Peppercorns in the Grinder

Ground the last of the peppercorns on my beef pot pie last night - Marie Calender's, my favorite.  Ol' Marie makes a mean beef pot pie!  I knew what was coming.  I will bet you don't.  How could you?  You're what 23 years old?  I would never wish this on you.  I hope you never have to go through something like this. But in case you do, here's a head's up.

"What the fuck does this have to do with peppercorns?" you ask or are thinking.  Well filling the grinder with peppercorns is something that does not happen often.  I mean think about it how often would you fill a peppercorn grinder?  That is if you ground your own peppercorns which I do because I like fresh cracked pepper on those rare occasions that I use pepper.  Rare occasions being the operative words there.  Answer: years go by between the filling of the peppercorn grinder.

The last time I filled the peppercorn thing uh muh jigger was years ago.  In fact, I have only filled it once in the time I have lived here.  Prior to that I hadn't filled a peppercorn grinder since I lived in Colorado and was married to Ronda.  I remember when I filled this one I was thinking, "It's cool she has a peppercorn grinder because I like freshly ground pepper."

You're thinking, "This is awesome Andy, please tell me more.  I am on pins and needles here.  Don't fuck with me like this."

"She" refers to Wendy of course.  The last time it was filled was when Wendy was alive.  In fact, it was before Wendy was diagnosed.  The last time the fucking peppercorn grinder was filled was when life was cool.  It was when I was having a kick ass time.

I would just leave it right here but I will spell it out for you.  Filling a goddamn peppercorn grinder is mundane.  It is so mundane it doesn't enter into my consciousness until I run out of pepper and think,  "Gosh, it would be nice to have some fresh cracked pepper on my Marie Calender's  beef pot pie.  Oh well, I will just have to use the pepper from the pepper shaker."

Normally that would be the extent of it but it's not. This grief invades every nook and cranny, every nuance, every shade, every facet of my life.  It's like when you cut one of your fingers and have to bandage it up.  It is then you realize how much you need that finger because you no longer have the dexterity to type a fucking blog post.  Only thing is, this grief is like having your legs and arms bandaged up.   Okay, I am being a bit dramatic it's not quite that bad.  It's probably more like having your index finger on your left hand, middle finger and thumb on your right, big toe on your left foot, pinkie toe, toe next to big toe, and big toe on your right foot bandaged up.  And you no longer can taste anything. . .