Sprinting

Do three-minute sprints with each of the following topics:

Cantaloupe

It’s one of the best summer fruits, only when its cold and ripe and juicy and orange, not mushy and warm and still partly green. I used to spend afternoons making fruit salad in my parents’ old house where I grew up. I had cutting cantaloupe down to a science. I would smell it at the end, making sure it was at the perfect ripeness. I’d grab the fat knife, not perforated but heavy, the one that is good for cutting lettuce heads. Down the middle, I’d slice the lope’ into two halves, scrape out the juicy seeds with a thick silver spoon, gutting its insides, like the way I’d carve pumpkins with my dad. I found it best to then cut each half into threes, grabbing each slice and sliding the sharp metal edge of the knife down the boundary of the green rind and sweet flesh. The juice dripped down my wrist, annoyingly sliding to the edge of my elbow; I couldn’t stop to prevent it or the perfect slice would be ruined.

Cow

I don’t really like cows that much. I consider myself an animal lover- but I guess I’m not much of one if I have no real devoted interest in cows. But I love their milk. I drink it raw. Un-pasteurized. It’s heavy white substance builds cream on the top of the glass gallon, creating a rim of curd-like velvet, perfect for skimming off and plopping into my morning coffee. It’s whole and fatty, and full of Vitamin D, beta-carotene that the cows digest from the grass they eat, nutrients and minerals only offered in this flowing white juice of the cow.

Breast

I have two of them. I remember the year I got them. It’s not cliché to say they develop overnight. One day I had two little bumps under my t-shirt, and the next day they were breasts. Woman’s breasts, but I didn’t yet feel like a woman. Not until I saw my silhouette in the mirror, two round mounds of new fat that hung from my shoulders. I felt heavier and sexier. And I finally knew they were there when I’d wrap my arms around a boy, and only feel them as our chests touched, mine pushing back at me into my little rib cage I had seen bare everyday before that, naked in front of the mirror.

Window

I never considered myself claustrophobic. I’ve had numerous MRI’s and the technician always interviews me prior to being wheeled into the massive magnetic field, asking whether or not I’m claustrophobic and I answer “no” every time. Windows got me to thinking that I might be partly claustrophobic. I absolutely love windows. I want them in every room of my house, the more the better. One or two in each room doesn’t really cut it for me. I want the walls to be majority glass, so the light can come in. Natural light, so I won’t need lamps. Nothing is comparable to that morning light that shines in through the window, rays beaming down onto the wooden floor or Oriental rug, creating a hole of joy, plastered to that spot until the sun continues its rise.

Urine

I don’t really know what to say about urine. I just keep thinking of warmth, and the way it smells in the morning, dehydrated and bright yellow, but such an amazing release. I never had to deal that much with urine until I got a puppy. He pisses a lot and is learning to hold it, but the past month I’ve touched, wiped, cleaned up, and smelled more urine than ever before. I want to know why it’s yellow. I know it’s all waste, and our body cleanses through urinating but now that my trashcans are full of soaked paper towels, and my once white bath mat is almost completely yellow, I’d like to know why it’s not blue.

Pillow

The pillow has become a rather important part of my bedding the past couple of years. After a neck surgery put me in a stark white collar for a couple months, my sensitivity to pillows grew stronger. Feather down pillows were what I used most growing up. I think mainly just because that’s what my mom had and I got used to them- the smell of down, how it sometimes reminded my of stale leather or damp rugs, the little pricks that poked my cheeks when the feather tips would make their way through the 300 thread-count. I got an orthopedic neck pillow after my surgery, but hated the way it constricted my spine. I even tried sleeping with no pillow, the way my Venezuelan sister-in-law does, and claims it’s the most natural way to sleep.


Vanilla

When I think of vanilla, I don’t get that excited. The only reason for this is because of its counterpart: chocolate. I absolutely adore chocolate and would definitely label it as one of my most favorite things in the world. And, as a result, vanilla being it’s opposite gets pushed out of mind for me. Ice Cream: Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate! Cake: Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate! Pudding: Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate! Whenever given the choice of flavor between Chocolate and Vanilla, I choose Chocolate! But I do think about vanilla beans, how dark and earthy they look, the way you can scrape out the dark moist vanilla pulp from the inside of the bean. And, how you can use it in a recipe to make my most favorite of all: chocolate mousse!