[lit-ideas] Sunday Wotsit

This week I struggled as a Genevan might.  There's no gin in the tale; it's 
about chocolate and an apple, decay and the plastic bucket, tempting heights.  
I begin.  Though the apple I picked up in our kitchen smelled innocent and 
sweet as charity, when I carved in, it proved rotten to the core, brown with 
tricks and worms.  I cast it from me. "Begone," I said, tossing it airily 
toward the compost bin.  Then I hie'd me to the larder, seeking solace and 
consolation.  Not having much handy philosophy to hand, I rolled my eyes 
heavenward, which is about where the chocolate is kept, in a location that 
takes energy to reach.  I ascended the step stool.  I cracked off four squares. 
 I descended.  I stood foursquare with my four squares of Swiss chocolate and 
wondered whether John Calvin would approve.  Chocolate, I think, might have 
cheered him up, improved his general mien, changed history. Nothing I can do 
about that.  Postponing pleasure, I boiled water for tea.

David Ritchie,
Portland, 
Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------
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