Poetry Friday: The Word is CANDY
Snow snow SNOW…it’s a snowday here in the Midwest, and my wonderful husband agreed to stay home with the kiddies whilst I do Important Work Things. And later I have an appointment with an endocrinologist for My Stupid Thyroid. Boy-child is having some friends over tomorrow night for a Birthday Party Sleepover…do you think we’ll get ANY sleep this weekend? HAH, she said…HAH.
Today’s Poetry Friday word is CANDY. The word came to me as I scooped out another handful of bridge mix from the container at work, but then this morning I remembered something Jeremiah had said about the snow coming down like “a ballet performed entirely by pieces of candy”. Which I love, and is lovely. And reminds me of ee cummings, “the moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy”. Ah, so sweet.
Feel free to sprinkle some sugar on top of your blog post today, in whatever crinkly foil wrapper you choose…poem, photo, recipe for peppermint hot chocolate, dental x-rays.
I have two offerings, a list of my favorite candy and the beginning of what might be a short (or not-so-short) story.
Ooh! Just remembered...the book "Candy and Me (A Love Story)" by Hilary Liftin is awesome if you're a candy afficionado like me.
Have a good weekend, y'all! Watch them roads!
Candies I Have Known and Loved
Bridge mix…the best of everything…fruits, nuts, and crèmes.
French burnt peanuts…french? Why French? They’re candy-coated peanut goodness.
Boston baked beans…the smooth version of French burnt peanuts. What’s not to love?
Maple nut goodies…which I hated as a kid. Nowadays, I sometimes ache for them.
Brach’s peppermint disks…my grandma always had a jar of them in her kitchen. The taste reminds me of her.
Chocolate stars…you can let them melt on your tongue, if you’re patient...but why not chew them like a hungry dog?
Caramels…the hard square ones were fine, with their crinkly cellophane, but soft caramels make me shudder with delight.
Tootsie rolls…mix root beer and orange soda, and you get a taste vaguely like tootsie rolls.
Dumdum pops…the ubiquitous sucker. Bank tellers always did and always will give them to kids. And I’ll always take one for myself.
Squirrel nut zippers…nutty caramel, and a really cool throwback band. Put a lid on it!
Chocolate creams…they look like beautiful nipples, all perky in their chocolate coat.
Chocolate kisses…I once ate an entire bag, and then passed out while on the phone with my friend. I was *this close* to od-ing.
Popcorn flavoured jellybeans…taste like popcorn!
Red rope licorice…in college, I once tied a guy up with them and ate them off. Why do we do such silly things?
Mounds bars…also like the almond-studded version, ‘cause coconut and me have had a long-time love affair.
Reeses cups…you got chocolate in my peanut butter! Two great things that taste great together.
Snickers…as far as I’m concerned, next to bridge mix, this is the perfect candy. Chocolate, caramel, nuts…poi-fek.
The Name so Sweet
“Is that your bike?”
I poked my head out from the middle of the lilac bush and stared through the July rays at the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
"Zat your bike?”, she asked again, and crouched down to see my hiding place. Her hair hung down in toffee-coloured ringlets, not even sticky from the heat, like she was some sort of Sears Catalog kids-section model come to life, with her sailor-suit outfit and pure white Keds. She pulled back the branches covering my sweaty shirtless 7-year old body and giggled at me. Her dimples sprang her cheeks sideways, and her straight teeth stood out, almost unnaturally, in our laid-back, barefoot, dirty-armed corner of Country, USA.
I reached my arms out and pulled through the branches, brushing by her tanned arms, and pulled myself up beside her, hoping I was shorter, wondering if she was a Nicey or a Meany.
“Y-y-yeah, that’s my bike,” I stammered, and dug my fingernails into my hipbone, trying to calm the nest of bees that seemed to have made their way into my stomach. What was wrong with me? I never stuttered, and here I was, shaking like I was thrown in the deep freezer, fighting the urge to run in the house and hide in the basement. What was this girl doing to me?
“My name is Candy,” the girl announced. “Candy Forrest. My grandma lives just there,” and she pointed next door to the two-story white house of the woman I knew as Mrs. McIlford, who we called Mama Mac. “I’m visiting my grandma from New York. New York CITY!”, she grinned, and threw back her head, sort of bragging. I hate bragging. But her hair bounced in such a hungry way, I just stared at it, and nodded my head. “City,” I nodded thoughtfully, like I knew what sort of creature she was, like she ate gold-covered cereal for breakfast and took a big fancy car to school and probably had all the toys we couldn’t afford at the Five and Dime.
“What’s your name?”
Name? I have a name? I stared at her eyes, at the black eyelashes framing the blueberry-coloured circles, at the way the spotted sun played on her face.
“Freddie. My name is Freddie.” I croaked like a frog. A big glob of sweat dropped off my nose, and I wiped it off with the heel of my hand.
“Well, Freddie My Name is Freddie, do you wanna play? My grandma bought me a Monopoly game, and some Go Fish cards, and some other stuff. And, well, seeing as I have no one else to play with…. Would that be okay? You wanna tell your mom you’re gonna come over? That’d be the good thing to do, dontcha think? Tell your momma?”
My body moved without first telling my feet, and I stumbled towards my back door. “Yeah, okay! Wait..w-w-wait there, I’ll be right back!”
“Hurry up, Freddie Freddie, it’s too hot out here!”
I flung myself against the back door and yelled through the screen, “Momma! I’m goin’ next door to Mama Mac’s house, ‘kay?” I heard my momma say something, I couldn’t really hear her too good over the baby crying, but thought she’d like to get me out the house anyway, and it was just next door. I started back to where Candy was waiting, grabbed two apples from the bushel basket by the porch, pulled my shirt from the wagon, and ran towards those blueberry eyes.