The twins needed snacks to take on a camping trip. Just in case the gap between lunch and dinner was too cavernous, or the one from supper to sleep. More likely. I came into their room just as they were tucking chips and cookies into the corners of their suitcases when I noticed two bags of our favorite mints. They have but three ingredients: peppermint, honey and chocolate. Delish.
"Two for you and none for me? How about we share." They agreed and left one behind.
In the kerfuffle of getting them out the door on time I lost track of where I hid the mints. We have a practice of slipping yummy things into ever changing nooks, to keep Benjamin from gulping them in one sitting. Because I never do.
The next afternoon I went hunting for them. Not in the cupboard behind the beans. Not on the shelf under the scarves. Not under the pot holders. If the girls had been home I would have asked them where to look. They know all the secret stashes. But they were gone.
I ate a banana.
The next day I put on gloves and went to tame the vines that have taken over the yard. There is a bench with a rose bush beside it, that in good times makes a lovely place to sit. But my attention has been elsewhere, and weeds have had free reign. I started yanking them down and was surprised to discover raspberries. Some of them were ripe. I popped a few in my mouth. Unexpected. Sweet.
There are treats that I bought and paid for that when it comes time to enjoy them, have disappeared. Like my young children's good behavior. I earned it, with the fourteen books we read at bedtime. Or John's response to my request to take out the trash, which I deserve because I did his laundry.
But there are other kinds of sweetness that appear as if by magic. All I need to do is taste them.
