Mother had mastered the task. Father showed precision in carving a roast.
“Cut against the grain,” he would say. “Softer to chew.”
“Grain?” Mary pondered cluelessly.
She had a new project at hand. One requiring her sense of design. Yet, she fretted. Would the roundness be round enough? The straightness turn out straight?
She raised an arm over her subject. Her hand lowered, plunging a chef’s knife through thick orange skin.
Who will check for perfection in a pumpkin’s face on a dark Halloween night?