Today's poem on The Writer's Almanac is Grapefruit. I smiled as I heard the podcast; I too remembered my grandfather ritually preparing his morning grapefruit. Fortunately for me, he would make me some also. Until I heard this poem, I had not thought about this in years.
With so many of today's cardiac medications interacting negatively with grapefruit, do any grandparents still perform this special morning rite? This grandmother does not. What particular, unconscious ritual do I perform that my grandchildren could memorialize in verse or story someday? Is there one?