The other day I was unloading groceries from the car. I don't live on the fifth floor of a New York City apartment like my friend's daughter, or on a boat like our retired friends.  Hence it is not an imposition to transport food from the shelves at the store to my kitchen. Still it takes effort. There was a particularly heavy bag with lemonade and potatoes over one arm, and I was about to hoist up the watermelon into the crook of my other arm. This was the last load. Then I noticed the dirty dishes on the seat left by girls hurrying to a babysitting gig and I grabbed those instead. I would come back for the melon. 

The action kicked up when I set down the bag on the counter. The phone rang. Ben wanted to tell me a joke. The ice cream was melting. And the emerald melon calling softly from the trunk was drowned out. She had almost made it. Tiny seedling to sprawling vine. Sunny field to truck. Refrigerated truck to store. Cool display to cart. Cart to conveyor belt. Belt to car. But then she stalled. Wondering if I would come back for her. 

It was a hot day. Not a Tucson roast but upper eighties. Plus the car seems to jack up the temps even more. The sweet watermelon didn't stand a chance. 

When I found her the next day I felt chagrined. I hurried her into the house but I could sense her over ripeness even before I fetched a knife. Splitting her open was easy. Red juice poured out onto the counter. Five months of patient growth. Lost. 

There are emotions we can pick up and carry around. Resentment. Jealousy. They can displace lighter feelings.

But those sentiments are easily sidelined by heavyweights like anger. We stand, like I did at the back of my car, with a choice. What to pick up. Carry. Often for a long, long time. When to let it go. 

Anna had it right.