Yet another thing I’ve never understood: the expression, “Life is like a bowl of cherries.”

I always smile and nod when someone says this to me, but I’ve never, actually, known what it meant. In my mind, a bowl of cherries is something mundane, normal. I see a bowl of cherries as analogous to a bowl of apples, or clementines, or pears, at least in terms of its metaphorical possibilities. (In terms of consumption possibilities, I’d probably rank the aforementioned fruit, worst to least, as: apples, cherries, clementines, pears.)

I was recently told that saying, “Life is like a bowl of cherries!” is equivalent to saying, “Isn’t life surprisingly fantastic, and slightly exotic?!” I had always supposed it to mean, “Life is pretty predictable, and runs its course just as you’d expect, huh.”

I think the confusion stems from the ubiquitous bowl of cherries that existed during cherry season (which is… when?) in my childhood home. Not to say that I don’t like them, or was ever disappointed to see them. But I never saw them as a luxury fruit as I would, say, a kumquat. They were a standard dessert. And one that could be one-upped by a mere clementine.

So, Mummy, thank you for providing me with spectacular fruit. Clearly, I took it for granted.