Reflections of the Cranberry

My son always insists that he will like one, but inevitably makes the sour face upon trying it anew.

My husband's grandmother serves cranberry sauce from a can. It makes the distinct sucking noise when coming out of the can and then sits on a pretty plate at the Thanksgiving table proudly displaying the ring indentations marking its former can-bound life.

My mother fills glass jars with them to support white candles. A pretty Christmas scene.

I unknowingly tortured unexpecting guests by omitting the sugar in my attempts at cranberry sauce. Opps.

And here they sit. Some in a loaf of bread, some rolling around the counter, some cut in half to show off their pretty bellies. All are excited for their photo shoot.