A Memory Found Amongst Red Leafs....

Tonight, chopping up a carrot, I found myself momentarily transported to my New Hampshire home circa 2003, when I would sit at the kitchen counter, working on my algebra homework and listening to my dad make one of his signature salads, a series of concentric clonks as his knife cut through veg and hit upon the wooden cutting board. He does this all the time, carelessly brandishing large bunches of carrots, red onion and celery, chucking them into a huge black bowl that will sit in the fridge full of red leaves and veggies and covered in saran wrap. We’re big on greens in my family and when I lived at home, every few days my dad would make a salad, sliding chunks of carrot my way while I home-worked, popping a few in his mouth, while he talked, chewed, worked on a beer and listened to XM radio.
Making my own salad tonight, I went to cut up some cheese to go on top and saw my daddy, lopping of lumps from a big chunk of cheddar effortlessly. I remember once, trying to do the same with similar ease and struggling against the resistance offered by the door stop sized wedge. Dad knowingly tilted his head and watched my progress from over his drug store brand reading glasses. “Cutting cheese is a delicate task” he said.