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My parents have the ugliest vase sitting in their living room. It's brown terra cotta and is covered with thick, pointy spikes. It is a hideous sight. I should know -- I made it.
My parents became the lucky owners of it because, as a broke college student one year, I doled out all of my art projects as Christmas presents.
You would think that seven years later my parents would have silently disposed of the wretched thing, but my father, in fact, loves it because it is the perfect receptacle for peanut shells. He has always loved nuts and, just as you learn by example, my brothers and sisters and I also have developed a passion for these wonderful, natural snacks.
Take, for instance, my brother Andy. He loves the bowls of mixed nuts in the shell we have every year at Thanksgiving. If I remember correctly, he likes the walnuts, but then again, it might be the almonds. Whatever the case, I do know for sure that nobody likes the Brazil nuts except my mother. Maybe it's because they are so hard to open -- too much work for too little gain. But that's all right, there are so many other varieties to be enjoyed.
Like pistachios. On rare occasions we would get them, always the red kind. (This was before we knew the evils of artificial colors. How did that trend of dyeing pistachios even get started, I wonder?) There was a certain process to eating them. First, you'd suck the red dye off the shell and then, using your fingers (which were stained bright red), you'd crack it open to get to get the meaty green nut. Heaven.
I still remember eating my first cashew. My grandparents had a bowl of mixed salted nuts on the table. I picked up one of the boomerang-shaped goodies and popped it in my mouth. It was salty, sweet and so good. They quickly became my favorite. But, then again, I do love almonds. And pecans. And, oh, macadamias. Or perhaps my favorite is just like my father's -- peanuts.
Nothing beats the peanuts my sister and I would get at the annual Memorial Day parade in our ...