Speaking of Tang...
Today someone at work gave me a box of those magic markers that smell like grape or cherry, or lemon -- and a co-worker and I just stood around smelling them and being magically transported back to third grade. It's amazing how a smell can evoke the sharpest memories, instantly. Somehow after this we got on the subject of Tang. I thought Tang was good when I was a kid. My mother would let us have Tang, but not sugar cereals and certainly not Pop Tarts.
My grandmother, on the other hand, would let us have Pop Tarts. My grandmother would often take care of my brother and I when my mother had to work and we didn't have school, or if we were sick. My mom would drop us off and we'd run in and the first thing my grandmother would do is feed us. She always kept the forbidden stuff around. I don't know if my mother knew she fed us that stuff. Maybe she did and just didn't say anything. Or maybe my grandmother got a kick out of breaking my mother's rules.
My grandfather always slept late. We'd be settled down in front of the TV with our breakfast items and he'd yell down from the top of the stairs, "Heloooooo Deecie! Hellooooo Eric!" (When my brother was very little he couldn't say Denise but he could manage Deecie and the name stuck. My brother still calls me that from time to time.) We'd yell hello back and he'd eventually make his way down to the kitchen where my grandmother had his breakfast all laid out for him on the round table in the breakfast nook -- Total cereal, half-and-half, a small glass of grapefruit juice, coffee and a big red vitamin. It was always exactly the same breakfast, laid out the exact same way. He would let me pour the half and half into his coffee and I would watch the cream billow up in liquid clouds.
I thought of him this morning as I poured milk into my coffee. I don't think I'll ever stop missing him.
8:49:55 PM 
|
