I remember my mother cutting up fruit. She quartered apples and pears, and seemed to slide the knife effortlessly in an arc to cut out the seeds. Then she put the quarters on a little plate.
She cut the tip of a banana off instead of snapping the top open, leaving a cone of banana flesh, which I wanted to eat first, in the tip.
Now I am the mother, cutting up fruit for Iz. I almost always think of my mother when I do. But I never get that perfect arc when I cut out the seeds from an apple quarter. My knife gets caught, leaving choppy marks.
And I never think to cut off the tip of the banana until I have already snapped the stem.