the reason for cheesecake

It just occurred to me that I pretty much stole the title of this post from Chitra Divakaruni, who wrote a book of poetry years ago called The Reason for Nasturtiums. But, I digress.

So, this really yummy-looking cherry cheesecake was taking up space in my fridge lately, and I didn't know what to do with it. The first people I thought about serving it to all have lactose intolerance to some degree or another, so they were out. I was hesitant to dive into it myself, since I doubted my ability to know when enough was enough. So, it just sat there.

Then, I was out with the weed whacker the other day, trying to clear at least some semblance of a three-foot zone around the house so that when all the boob-high weeds (the ones that were busy growing like Audrey II while we were in the Bay Area) dry out, the house won't go up in flames as soon as some rogue flash of lightning strikes.

It was going pretty well until I heard my cell phone ringing, turned off the whacker, and realized that I could hardly hold the phone because my arm was so exhausted. Sounds wimpy, I know, and maybe it is. But if you've never seen a Northern Arizona, boob-high weed ("like tree trunks" was how one friend put it), much less tried to whack one with a light weight edger, please don't judge my girly arms.

Apparently, a kindly neighbor couple decided to take pity on me, because the next thing I knew, the husband had wheeled over a big ol' push whacker (kind of like a lawn mower, but for mass weed slaughter instead) and was showing me how to fill the tank, pull the cord to start the thing and reinstall the line. I worried a little about putting the wear and tear on someone else's equipment, and the thing did pick up some stray wire and baling twine hiding in the brush...but it was AWEsome. I so totally need to get a push-along weed whacker.

The problem was, with all the moving boxes scattered hither and yon, I couldn't find my supply of trade soap - bars I use for trading out with folks who loan, give or help me with something. And these neighbors did not ask for or expect anything in return - that was made quite clear. Still, I like a fair trade. So, there I stood in my kitchen after rolling the whacker back over to their shop, thinking, "What can I trade?" I opened the fridge, and there it was: a perfectly lovely cherry cheesecake, saying, "Trade me!"

So, I did. And the looks on their faces when I handed it over were proof enough that it was a fair trade indeed.Follow @nicole_mcinnes