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For as long as I can remember, Mother canned sweet and sour beets. Beets are a purplish red tuber which grow just beneath the soil. On their own, they are tough and woody to chew with a bland, but faintly sweet flavor. When we lived in the city, I remember the neighbor girl thought we were absolutely crazy for enjoying this simple delight–we ate them like candy! Years after we moved into the country, Momma still canned beets, and we would occasionally open a jar over dinner.

But she gave it up as we grew older. The process of canning became too much of a chore for a housewife raising five kids and working on computer software from home. I hardly gave another thought to these treats. It was something that faded into the past. Then, one day, a friend introduce me to this lovely all-natural, organic-based cafe and market.

On the rack of canned goods, I found my old love.

Cracking open the sealed lid, an aroma of familiar spices wafted toward me. I breathed them in; the almost fruity, earthen smell of the beets, the sharpness of the spice and vinegar, and that sweet and tangy juice. It tasted just like Mother made, and it felt like home.

Recall a favorite food passion you discovered after leaving home. What did you feel? Write about it in the comments. Try to be descriptive.

I work retail part time. I refuse to be a “starving artist”, and I’ll work as many jobs as needed to live comfortably. So I picked up retail work last summer and, let me tell you, it is miserable. I have never before met so many ornery, impatient, ungrateful, and disgraceful human beings in my life. The sweet customers can’t even make up for it. This job is straining my ability to emulate Christ’s grace *sigh*. The holidays are considerably worse, because people are messy, in a hurry, stressed out, and trying to scam you for every penny they can get. Valentine’s day was no different.

I have been single for every Valentines day of my short existence. You think you’d get used to it, but somehow seeing lovely couples on TV and in every advertisement just eats at you. Yet another reminder I’m not eating the cake everyone else is enjoying (or not. I mean, let’s face it, relationships are hard). But I was feeling pity for myself–not gonna lie.

Saturday night, while I’m minding my own business stocking shelves, a young man approaches me. He hands me a rose and says,

“Happy Valentine’s day.”

After I stammer a confused and awkward thank you, he leaves. That’s it. No exchange of telephone numbers, no requests. That’s it.

But he left me feeling pleased indeed. You see, I’ve never had a secret admirer. I guess there’s a first for everything.

Happy belated Valentines, everyone.