A friend of mine went to a pig roast today. I settled for pasta and frozen vegetables at home. Call me crazy, but when I look at my food, I don't want it looking back.
Sometimes, humans do the darnedest things. Say, for example, taking a pig just barely out of diapers, killing it, then skewering it over a flame so everyone can watch its grinning face get burned to a crisp while its innards, presumably, melt like butter off the bone. People actually find this appetizing, and will devour the tender pork, oblivious to the pig's blind stare.
I was thinking about this bit of barbarism as I sat on my front stoop with Manny last night, listening to the trees scream their summer chorus. We could barely hear ourselves think, but that did nothing to mar the companionable silence we enjoyed, as we do on many Sunday evenings out on the front stoop.
Summer is full of simple pleasures, pig roasts notwithstanding. Yesterday, after retrieving my younger daughter at camp so she could come home for the weekend and, as far as I could tell, take a decent shower and have her laundry done, both daughters and I spent the afternoon stuffing ourselves with ice cream and fudge and french fries and laughing about the most stupid things. Bliss. Sheer bliss.
By evening, we each went our own way, which is how I ended up on the stoop with Manny. Sure, I could have gone to the pig roast, but I would have felt as uncomfortable as, well, a Jew at a pig roast, so I opted for a lazy evening with Manny and a few more nibbles of fudge.
We listened quietly as the crickets screeched, and thought to ourselves how lucky we are to be able to enjoy summer at dusk. He may be blind, and I may be a tad bit lonesome on occasion, but things could be a lot worse. Just ask the pig.
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