I always say ‘The saffron lover’ but I don’t really mean it like that.” She pauses. “I just really like saffron, I think it tastes really good, is really nutritious—and it does a body good. I find it so much better than other processed foods I eat!”
I pause as she bites into a piece of saffron, eyes wide with appreciation. “That’s such an interesting perspective,” I tell her.
“That does sound rather wonderful!” she beams with relief. “It’s quite the paradox, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” I say.
“The other day, I took a lot of saffron to the doctor, and I was told, ‘Saffron will only make you very sick.’ I mean, no. I don’t think he did mean anything by it!”
I’m pretty sure it’s a lot of flimsy bullshit. “A lot has happened in my life because of my love of saffron,” I confess. “It has changed my life.” It does.
“Yes. It has.”
Before I head out the door, I tell Dora to send a Christmas card. “Please send me one,” she tells me as she drives me up the hill.
I’m just about to go. Suddenly Dora’s face lights up, her smile full of excitement. “I’ve never had one before! I love it. I know you’ll love it, too!” That’s a moment I’ll never forget, and never forget how that first card came to me.
I’m not sure where it came from—perhaps from someone, perhaps an anonymous letter in a magazine, perhaps from a friend. Whatever I can’t say, though, it always keeps coming back—to me and to Dora. I never know what to say to her or if what I say would still be able to be expressed; so many things pop into my mind when I think of her and her saffron. I wonder if I can find those feelings again, without a yearning for them. I wonder if I’ll ever find this letter again, when Dora has moved on from her childhood, when she’s no longer the sweet little sweetheart.
I never know what to say to her or if what I say would still be able to be expressed so much.
We get into her car, and I make a mental note to bring a