High Hanging Fruit

I still have the scabs on my knees to prove it, that I was perched precariously on the branches of an apple tree last week, reaching for a cluster of perfect ginger golds. Perfect in that they were out of easy reach and far enough away that my eyes couldn't make out any blemishes, if there were any. I was emboldened by a bloody Mary -- Wisconsin style, with a beer chaser -- risking life and limb (both mine and the tree's) to get the best life could offer. 

Growing up in an apartment in Brooklyn, I was a bit challenged about anything related to nature. I always assumed pumpkin seeds grew in cellophane bags. I never gave it much thought actually, but I certainly had no reason to connect them with the eerily carved out orange gourds that seemed to be everywhere in other neighborhoods -- neighborhoods with stoops.

As far as I knew, apples grew in large bins in the fruit store on Avenue J. The most perfect ones were always on top, much easier to reach than the bruised ones underneath. Life is tough enough in Brooklyn; finding a parking space within walking distance of the fruit store was a lot more challenging than climbing some little old tree. 

For Jews, the "Days of Awe" are winding down, and the moment of truth is upon us. I think about fasting, something I've never been able to do. I think of it though, sort of like a last ditch effort to cram for the big test. I will convince myself, as I always do after I've survived about an hour without coffee, that I should just roll the dice. If I haven't done the work all year, cramming isn't going to make a difference. 

And, anyway, being "good" is certainly no guarantee. Nor is praying, for that matter. But it couldn't hurt.

I got caught up in the emotional return of Steve Scalise to the "People's House" yesterday. I loved the bipartisan embrace, the reminder that, at the end of the day, they're all human. I loved the absence of sniping and back-biting. It gave me hope, but it gave me pause, the sad truth that it took violence and the near death of a colleague to get both sides of the aisle to stand and clap together.

When the applause died down, Mr. Scalise leaned on his braces and spoke. He began with God and prayer. The power of prayer. I get it, but I couldn't help wondering why prayer only works for some and not for others. Life isn't always fair. The good sometimes die young, and the bad sometimes hang on forever. If there's a plan, I'd like somebody to explain it to me.

I loved what the congressman said about humanity.  About how people who didn't always agree with him, and people who had never even met him, all reached out. About how people, as a rule, seem to care. I like to think his words and his return will have an impact that lasts more than five minutes. I like to think that the apple at the top of the tree is always worth the climb.