Maybe you'll get something with a caramel center, or maybe I'll get something wonderful disguised as a jelly filled.
Maybe I will learn to love jelly filled.
On this rare day that where I feel generous, maybe there is no one out there who wants have any of this. What I am often so unwilling to share.
Maybe it's all just a moldy truffle...but I'm getting ahead of myself.
Maybe we'll just get fat sitting here together, pigging out on a deeply discounted box of leftover Valentine's heart shaped Bliss when we ought to have been doing something PRODUCTIVE.
My mom was the best gift giver I have ever met. She had a knack for knowing just what someone would love. She shopped bargains, she loved "Rummaging" with her best friend Dorothy, and she never missed an opportunity to give. My girls were still wearing things she had bought them four years after she died.
There was only one gift she asked for, and she asked for it every Christmas. She also got what she wanted every Christmas. A box of Brach's chocolate covered cherries. My dad brought them home and they were wrapped lovingly and put under the tree.
Then I ate them.
I can't remember if my brother or sister snitched her candy, but I sure did. I would bite a small hole in the bottom, suck all the ooey-gooey-sugary-creamy stuff out, let the chocolate shell melt in my mouth, and then finish off the cherry from the middle with a smack and a farewell lick of the fingers.
Then I would have another, because the last one was so good. I left her the last five. Or two.
Years ago, after Steve and I were married, my mom rode a Greyhound bus hundreds of miles to visit us. It was the only extended visit that I can remember in which my mom did not get worried about the weather or something equally as unpredictable and leave early. One day, we went to a Fine Chocolate Shop and splurged on some divine looking truffles.
We bit into them and they were moldy inside. Such disappointment and betrayal I felt.
And wow, it hits me again HARD how I wish she had not left this life so early. Ten years later and the tears pour without warning and my throat is strangled by it.
And I wonder, was the worry and the unknown and the sum total of the uncontrollables of her life - and the disappointment of the occasional moldy truffle - too overwhelming? Were there too many years of opening the box anticipating cherries but finding instead bits of leaked goo on brown ribbed paper?
Yep, just jelly filled today.
I detest jelly filled.