Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Sweet is sweet in any language

When my mother sent candy, or cookies, or anything special and edible to me, I would always have some, have a few, and then let it sit. I would leave it for a rainy day, try to spread it out and delay gratification, but it always ended in the same way. The candy would dry out, the cookies went stale, the breads that were sweet became moldy and green. I was always afraid that love, that her love, would run out if I finished those cookies – that if I ate them all, it would be as though she’d left, or died, and the packages would stop coming. The oven would shut off for good. There would never be any more sweetness arriving as a surprise from any part of the world.