pomegranates

I have always loved pomegranates, for as long as I can remember. When the Tutankhamun exhibit came to San Francisco, my favorite piece was not all the jaw dropping gold but one little silver fruit, in fact, the only silver piece in the whole exhibit. I love the facets, the overt sexuality of the fruit from the tough outer membrane, leathery and rough to the stiletto blossom end, its crennelated top like a cartoon firecrackerp.

When I break open the fruit and hold it so carefully away from me to avoid stains, the jewels fall like crystals into the bowl. I have frozen them on sheet pans to save for winter to serve over Turkish Asure, the wheat and nut-fruit pudding called Noah's pudding.

I tried to make pomegranate vodka last year, my last year in my home. I bought some middle to fair cheap-o vodka and about 6 fruits. I broke all the fruit open and placed them into a large jar, poured the vodka over and anticipated a great little liqueur like limoncello. I realize now I could have made a syrup first, and then decanted the fruit. However the brew was cloudy, like a show of blood in a pool of water, the fruits themselves dessicated and devoid of color, all leached into the vodka. It didn't taste that great. However, over a few weeks I would try a sip or too, especially nights when I was alone and my soon to be ex husband was out again. Eventually I discarded the pome-vodka as a wanna be.

And this summer we discarded our marriage as a sad wanna be also. I was leached of color, and cloudy as well.

However, it is now pomegranate season again, and ironically this week he sent me over the internet an article on the religous and fertile symbols of these fruits.

We have no symbolism for a break up of a marriage. We break bread, we break cups under a canopy when marrying, and we break up. But we, as a culture do not cut a cake at a divorce. Perhaps this e mail was my own symbol, that my marriage had only been one facet of my life. I was still a jewel inside, and only the outside of my life had become harder and leathery, my stiletto self hiding my own secret self inside, waiting to break open. And just maybe that is why he sent me the e mail, as a peace offering, and a moving on.

And just last week someone else called me a jewel.