Dear Oscar,

I don't have time to put all of my important thoughts down here for you. But I never did. Ideas are like the strawberries my sister grows in her garden. Waiting to write them down is like mashing them down and letting them dehydrate into something more concentrated like fruit leather. Ideas are like strawberries down to a T. What we eat changes their potency. I've had store bought strawberries that were mass produced in great big industrial farms, drenched in fertilizer, poisoned with pesticides and herbicides. They came from Genetically Modified seeds, like the ideas that come when people watch too much television. But the best ideas I have are like strawberries from heirloom seeds, picked on a sunny day, and popped straight into the mouth like a stream of conscience. Interesting, quirky, unusual ideas all gel together on a long cookie sheet, in the heat of a May or June day, on the dashboard of a warm car. When strawberries are melded together in long leathery strips, they don't have to make sense, or mix together in a way that is predictable. The uniqueness binds them like a well seasoned thought; the imperfections that get stuck in your teeth are intricately linked to the perfections that lure you to eat more. Together these traits represent the concept of wabi sabi. Take some now and save the rest for later. Proportion it out like a ration to sustain you through the winter. Your yums will be mmms. Your mmms will be om's. Lick your lips. Smack your chops. Do what you need to express the exuberance of a wonderful strawberried idea.

Keep in touch, Maggie