The Parable of the Tomatoes

Last night I did not want to go to my meeting.

Don't get me wrong, I love this group. It's made up of women with a common interest (educational opportunities for women) and they are also some of my favorite people in the world. But I was tired.

That seems to be my mantra recently, doesn't it? I'm tired. Also, it's hot. And in addition, I'm tired of the heat.

That's why this summer I've watched a lot of Netflix. The winter evening schedule, when I often have something scheduled every night of the week, just seems so exhausting when paired with heat that it hurts to add anything to the calendar, even meetings of groups I love as much as this one.

So last night at 6:45 I was tired, hot, and aware that The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt wasn't going to watch itself. I came thiiiiiis close to calling the hostess and telling her to not expect me.

Instead, I bestirred myself and went to a house that was delightfully chilly (yup, we're all at an age where we crank the air conditioning down and NO ONE COMPLAINS) and was inspired by a couple of speakers who are working to combat poverty in Small Town. And then, as I was leaving, one of the hostesses said "Oh! Take some with you!" and pointed to an overflowing pan of the most gorgeous tomatoes I've seen in forever. I arrived home smiling and rejuvenated, even though the forecast for this weekend is 104 degrees. Fahrenheit.

I thought of that this morning as I picked another wave of my wonderful little yellow cherry tomatoes. This summer has been the fulfillment of a dream in that I've had a constant bowl of cherry tomatoes on the kitchen counter and I eat a couple every time I pass by. They are the sweetest, most delicious vegetables I've ever eaten. (I KNOW! THEY'RE FRUIT. Hrmph.) However, these tiny orbs of wonderfulness are useless for BLTs. For BLTs I need the kind of tomatoes my friend gave me last night, the kind I seem to be incapable of growing.

Maybe that's a lesson to me, I thought. I think I can cure my heat-related malaise by staying inside with Netflix, but when I do that something is missing and that something can only be provided by other people.

Well, huh. Now that I write it down I realize this is the worst parable in the history of parables and no re-writing is going to fix it. It's a good thing I was not responsible for writing the Sermon on the Mount.

I believe I will go have a BLT.