A Bowlful of Happiness
"I think we bought too many cherries" says the Figman, looking over the benchtop to the giant red bowl of dark ones in the sink, the half bag on the counter and the big plastic container full of Bing Cherries.
"How can you say that?" I ask. You remember who we're talking about here, right?
We toddled off to the Collingwood Children's Farmer's Market this morning after being woken incredibly early. It was too early even for the waker, who quickly decided that he did not like dogs, he did not like the flies in his face, and he most decidedly did not like having to walk. (When both of his parents refused to carry him, he flung himself on the dusty straw and howled. F looked at me and said "I remember how I used to look at parents with screaming kids and think why didn't they just control their child? And now ... it's me")
The Little One soon added cherries to his dislike list - he bit into a stone and that was that. It became clear that what he needed was to go back to bed and so we headed home after a pleasant breakfast outside at the nearby Convent Bakery.
At the bakery, I had to ask for a plastic bag as I discovered that when the Cherry Lady says that this type is soft, she means soft. And that the best place to store a kilo of very soft cherries in a paper sack is not in a near-new handbag (the lining will never be the same, but oh well).
After we got home, I emptied half a container into a bowl and rinsed them. And despite the early start, the mis-start (we wound up at Booroondara first under the impression that the market was there today), the cranky baby and the crowds, all was good. Peace, quiet, the paper and a bowl full of cherries. Saturday morning bliss.