KILLER POMEGRANATE

Many years ago, in a different home far away, I was looking for nicely painted paper mache fruit for an impressive cut glass bowl that sat on a sideboard in the dining room. My search took me to a picturesque area loaded with antique shops and specialty stores, just the place I might find what I had in mind. Perched on a hill overlooking the Ohio River, this little hamlet had shaded benches lining a walkway along the river and on this particular spring midday, they were filled with elderly men taking in the view, some drawing seated walkers up close to use as footstools.

Having found exactly what I wanted, my friends and I were walking slowly towards the car, each with a yogurt waffle cone and I with my additional bag of paper fruit. As I was juggling this load, a pomegranate fell to the ground and rolled under a parked car. Aghast, (this stuff is expensive), I yelled, "Oh no, I've lost my pomegranate!"

Whereupon, elderly men instantly scrambled up and to the sounds of "clang, shuffle, shuffle, clang, shuffle, shuffle," scooted away in all directions on their walkers. What on earth!?!

Did that sound like "Pomeranian"? Did they have even a vague idea of what the danger could have been? I am not fond of Pomeranians, but I do like pomegranates very much, especially on a fruit salad with poppy seed dressing. I'm likely to serve it soon, because my trees are fruiting. My friends are welcome to come by and enjoy them.

But, if you go in my backyard, you are on your own.