The Character of a Man

That's what happen when you start every pot of soup with one diced onion. There is no point in making a fractional soup: half an onion, three-quarters of a carrot, maybe one parsnipette. . . .

Winter demands soup. Summer can get by on a salad or a sandwich, but winter, even in Tucson, requires a pot of soup. The whole problem is that there are only two of us. The other part of the problem is that the refrigerator is not amenable to a large pot of soup. Life was simpler in Minnesota. In winter--that is to say, in months that are not spelled "July" or "August"--I just put the soup pot out on the north deck. The lid snapped into place as if it were frozen there, the pot scrunched itself up around the contents, and the whole pot welded itself to the snow-covered deck. When I wanted soup, all I had to do was find the crow bar, and bring the pot in for thawing.

There is a 9,000 foot mountain defining the north edge of Tucson, but the truth is that freezing nights, in town, are a sometime thing, so sometimes when it freezes, or even comes close, I put the soup pot out on the patio.

Traditions are important. They define a style of life. Some traditions make it possible to begin a pot of soup with a whole onion. A man's character shows through the traditions he observes. Fortunately, there is a fence around our back yard, or the javelinas would eat my tradition and my character and my onion.

A man with character never forgets where and how he used to live, even when he moves to a desert.

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