Cracked out squirrels and wino watermelons

I love pretty flowers. Don't we all? Such delicate symbols of life and beauty, reminding us all that in this chaotic world of jaded souls and consumerist idolatry, nature will always exude a stunning subtlety we can never achieve. That is, until the pretty flowers growing en masse next to your porch are actually angel's trumpets: a member of the hallucinogenic nightshade family (belladona being the most famous member). These babies are chock-full of anti-cholinergics: compounds that reduce the acetylcholine balance in your system. This means increased heart rate, dilated pupils (a sign of beauty in midieval times, hence the name belladonna) and hallucinations in certain doses. However, since nerve gas actually causes acetylcholine to build up in your synapses until you drown in your own bodily fluids, should we ever be attacked, we could light the bush on fire and live an extra five minutes.

I don't know the dosage for getting high on the charming flowers on your patio. However, I do know Fritz: the cracked out squirrel that lives on the property. I named him Fritz after watching him dart around schizophrenically on the trees and porch. Squirrels buzz around rather comically; but this dude definitely needs to lay off the drugs. Nothing quite like an idyllic bay area morning. A light breeze lilts through the kitchen while that ever-elusive sun fills the day with wide-eyed optimism. You steep some tea, put on a little Sinatra, and walk out on the porch to water the basil. There is Fritz, staring at you like you lived in the House of Usher. After an intense moment of squirrel stare down, he darts around erratically until he ends up in the psychedelic foliage. His movements have an edginess that transcend 'squirrely' into 'definitely a crackhead'. Ah, I love pleasant mornings, don't you?

Sunday crept in lazily, and the house prepared to relax for the evening. I had snagged a new viognier (a grape I've become obsessed with, despite my preference for red wines.) Now, I have no problem drinking wine out of a plastic cup, straight out of the bottle, in a big gulp... pretty much in any form. In fact, I like to drink "in half steps" which involves blowing across the top of the bottle to get a pitch, then trying to drink the right amount of wine so that the next note is a half step lower. I'm a classy gal. Yet tonight I busted out my nice pinot noir glasses a friend gave me for Christmas. We put on Mozart opera (I prefer his operas to everything else. To me, they exude a brilliance and depth that connects at every level.) Everything was set for a classy evening.

Until the ASU genes kicked in. Rather than cook dinner, I split a baby seedless watermelon in half and grabbed a spoon. Tasty. It complemented the citrusy notes of the viognier. That is when brilliance struck. I had scooped out a smallhole in the watermelon. To the bemusement of my roommates, I tipped my French wine in the fancy glass into the watermelon. It was fantastic. The ripe fruit melded with the crisp wine. I tipped the miniature melon half into my mouth. A playful duet. Tasty! I felt like a genius. Never mind the fact that I turned a potentially elegant evening into... well, wine drinking out of a watermelon.

Wino watermelon:
One small, personal-sized seedless watermelon, ripe.
A white wine of choice (recommended: McManus Viognier, Bears Lair Viognier, or Long Tail Lizard white table wine from Preston wineries, which you can only find in the Tri cities).
1 spoon.

Eat some melon to make a small hole. Fill with wine. Scoop watermelon bites so that they are dipped in wine before tasting. Raise your half melon for any toasts. Pat yourself on the back for combining a quiet evening at home with the county fair.