relish

“Pickles… carrot sticks, sliced celery, olives,” said Thalia.

“Ech!” Urania wrinkled up her face. “I don’t like olives.”

“When’s the last time you tried one?” Thalia asked.

“Ummm… I think it must have been at a backyard party… obviously more than a year ago… I don’t know why people put black olives in taco dip… they taste like medicine,” said Urania.

“What about a green olive?” Thalia raised her eyebrows. “There might be a relish tray with green olives at our Easter gathering… will you try one?”

“We’ll see Tal,” Urania replied. “Are you challenging me?”

“You never know,” Thalia shrugged, “… your tastes might have changed.”

Calliope gazed out the window at a wintery mix of precipitation. Despite wind and slushy missiles targeting her cheeks and forehead, her mind was once again on language during the morning walk.

She interrupted with, “I know the pickle picture is misleading… I did that on purpose. As much as I love a good relish tray — what I had in mind for the word relish is a verb — to be pleased or gratified by — even though we’re still a few steps away from finishing the the flourishes in the office — we are relishing the the actions.”

“Six more little shelves to paint,” Thalia whispered in a tiny voice.

“Photo canvases to order — we must use that photo of Henny in the river — and then — others with colorful pop — this space is so fun!” Urania was rocking with excitement in her chair.

“We knew the space had potential,” said Calliope. “All it took to get the ball rolling was a tug at the old wallpaper border.”

“Relish… a verb… I like it,” said Thalia with a wink. “And I’m going to love watching Nia eat a green olive next Sunday.”

“Fine… as long is there is the promise of dessert… to cleanse my palate,” Urania winked back.