Deep like a Blueberry and Bent like a Banana

This post is brought to you by blueberries  because I just really love them. ‘I just really love them’ is a phrase brought to you by my niece. The same niece who refuses to close the bathroom door while I’m sitting on the toilet. I just really love her.

The ‘Good Fruit’ is back for another season and has started making an appearance in our grocery stores at the same time pollen has started making its way into the air. Switzerland has wisely set up an advisory website for the hundreds of thousands of people who can’t breath. In an unwise move, the same government is planting these trees throughout Geneva to beautify slabs of concrete. It seems their priorities aren’t much different than the rest of us.

So I’m sequestered at home for the next month. No cafés or runs in the park. Instead I'm on an imposed writer's retreat, like Paul Sheldon but without my number one fan. The only way I've found not to go all red-rum among four walls is music. For my birthday my husband introduced me to Spotify and instantly I'm transformed back to age fourteen,  doing calculus, listening to the rain outside and Def Leppard on the radio, dreaming about the blonde whose locker is ten-feet away from mine. The guy I fondly referred to as Mr. X while my locker partner called him Banana Man because of his hair. I miss her. And I feel like eating a banana.

While the remix MaybeYou  by Oxford and Le Crayon in my apartment competes with  Symphony no. 86  from my neighbour's, I'm compelled to just invite her over. It's hard to write and dance. The upside of asthma, friends and fruit anyone?