Random thoughts

i bit into a dill pickle tonight and immediately had flashbacks to visiting my grandma's house.

i think that's where i had my first dill pickle and i became addicted to them right then and there.  so crunchy, salty, dilly...oh i loved biting into them. 

for some reason my parents never bought that stuff.  it was like a forbidden item in our house, so i would count down till saturdays so i could eat dill pickles at grandma's house.  it was fun, up till the point of my dad showing me the nutritional information once, killing any and all joy there might have been in a solitary crunch. 

i remember we were at the foothills hospital for some reason and i'm sure it was to visit either grandpa or grandma.  there was a summer once where both of them were simultaneously sick and we were staying at their house and making frequent visits up to the hospital to see them.  for what seemed like an eternity, our family played house there one summer. 

we'd go up to the hospital and see the grandparents who werent in the same room.  that always perplexed me.  i remember seeing grandma hooked up to her iv, always a perpetual pest to the nurses, claiming she'd just turn up her iv to make it flow faster so that she'd get it off her veiny wrist sooner.  the nurses would come in, tell her to leave it alone, and turn the iv back down.  she'd just sass them back and wait till they disappeared and turn it back up.  as i look back, i laugh at how much of a devil she could be.  full of piss and vinegar.

it was on one of those visits where my dad took me on a field trip to show me the nutritional info, basically showing me that my days of eating pickles was approaching its eternal sunset.  that fucking killjoy.  i might have been 10 or less at that point, but i remember hating him for ruining what i considered a good thing.

eating tonight's pickle reminded me of all the goodies i'd find at grandma's: REAL butter on the counter, a tall cupboard full of syrups, spices, and wonderful smelling things, all things never found in my house back in herronton.  i'd go snooping at times, a totally forbidden activity for which i was often punished.  on one occasion, my father caught me red handed as i was going through that cupboard full of curiousities in their blue bathroom.  he said nothing, but returned moments later to tell me that grandma wanted to talk to me.  and when i came outside, she was lounging on the west lawn in the sun with her sunglasses on.  i couldnt see her eyes, but i  knew they were cold.  she scolded me, told me i was naughty, made me cry for snooping, all while my dad stood there and listened pleased with himself.  that simple act of tattling brought him such joy that i'm sure it reminded him of his childhood with one of his four sibs standing there watching, except it was me on the receiving end. 

time may pass but there are certain things that i cant erase from my memory.

all this from a crunch of a dill pickle.

et tu, brute.