Mameluca woman under a fruiting cashew tree (1641-1644) by Albert Eckhout. National Museum of Denmark
I have lived through the era whose mantram was "never trust anyone over forty."
And for all I know I have lived through unremarked eras whose mantra were "never trust anyone over 50, 60, 70 ..."
None of it ever really stuck with me. Age never struck me as being a capable yardstick when it came either to wisdom or stupidity.
But if no one at any age is either necessarily-credible or necessarily-not-credible, what then shall I trust.
This morning the answer came to me.
I looked "cashews" up the other day because I wasn't really sure whether they fell from trees or spawned below the earth's surface. I also looked them up -- and decided to trust them -- because they were so damned addictively delicious in my mouth ... and like any other human being in good standing, I trust my addictions.
Never mind their distant kinship to poison ivy -- cashews are to die for.
And so, for the moment, there is something to trust ... though the cashews jar is currently empty.