Going to Grandmas
At Hospice there was a reception desk and on the desk sat a candy dish. The dish was made of cheap imitation cut to look like crystal glass. The sight of the sun glistening off that candy dish flashed me back in time. For a moment I closed my eyes and was transported back to the early sixties. I found myself remembering my grandmother. My father’s mother.
My grandmother watched soap operas. No one was allowed to talk while her soaps were on. So I would amuse myself by wandering around her house. One of my favorite things to do was to climb up all the twenty two steps of her staircase. Upon reaching the top stair I would sit down and bump my way back down on my butt one step at a time. This was not an easy feat as there were obstacles to be avoided on my descent. I was always careful not to knock over the piles of years worth of TV guides that were stacked high on the edge of every step. Grandma was a legend before her time. Grandma was a hoarder.
After my aerobic activities I would go in search of candy. Grandma always had candy at her house. Her candy dish was a recycled (before it was cool to do so) glass mayonnaise jar. The candy in Grandma’s jar was always leftover Christmas ribbon candy. In the thick heat of a sweltering July afternoon I would attempt to extract that candy from its finale resting place. I never got to taste the fruits of my labor. The Christmas ribbon candy stayed welded tightly to the bottom of that glass jar. Try as I might I was never able to get the candy unglued. In all probability this was probably a lifesaver. ( no pun intended)
