Pits, seeds, and juice.

Grams bought seeded grapes the other day... and there is just something about the mature taste of seeded grapes. Seedless grapes can just not compare... neither can the juice unless it is made from seeded grapes, or fresh squeezed at the marché at Capitale, as I can attest from the thoughtfulness of Violet, back on a beautiful morning in Toulouse.

My first taste of mature grapes (with seeds) was in France, and while the seeds were not a pleasant surprise, the taste more than compensated for that unexpected crunch. That lucious taste, that burst of tangy sweetness exploding in your mouth... all as you bite down unsuspectingly. As I bit into a grape that Grams had brought home, it all came back to me. That first experience, and the second and the third... Thus, as I crunched my way through the first grape, that old adage about the highs and lows of life, and how its pitfalls make you enjoy everything else so much more, came back to me in demi-force, at least. This grape wouldn't taste so amazing without its pits, its seeds... if I didn't have to crunch through those seeds, I wouldn't enjoy the flavor of the grape quite so much. As silly as this all might seem, it strikes me that this little grape is a lesson that I hope to remember in the year ahead... as I embarque on my next great adventure, I hope that I hang onto the knowledge that this is all an adventure, and all my experiences will seem the richer from the good, the great, and the ... missteps.