the last of the peaches

I found myself on my hands and knees in front of the freezer. Taking out boxes of egg rolls, neatly stacking bags of shrimp and chicken...looking for a tiny stash of peaches I had hidden in the very very back. Hidden away from the hands of curious children and ravenous husbands. Shuffling the cauliflower, past the shrimp gyoza and under the chopped onions, looking for it:

the last of the peaches

In July, on an early Saturday morning before dawn, I woke up and made a peach and ginger concoction that was so so tasty, I immediately froze half of it to enjoy later. Then forgot about it. Then remembered it, and moved it to the back of the freezer. Then forgot it again.

But this morning I remembered it. I took two healthy scoops of plain Greek yogurt and placed them in my favorite little bowl. But then, the peaches.

So I sat in front of the freezer, barricaded behind a fortress of melting food. And there it was, right where I had left it. Wedged between a bag of strawberries and a container of homemade spaghetti sauce. The peaches in a baby food size container; maybe only a quarter of a cup. But enough for breakfast.

Clutching the peaches in one hand, I re-assembled the food in the freezer with the other hand.

I heated up the peaches in the microwave, pushed a few buttons, and settled in to wait - I love the opposites of hot and cold - especially for breakfast.

One and half minutes and one long beep later,  it was time to eat.

Sweet and tart and cozy and hot and cold and creamy and warm and melty and the feeling of summer on a spoon.

I ate the last three bites with my eyes closed, determined to shut off as many senses as I could so I could concentrate on taste.

And then it was over. The moment had passed, but the feeling stayed with me for the rest of the day...until now, when it's time for bed, and my husband asked me how my day was.

And I told him, "I found myself on my hands and knees in front of the freezer..."