The candies were kept in a crystal jar on the linen covered dining room table in my Grandmother's house. The individually wrapped hard candies gleamed yellow, pink, and orange, deceptively alluring. I say deceptively because I knew from previous experience how these candies did not alight the tastebuds with sugary pleasure but rather threw them into a state of confusion. "What is this taste?" they seemed to cry. The candies contained not sugar but rather some artificial sweetener, in addition to the obvious artificial coloring and flavors, to make them friendly to diabetics, which included Grandmother. Grandmother might have found these candies a welcome substitute to regular sweets, but I did not.
I always forgot this of course when faced with the gleaming candies in the elegant jar. Every visit, I would take a piece, carefully unwrap it, and hope that my memory had served me wrong. Each time, I met with bitter disappointment. I would take the partially eaten, sticky candy from my mouth to dispose of it. Common sense and etiquette would dictate that I discard the partially eaten candy in the trash bin. I do not know why I did not do this. Perhaps, I was embarrassed of my Grandmother, a woman of the Depression era, finding my needless waste. Perhaps I was just a child, and children often act insensibly.
In each of the upstairs rooms, there was a latched, small square door, situated a foot or two off the floor. On opening the door, you saw a small shoot that led to.....somewhere, anywhere, or nowhere. Not knowing the destination made it magical. The shoot could open into Faerie, or Narnia, or just end in a great abyss of Nothing. I would take my partially eaten candy which was sometimes wrapped back up in its original cellophane wrapper, or sometimes not, and send it down the shoot silently wishing it "God Speed" to its unknown destination.
Much later, when I was older, I learned that those small latched square doors were openings for laundry shoots, and that the destination was the basement laundry room. I wonder, now, what Grandmother thought when she saw those pieces of yellow, pink, and orange candies cemented to her dirty laundry.
Attempting to start something new here: Flashback Fridays. This is where I will write down a memory of mine. A memory I value and want recorded. I want these efforts to be something more than what one would find in my journal entries, since my journal entries (when I kept them) are rather prosaic, dull, and itinerary like.