Hard things

When I was about 9, someone gave me the full hardcover edition of "Little Women." Unsurprisingly, I was in love (and, despite my name, a Jo fan). I read it more than once, usually devouring it in huge chunks on a school break curled up in the blue chair my the window.

My mom, trying to get me to eat/have human contact knew one sure way to get me to eat was to bring me a cold, sliced, rock-hard Bartlett pear. It took a lot of pears to get through "Little Women."

When I eat pears, I am that age again, curled up in that chair in the winter afternoon sun and 100 miles and 100 years away besides. I bought some at the grocery store on Sunday. It's my stressed-out comfort food. I even sliced this one, for the extra-tangy nostalgia.