Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Unexpected Treasures

 a much younger brother and sister

I don’t actually know what I would grab in a house fire, but I can assure you I won’t be crawling through the smoke to our bookcase or cedar chest. I suspect I might catch myself in a dead sprint to my pantry -- not for the good chocolate or foreign spices, but for the “inedible swill” my husband has begged me to throw away for years.

I would run back into our burning home for a juice box of Hi-C that expired in 2011, a half-eaten bag of banana chips from last summer, and a tiny collection of hard candy whose date of origin is philosophically and morally upsetting to my husband. I, generously, am willing to forgive Chris for this oversight because I understand that the difference between priceless and worthless can be in the eye of the beholder. So it is with my growing shrine to now-inedible snacks.

Well, not entirely inedible. I’d take a gamble on sampling the hard candy; maybe even try the banana chips. That violently orange box of Hi-C, however, is considerably more questionable than it was when it was boxed. I should have consumed it then, or at least I should throw it away now, but I hang onto it because when it comes to “having your cake” and “eating it,” I guess I’m not really hungry.

My brother gave me that Hi-C on his first trip to see me in San Francisco. He has loved Hi-C for as long as I can remember, and I love him even more than he loves Hi-C. Most of our things could go up in flames, but I will shed bitter tears at the death of that juice box. Sure, it is heinously ugly and almost certainly a biohazard, so it doesn’t hold the charm of rescuing a beloved handmade quilt, but what can I say? Nostalgia just isn’t what it used to be.

b perry

1 comment:

I try to respond to comments if I have your email :)