Sometimes being a perfectionist pays off. Well, many times in my book. In this particular instance, I'm speaking of benefiting from the imperfection, as a result of perfectionism. (head…spinning…and we begin our dramatic sequence)
[Opening song]
For the last two years we've been canning our tart red plums and giving them to loved ones for Christmas as a sweet-tart preserve or jam. Earlier this summer I mentioned the sad news about our plum tree being bare this year.
[bassoon dips into a dirge]
The grief was bearable, just barely. Why? Because it meant no plum preserves on our winter breakfasts, and no sweet jars shipped off or as parting gifts for visitors during the holiday season.
[bassoon dips into a dirge]
The grief was bearable, just barely. Why? Because it meant no plum preserves on our winter breakfasts, and no sweet jars shipped off or as parting gifts for visitors during the holiday season.
[the flute and oboe begin to create a beautiful melody]
After dinner the other night, lo and behold, my husband found something in the pantry to put on his ice cream.
After dinner the other night, lo and behold, my husband found something in the pantry to put on his ice cream.
[drums roll in...building with the tubas and cellos]
The Last of the Mohicans.
The Remnant.
The imperfect that became perfection.
[big drums, full orchestra]
[big drums, full orchestra]
We had saved one jar of plum jam because the jar had an imperfect lid. It was too ugly to give away, so it was rejected… Rejected last year, only to be savored with sheer delight, THIS year.
[…aaaand scene. Curtain falls]
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