There are times when the shoppers in the house hide things. The carrots and broccoli go in the fridge for general consumption. But we have been known to make specialty items and favorite snacks harder to find. It is an attempt to keep them from disappearing instantly.
The other day I wanted to reward myself for a long afternoon of sewing masks, and went hunting in likely spots. I uncovered an especially nice piece of brown yumminess, and headed back to the sewing room. Not feeling generous I tucked it under my arm as I walked past Ben at the computer. He was startled to see me coming, and pushed the mostly empty box of Joe Joe's behind the screen.
I laughed.
If you are not familiar with them, those cookies are the kind from my childhood with a white cream filling sandwiched between two dark discs. Ben likes to dunk them in hot cocoa.
I did not expect him to give me one, nor did I offer a bite of my treat. Which is okay, I guess.
Last week I called a woman in her twilight years. She has weathered a few storms in her eighty years, and I hoped to bask in her wisdom. I asked how she was weathering the quarantine. Was she lonely? Isolated? Worried?
"I'm fine," she reassured me. Her adult children bring her groceries and they call her several times a week. She reads and busies herself with small projects. Then she told a story about when she and her husband made it through lean times before. I could detect no dark circle of anxiety in her tone.
That evening my granddaughter called me on video chat. Olly was in the high chair and we sang a few of our favorites about stars and buses. She ate her pasta and I cheered. Olly offered me a bite and then kissed the screen goodbye. There was not a shadow of concern about world events.
I thought about the generations that surround me like a sandwich. My elders, at least some of them, have a stability that does not seem dependent on the news. Call it trust in God, or the deeply held belief that good triumphs over evil. Young children are as ecstatic over running through the sprinklers as they ever were.
Why is it that confidence sometimes eludes those of us in the middle?
The next time I walk past Benjamin with chocolate in my hands, I will be sure to share.
