Bittersweet Memories of Peanut M & M's

There is the pasting of another

Magnificent soul

Bittersweet Memories of Peanut M & M’s

            I have a confession.  I love Peanut M & M’s.  If there were dark chocolate ones, I would be a goner.  Even now as I type this, I can hear them calling me from the cupboard where they sit happily in their bag, waiting for the big occasion of Halloween night.  Patience, patience, tomorrow is your day.  Sigh, I need a cup of tea to help my mind wander back from the insistent voices of chocolate whispering, softly, quietly. I will be right back.

            Well, that was helpful.  Oh, yes chocolate, Peanut M & M’s.  Years ago when my son was quite young I was called home as my father David was in the last stage of his life.  My younger sister lived on the West coast at that time as I did so after many phone calls it was decided that we would met in a town halfway between us in order to continue the journey home together.  After bidding my husband and our young son farewell, I crawled into the cab of the small truck to head out with my sister to say good bye with my siblings to our dying father.

            It was a long journey filled with laughter, sorrow and the catching up regarding our lives, families but when I had crawled into the pickup there was the largest bag of Peanut M & M’s that I had ever seen.  In the back of my mind raised the evil, ugly head of desire and want. Its voice whispered all mine. Really, there is something called sharing, I whispered back.  Nope, all mine, replied the desire and want.   Only common sense kept me from stuffing myself with the nearly full bag of the chocolate. After all, my sister had bought the chocolate and she was sharing with me.

            I think of that trip back home now and then mostly at Halloween when we buy candy for the Trick or Treat hordes that show up at the doorways of candy enablers.  I always get the Peanut M & M’s. I keep some back for myself for after the night of sugary handouts.  The memories of going home seem always bittersweet when I think of the chocolate that my sister and I shared on the trip home.

We made it home in time to say farewell, our father knew who we were.  In his moments of wakefulness, we shared our love for him.  He smiled, told us that he loved us. He shared that his mom was in the room with his brother, Shane and one of his sisters, our Aunt Beaulah.  He said that they were waiting for him.  We believed him.  I wished that I could have seen them, too.

Death seems to bring everyone together as we waited in the hospital. My Aunt Joy our father’s sister asked if there was anything that she could bring us.  I asked for cucumber sandwiches just the way she used to make them for me when I was a child. I got them.

            It seems that this week is filled up of memories as I walk about in my life.  I ran into a gentle memory yesterday during my lunch.  We were doing a flu clinic in a small town and staggering our lunches.  I walked down Main Street and back looking for somewhere to eat.  There were several places that had closed up and I was beginning to despair of anything except what I had packed in my bag.  Finally, my luck found the only place to eat on my return trip to City Hall where our clinic was. I chose a cup of bean and bacon soup to eat as I sat at the counter upon a green stool. It did not occur to me until I had eaten half of my soup, which was delicious, that the little restaurant was similar to what I remembered in a small town that my father used to take me to for a special treat.  I would always order a grilled cheese sandwich.  I was allowed coffee to drink, which was a cup of hot milk that my father would put in a bit of his coffee.  It wasn’t really much coffee, but it was the color of a light brown and I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world. I never did become a coffee drinker. Now as an adult, I drink one cup of coffee on Saturday only because I heard that a little bit of coffee is good for you.  I drink it black and I drink it fast as I have discovered that it is really nasty when it is not hot.  But back then, my father was everything to me and some of his coffee was wonderful because I knew after I drank it all down I could have pie.

            My father said that there were only two kinds of pie that he liked: hot and cold. I am in agreement though I don’t eat pie much anymore.  At my age, I am beginning to realize that I really can’t eat much of anything anymore unless I want to avoid mirrors at every turn and start investing in a whole new closet.  Currently, I restrict my buying to shoes and socks because they always fit.

            I am not sure where the expression of “Pie in the sky” came from but I am sure that my father is enjoying his pie if heaven is in the sky. I hope that he is saving a slice for our Aunt Claire who left on the day before Halloween this year. I am sure that he is with a nice hot cup of coffee with lots of milk.          

            For the most part, I like memories because I was so lucky to have had wonderful moments in my life.  Sometimes, you have to have the bittersweet memories and Peanut M & M’s.