Hey Good for me. I found the, chronologically in terms of black pixels on white, the very next bit of nonsense I wrote after the last time I posted here. Not five minutes ago. I mean January. Still thinking of my grandmother's pomegranates jelly:

January 5 or so, 2006

Maybe there should be that clear claret, that Christmas jelly, the blood of Christ, the blood of rabbits and satyrs, of jaguars and suns and lovers. Maybe it should be in the short jars, the rusted bands, the gaudy lids. Maybe that should be the breaking point, the stone of no forgetting, the hairball over which we just will not compromise.

That jelly, that pomegranate jelly. And it was jelly, not some fantastic imagining of mine, not jam, and not syrup. Acid and bright and perfect for buttered, toasted bread. The color as much as the taste. New light! There's no light such as that. The quivering, infinitely faceted, holy grail in--just that, just a jelly jar.

Eleanor would send them at Christmas, along with date bars—though we never grew dates. Date bars are one of those memories I can still taste, but more nostalgic than good. I smell them. The aluminum foil, the plastic wrap, the powdered sugar and there in, the background, the smell of cat boxes and oiled hardwoods and newly cut Christmas trees and dogsbreath. A puff of powdered sugar and then the smell of weight. The smell of sweet weight.

None save my dad was sure if date bars were a good thing, but he loved them. We loved that we got them, we loved the excitement of the doorbell and the cardboard and the mad wild cutting with dull scissors and chewed pencils and thumbnails and butterknives—we loved the opening and the arriving, but not so much the eating. Grant that today I’d give a pinky—and I hope my grandmother wouldn’t be offended but I honestly would save my index fingers—I’d give at least a pinky that she were alive again and interested in making those sweet gravestones, those sacks of lead, those squares of anti-matter, those incredibly dense and deceptively white-dusted date bars. But I'd give my life to live one more day inside that pomegranate light, that light where everyone is living and every moment is just to begin.