An itch on my arm, a tickle behind my ear—words come to mind, and they get their scratch on the page. “Hold on,” I tell them, like a parent rummaging their purse to a kid wanting ice cream. Still, they persist. “I’ll get to you, but later,” I say, though I encourage them to stick around. Often, these unwanted, up-popping jack-in-the-boxes will go unremembered.
Not yesterday’s. During a leisurely stroll down the frozen food aisle, red basket in hand, I entered into a celebrity-like status with paparazzi camera flashes accompanying every step. My movement triggered the darkened freezers to light up—a domino effect of motion lights where a curtsy and a tip of my imaginary hat seemed like the only proper response.
“Tune into 94.7,” the sign declares. After dimming the headlights, we park in a cul-de-sac with temporary lines for a free show. The synchronized Christmas music to house lights is a pyrotechnic-like feat that I sat back and admired, and now I share it with you.
As a kid, I loved piling into the back of our ’89 Buick Century alongside my brother to gaze at Christmas lights. Living in the country, I wonder if we made the 40-minute trip to visit Wilderness Village, a historically festive neighborhood that is still alive and kicking today.
A weird memory always surfaces—one of the few I have of my Dad’s mom, Grandma Betty. After complaining that I didn’t want her to squeeze into the backseat with us (give me a break, I was like 9), my Dad said, “This may be her last Christmas.” Not knowing anything of that reality—the finality of her probable death—I took his statement and logged it in the unknown and bewildered category.
I will never market to you. But a glance at the Rubbermaid Brilliance line, with its thin hard plastic, bright see through glass, and discreet clicking-into-place lids, has me over the moon. You should go see their space-age lines even if you don’t buy them. With Dave’s permission (he’s not controlling; he’s just equally obsessed with food storage systems), I bought seven different pieces in three sizes over the past two days.
And last but not least, my salad bar-fixing-filled refrigerator is a sight to behold. No longer do I need to wait to step foot into an Old Country Buffet or a Shoney’s (reference from Dave, it’s in Georgia) to get my fix. I had it today, yesterday, and will again tomorrow. I’m curious about what’s in store for the already-cooked couscous and ditalini noodles.
And very last and very least, Dave and I let our inner children loose. He got a peanut butter and chocolate cereal, and I got Cocoa Puffs. It’ll be our nighttime dessert. Having had only Cheerios and Special K Red Berries, I wonder how hard Evelyn’s mind will be blown by the candy-like cereal.
Alright, it’s time to hit the bed. See you here tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn.
Going On 40 