Reciprocity

Holiday weekend, so I went into town today, for supplies. The Richards family brought me a package of calve's liver, and, to sweeten the pot, a package of ox-tails. I love ox-tails. Marrow on toast with morels. What they request, in return, is a pate, and I forget to pick up the ingredients I was missing, when I was in town today. B's supposed to come over for a drink tonight bringing me a book he feels certain I need to read (he's seldom wrong) and I make him a note that I need another package of the liver, because if I'm going to dirty all the dishes in the house, I might as well make a pretty large batch. People are already calling and emailing that they heard I was making pate. In the early days, of my stay in extreme south-central Ohio, I'd make three pounds: a pound for Ronnie, a pound for B, and a pound I'd hoard for myself. The pay-back on this was just good-will. Now Zoe and Dawn want some, and other people, board members at the museum, folks that write books I actually like, several people that have read me for years and never tasted a single thing I'd cooked. I don't think you could understand me, if you hadn't eaten my cooking. Simple as that. Always looking for consonance. Another storm moving through, I'd better go.