On Walnuts*

During winters when I was growing up, my mom always kept nuts--mostly pecans and walnuts--in a bowl with a set of crackers on our coffee table. If you've ever had the pleasure of visiting a house my mom lives in, you've probably seen the nuts or even cracked and eaten a few yourself. If you've never had the pleasure of visiting a house my mom lives in, well, I just feel sorry for you. My mom can make any house a home.

Anyway, I was at the farmers' market last week and one of the stands was selling whole walnuts in their shell. Without thinking, I scooped a bunch into a bag and paid 75 cents to take them home. A few Christmas' ago, my mom sent Tiffany and me a bag of mixed nuts and a set of crackers, so when I got home, I put the nuts in a bowl and put the crackers on top.

When Tiffany got home that night, I told her my favorite walnut story. Actually, it's probably my only walnut story (except for all the stories about living in a house on Walnut St., where my mom lived for several years). My walnut story goes like this: once, when I was seven or eight and my brother was 11 or 12, he cracked a walnut perfectly--right along its ridged seam--and tied the halves together with a piece of string. On one half, he taped his school picture, and he gave the walnut-locket to me as a gift. Now, I don't know if my brother planned to give that walnut-locket to a girlfriend and chickened out and gave it to me instead--I loved it, and I didn't ask questions. I still have the walnut-locket, packed away in a box, somewhere underneath the house my mom lives in now.

Last night when I came home from work, I walked into the kitchen with our mail. There, on the counter, were the two perfect halves of a walnut Tiffany had cracked.

I smiled by myself in the apartment and felt... I don't know... like I'd made a big circle and come home.

*No, no one suggested I write about walnuts. But to find out how you can suggest a blog topic through the month of January, click here.

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