Day 95: For months, organic frozen pineapple chunks have been missing from the freezer section of my market. I never read anything about a pineapple shortage or blight; perhaps it wasn’t the season and I showed my ugly consumerism with “I need these for my smoothies, people!” desperation. When I couldn’t bear to see the empty “temporarily unavailable from vendor” sign anymore, I (gently) grabbed a fresh, organic $2.99 pineapple with more than a little trepidation.

I mean, look at it. It’s the Ft. Knox of fruits. If there’s one piece of produce that shouts, “Too difficult for humans. Walk away!” it’s a pineapple. Ah, but this tropical gem came with an instruction tag ’round its prickly neck. Instructions with illustrations. With Mom in attendance should it wound with its sharp-as-razors stem and skin, I began to operate.

“I’m never going to be able to twist…” and off popped the stem. Scanned hands for lacerations–zero. Cut off both ends, in half (thank you, Hustof-Trident bread knife), then quarters, trimmed core, and cut into smoothie-sized cubes. So many organic cubes for $2.99. “Mom, look!” as I held up the container brimming with my bounty. “That’s nice, dear.”


OK, she wasn’t condescending, though she failed to dance a jig of joy at my mastery over the intimidating symbol of welcome (hard to believe, isn’t it?). It didn’t dim my pleasure, dare I say feeling of empowerment, at felling a mighty pineapple. It was downright easy peasy! Guess who made two pineapple-y smoothies yesterday? Moi.

Next on my scary fruit list? (Gulp.) Coconut.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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