himself.

An apple is a mighty thing.

I wish you a week filled with putting your heart on the plate.

Love always,

Rachel

P.S. Upon review of my effort, Phil said my dicing needed improvement 😃💔