So, when I was a kid I had this love for certain sandwiches. I ate one almost every day, when I got home from school. It was not your typical sandwich, mind you, but I looked forward to it! Here’s the recipe: I got two pieces of Wonder Bread (white bread wasn’t vilified back in those days). I placed them side by side on a plate. My mouth was watering by this time! Then I would add the magic ingredients: four Oreo cookies, arranged just so! Placing one piece of bread on top, I had myself a meal, baby! That first bite was always so amazing! No need for condiments. The icing mixed perfectly with the lovely taste of chocolate cookie wafers and Wonder Bread. Doesn’t it just make your mouth giddy with anticipation?
Okay, okay…so in college, long after the days of my Oreo cookie sandwiches, the thought occurred to me. I do not have much money. I wondered, “Would an Oreo Cookie Sandwich would still be tasty? It certainly would be cheap and would last a long time…”
All I’d have to buy is one loaf of bread and a package of Oreos, so I tried it. By this time, health conscious people were at least trying to eat wheat bread. So I drove to the grocery store, reluctantly grabbed a loaf of wheat bread, hoping for the best. I snatched up a package of Oreo cookies and headed home for my experiment. On the drive home, I was already pretty hungry. I could not wait to taste my old friend, the Oreo Cookie Sandwich again. “This is going to be awesome!” I thought expectantly. I arrived home. I got out a plate. I placed two pieces of wheat bread on the plate. I then carefully placed the Oreo cookies. Placing the second piece of bread on top, I prepared for the first delectable bite. Oh my goodness! I am shocked! I cannot believe how utterly disgusting. This tastes! I stopped myself from spitting it in the trash can, trying to give it some time to grow on me. After I swallowed it, I looked at the sandwich and wondered, “What in the hell was I thinking?” Into the trash it flew! Ewww…never trust those childhood memories!
(C) Copyright -Stacey M. Patterson. All rights reserved.
“We couldn’t ask for more beautiful day!” said the man to his wife, as they sauntered through the park together, hand-in-hand. His wife was quiet, but she smiled sweetly. “She finally seems content.,” he thought silently. The events of the last few months had exhausted his wife. But now, she seemed to rise from her depression, fresh and confident. They could start anew, unburdened. Feeling relieved, he turned to see an elderly woman on a bench, knitting a tiny, infant-sized sweater. Tears filled his eyes. “Well, this insanity,” he thought. But as he dropped his wife’s hand and crouched to his knees, covering his red, sobbing face in embarrassment, he cried like he never had before. He began to grieve the loss of their unborn child. His wife knelt beside him, cradling him. He heard her whisper softly, “It is about time you cried, my dear sweetheart. Thank you.”
Writing 101: day 4
Today I am writing about a loss: something or someone that was part of my life that is not anymore. One of my earliest and most significant losses was the loss of my first dog. His name was Bouvier, but we called him Boot-wa. It was a cold, snowy night in Lee’s Summit, Missouri. The snow was about one foot deep and very fluffy. Outside was a winter wonderland for children to play in. There would definitely be no school the next day. I put on my coat, hat, gloves and boots and went outside through the automatic garage door to shovel my neighbor’s driveway; she was always good for a bunch of money after she had been drinking! My dog had been in the garage in his usual back corner, sleeping away.
The next part is difficult to write about. As the garage door was going down my dog must have slipped out into the snowy darkness. I had no idea. He was a white poodle; about 25 to 30 pounds in weight, and against the snow one would have never seen him in the darkness. When I returned home, I realized my dog was not in the garage. It was several hours later, as I had taken the opportunity to play in the snow. I by the time I got back and told my dad that the dog was nowhere to be found, it was too late. My sweet poodle had frozen to death, and we found him in the street covered in snow. I wondered why I had not looked back as I left the garage, earlier that night. I felt a heavy burden and a monstrously deep regret for being responsible for the death of my beloved canine.
Yes, I was but a child who made a mistake; but I still feel the pain, thinking about it, some forty years later. After that, I began taking in every stray dog I could find. My poor endured my version of repentance and accepted my strays as family. This really helped heal my pain. I am so grateful he understood.
I can’t believe it but I have finished Writing 101 days one, two and three! Check out my blogs!