- Jun 27, 2003
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Snowballs
I pulled into the parking lot of my local grocery store. Parked the car. Turned off the engine. Took a deep breath, and glanced up at the perfect, pristine, blue skies.
And refused to weep.
A tiny niggling of questions pried, but long conditioned through experiences, I prepared for the numbing process to work its way through with anesthesia for my heart.
Tears?
Nuh-uh. Not me.
It's not that I'm not willing to let go on occasion, but this thick photo book of Lifetime Memories keeps opening up of it's own accord. Blindly, I reach out with eyes tightly shut, not ready to look, wanting only to close it with a loud, thick whomp.
Trouble is that it's big, it's bulky, it takes up lots of time, and it's kinda hard not to see. Even when covered in dust.
Today, this afternoon, I'm stepping out in trust-anyway.
Hyperventilating, but still, I'm going in.
One step at a time. One page at a time.
Grabbing my purse, I white knuckle it's strap, and with the other hand, unlock the car door. Step outside into the sun. Close the locked door with a solid thud, and walk-not alone but with Him at my side.
I don't wander aimlessly inside the grocery store with the usual list of planned needs to check off on paper, but have only one purchase in mind.
Down the bread section I go, past the 7 Grain, Wheat, Rye, Bagels, Engish Muffins, Coffee Cakes, and yes...
Stop. Glued to the floor.
There it is.
A snack treat of vanilla cake, two to a pack, dome shaped, covered in pink marshmallow, with pink coconut sprinkled liberally over all.
Wrapped in cellophane.
Why...why after so many years away from home, have I NOT bought these zero nutritional value innocent looking fluffy bits of sugared cakes?
They used to be my favorites.
Temporarily shoving that thought back into the tiny overcrowded closet, I gently carried one package up to the Register Counter. Beeping it through the scanner, the Cashier asked me if I wanted it bagged.
"Yes. Please."
Back in the car for the short ride home, I refused to look at it. As I continuously reached to touch the crinkling plastic, memories flashed, connecting.
Inside my quiet house, my Grandmother's insistsant ticking clock whispered, cadencing with my pulse.
I set the precious fragile goods on the dinning room table, and walking into the kitchen, unfolded the step stool. Knowing exactly what I was looking for, I hunted through the top shelf of the cupboard until finding "My Milk Glass"-a Welch's Grape Jelly glass, contents long ago emptied, with painted cartoon characters machine stamped across the outside.
Rinsing it out, I filled it with milk, and grabbing a small plate, sat at the table.
Elbows on tabletop, chin resting on my hands, I watched as the movie screen projected images complete with audio control over all. It rewound to start when I was about five years old...
"Karen, would you like to go to the store with me? By yourself?"
Would I! Alone?! Not have to share Mama with my other two sisters? I jumped up and down.
Mama was always busy. Having three girls under five left little time for individual spotlights of attention. Lately I was feeling...lonely.
***
Off to the store we drove in our old Station Wagon. Just my Mama and me. Sitting on the uncomfortable bubble plastic seat covers that stuck to my skin, I ran my finger tips lightly over the tops of the clear heavy duty plastic, listening to the tatta-tatt-tat, and humming along with the Ink Spots as they sang through the car's tinny speaker system.
Mama started a tradition that day, delivered to each of her three daughters whom thought it was they alone privileged to share:
"Let's buy a treat..."
Money was tight. I can vividly recall times where we not only rolled pennies for food, but scrounged through furniture cushions for change. Yet we children never went without, went to bed hungry. This suggestion from Mama was a very big deal. Half a loaf of bread Big Deal.
***
I sat at the table, unwrapped the cellophane, and carefully unstuck the mass from the thin base of it's white cardboard home. Worked a tiny hole at the edge of the fluffy marshmallow, and pulled it slowly from the cake. Removing it whole, I set it aside on the plate.
Ate the cake portion.
Saving the best for last, I nibbled around the edgings of the marshmallow first, circular fashion, showering pink snow flurries of coconut across the table until I was left with a nickel sized piece.
