Pomegranate

My oldest memories include pomegranates.  Like apples and bananas and oranges, I have always known what pomegranates are. 

The only problems with pomegranates are: 1. The mess.  You CAN NOT peel one without ruining EVERYTHING you’re wearing.  Even your socks will get some juice on them.  And, 2. You have to peel them to get to the good stuff.  

My Grandma could peel a pomegranate faster than anyone I ever met.  Not that I’ve seen a lot of people peel a pomegranate.  Okay, she’s the only one.  But, compared to me, wow, she was fast. 

She lived most of her life in Las Vegas, in a little, pink, brick house with lots of trees in the backyard.  There was a tall pecan tree, good for climbing.  There was a huge, full apricot tree, also good for climbing.  This tree had big, delicious, bright orange fruit growing next to dozens of shiny, fluttering, aluminum pot pie tins, which were unsuccessfully intended to keep the birds away.  There was also a small, scraggly fig tree, good for nothing.  And last, and best of all, there were about five pomegranate trees. 

In preparing for our first batch of soap, we bought several fruity scents.  And then, for the very first batch, for purely nostalgic reasons, I suggested we make pomegranate. 

We cut this first batch up into several, small, giveaway-sized pieces.  The first of these went to my grandma, who now lives next door to us.  She smelled it and, commenting on its hardness, said, “This should last forever.”

Five months later, we still have a piece or two of that first batch.  It will all be gone soon.  But, yes, I do believe some part of it, somehow, will last forever.