Crippled By ImaginationPosted: August 9, 2012
The first part of this tale starts here.
I turned the mason jar upside down. The big bubble slowly rose to the bottom. I flipped it again and watched the bubble fall back to the top.
A week and a half later, I am still watching that bubble in that full quart of honey.
The honey looks so good.
I want to taste it.
I can’t bring myself to unscrew the lid.
Blame Can Be Posthumous
There are a list of people I blame for my inability to open the jar of Danny’s honey. Yes, blame must be assessed in matters such as this. I blame the people I work with, I blame John Belushi, I blame my imagination.
People in the office insist on calling it Danny’s honey. There is no good reason that being able to associate a face with the name should make the product less appetizing. He simply kept the bees who made the honey. He did not produce it from his own body.
Belushi was a comic genius. Who could forget him dressed as a bee in those early Saturday Night Live shows? Not I. The thought of “Danny’s Honey” makes my mind put my friend’s head on Belushi’s bee suit.
I know that Danny gets honey as part of his deal with real bees who do not remember John Belushi. My imagination knits together my beekeeping friend, an actor in a bee suit and the act of creating honey. The thought freezes me each time I go to open that jar.
The bubble is getting less entertaining.
The jar won’t open itself.
That jar of Danny’s honey.
I’ve got to open it.
Why must honey be person specific?
Why can’t it be just honey?
Sometimes, thinking visually isn’t such a gift.
- Making The Buy (blurtblog.net)