100 Words From an Epicurean in an Arid Land
We spent most of the weekend watering our little piece of land at the new house (I wonder how long it’s appropriate to call this place the “new” house). Our little New England state may not be in the red zone of drought, but it’s been weeks since we’ve seen more than a 5 minute spitting of rain and had a good root-soaking downpour. I hear on the news about the severe drought across the corn belt and feel awed by those who must rely on something so temperamental as the weather for their livelihood. We have only to save our vanity dogwoods and rhododendrons and, in front, the more important roots that hold up the soil on the steep slope from our driveway down to the road. I appreciate the luxury of our 7 dollar sprinkler and a ready reservoir of water to run it. We brought the rhodies back to life, but left the brown-patched lawn to struggle on its own, not quite having the audacity necessary to run sprinklers over grass whilst so much of the country stands parched and burning.
I may just be the sentimental type, but all the news has made every drop of water we use feel precious. I’ve taken to drinking warm water with half a fresh lemon squeezed in. Daughter read that it’s good for the metabolism and the skin which sounds reasonable enough so I drink two of these simple concoctions daily now. And what with my current sentimentality over water, and the bright fragrant lemon wedges, these twice daily beverages seem both frugal and epicurean all at once.
Yes, it is certain I am sentimental – which seems as good a word as any to kick-off another week of 100 words. But then? This one is more interesting:
The word epicurean developed out of the philosophy of Epicurus (c. 341–c. 270 BCE) and while it has now come to mean either a person who delights in worldly, sensual pleasures, or as an adjective, having luxurious tastes and habits, the original philosophy was very much about the discipline of moderation. Language is funny that way.