How could life be so heartless? Is there no God? I thought you bought a can of pepper and it was good for life.
I shook the pepper can again, unable to believe what I was seeing. I peered inside. There was not a pep of pepper left.
My mother never ran out of pepper, not that I know of anyway. Her pepper can was always at least half full. The world was more reliable when I was a kid. You could count on things like the weather, your job, your teddy bear, the house you lived in, The President,
and a can of pepper.
Not any more — things have changed. Seems nothing is certain.
One last time, I stared at that can of pepper, willing it not to be empty, needing it not to be empty. Then I got in the car, drove to Jewel, and bought a new can.
On the way home, I wondered if the world would ever be the same; if I could ever have faith in a can of pepper again; Faith — that huge little bite-you-in-the-ass-but-life-sucks-without-it word.
The new can of pepper now sits where the old one sat. It’s not the same color – the can
that is. The pepper seems peppery – makes my nose itch like the old can.
I called a friend, a professional cook, for advice. “Give it time. That new can of pepper will grow on you,” she said. “Yeh, but what if it runs out someday too,” I said. “I don’t think I can take another disappointment like that.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” replied my friend.
“Just have a little faith.”
Meditation on a Can of Pepper
When I think about pepper, I can’t focus on my breathing. Cuz all I get is — Ah — Ah — Ah Choo!!