Downing the milk in one breath, I am no longer concerned over tears falling freely. I close my eyes, open my heart to memories, and pop the last morsel into my mouth.
by-Karen Rice
Submitted by Richard
I pulled into the parking lot of my local grocery store. Parked the car. Turned off the engine. Took a deep breath, and glanced up at the perfect, pristine, blue skies.
And refused to weep.
A tiny niggling of questions pried, but long conditioned through experiences, I prepared for the numbing process to work its way through with anesthesia for my heart.
Tears?
Nuh-uh. Not me.
It's not that I'm not willing to let go on occasion, but this thick photo book of Lifetime Memories keeps opening up of it's own accord. Blindly, I reach out with eyes tightly shut, not ready to look, wanting only to close it with a loud, thick whomp.
Trouble is that it's big, it's bulky, it takes up lots of time, and it's kinda hard not to see. Even when covered in dust.
Today, this afternoon, I'm stepping out in trust-anyway.
Hyperventilating, but still, I'm going in.
One step at a time. One page at a time.
Grabbing my purse, I white knuckle it's strap, and with the other hand, unlock the car door. Step outside into the sun. Close the locked door with a solid thud, and walk-not alone but with Him at my side.
I don't wander aimlessly inside the grocery store with the usual list of planned needs to check off on paper, but have only one purchase in mind.
Down the bread section I go, past the 7 Grain, Wheat, Rye, Bagels, Engish Muffins, Coffee Cakes, and yes...
Stop. Glued to the floor.
There it is.
A snack treat of vanilla cake, two to a pack, dome shaped, covered in pink marshmallow, with pink coconut sprinkled liberally over all.
Wrapped in cellophane.
Why...why after so many years away from home, have I NOT bought these zero nutritional value innocent looking fluffy bits of sugared cakes?
They used to be my favorites.
Temporarily shoving that thought back into the tiny overcrowded closet, I gently carried one package up to the Register Counter. Beeping it through the scanner, the Cashier asked me if I wanted it bagged.
"Yes. Please."
Back in the car for the short ride home, I refused to look at it. As I continuously reached to touch the crinkling plastic, memories flashed, connecting.
Inside my quiet house, my Grandmother's insistsant ticking clock whispered, cadencing with my pulse.
I set the precious fragile goods on the dinning room table, and walking into the kitchen, unfolded the step stool. Knowing exactly what I was looking for, I hunted through the top shelf of the cupboard until finding "My Milk Glass"-a Welch's Grape Jelly glass, contents long ago emptied, with painted cartoon characters machine stamped across the outside.
Rinsing it out, I filled it with milk, and grabbing a small plate, sat at the table.
Elbows on tabletop, chin resting on my hands, I watched as the movie screen projected images complete with audio control over all. It rewound to start when I was about five years old...
"Karen, would you like to go to the store with me? By yourself?"
Would I! Alone?! Not have to share Mama with my other two sisters? I jumped up and down.
Mama was always busy. Having three girls under five left little time for individual spotlights of attention. Lately I was feeling...lonely.
***
Off to the store we drove in our old Station Wagon. Just my Mama and me. Sitting on the uncomfortable bubble plastic seat covers that stuck to my skin, I ran my finger tips lightly over the tops of the clear heavy duty plastic, listening to the tatta-tatt-tat, and humming along with the Ink Spots as they sang through the car's tinny speaker system.
Mama started a tradition that day, delivered to each of her three daughters whom thought it was they alone privileged to share:
"Let's buy a treat..."
Money was tight. I can vividly recall times where we not only rolled pennies for food, but scrounged through furniture cushions for change. Yet we children never went without, went to bed hungry. This suggestion from Mama was a very big deal. Half a loaf of bread Big Deal.
***
I sat at the table, unwrapped the cellophane, and carefully unstuck the mass from the thin base of it's white cardboard home. Worked a tiny hole at the edge of the fluffy marshmallow, and pulled it slowly from the cake. Removing it whole, I set it aside on the plate.
Ate the cake portion.
Saving the best for last, I nibbled around the edgings of the marshmallow first, circular fashion, showering pink snow flurries of coconut across the table until I was left with a nickel sized piece.
Downing the milk in one breath, I am no longer concerned over tears falling freely. I close my eyes, open my heart to memories, and pop the last morsel into my mouth.
by-Karen Rice
Submitted by Richard
