With 10 minutes left on an incomplete deadline my cell started ringing. It was my Aunt Shirley. I truly love this woman to pieces, but she rents a house from me and the first thing I thought of is that the toilet probably overflowed and flooded the house. My tone was probably sharper than it should’ve been and without many pleasantries I asked, “What’s up?” When she told me excitedly she was calling to tell me about the persimmon trees, I felt like a smuck.
I explained that I was slammed with work, my brother is a slave driver and the second I finished up for the day I would visit.
Shirley’s been ill — back issues had her to the point she found little enjoyment in anything. It was so wonderful to hear her laugh and promise to bake a persimmon pudding for me. She’s the best cook left on the planet (my Nanny was great too but she’s not around anymore).
Next, she began a lecture about persimmon trees. I didn’t have a clue that there are male and female trees — if I did know that fact, it was buried a long time ago in the non-processed trivia brain cells now much too deep to uncover. All her talk about stamens and pollination and I wasn’t sure if I was back in Biology 101 or if she was working her way into the whole birds/bees lesson.
