So, I guess this jump starts my new blog....more like a journal that more than likely no one will ever find or read, which is just fine with me. I am absolutely awful at sticking to things, meaning who knows if this blog will ever be written in again. Well, I guess you’re wondering what the above image means? Why is it relevant at all? To you, it isn’t, but to me it has all the relevance in the world.
You see, my childhood is filled with a lot of different pieces...much like one of those 1,000 piece puzzles you would find at your grandmother’s house...you know the one, the puzzle that she would have out on a random table with every intention of starting it (which she never does) and that is left to collect dust... to soak in the smell of her house, become a familiar decoration that is immobile and never asked to move. It is never put together, but is simply there as a reminder that nobody ever had the motivation to put it together and see how beautiful....or ugly....it may be when it was finished. It is instead looked over, forgotten. Just there, sometimes, momentarily stealing attention from your peripherals. That is my childhood, sometimes the good parts drift into the forefront of my memory and I smile in reminiscence at how innocent everything was.....how innocent I was....before....I am getting really ahead of myself though, and off-track, please excuse me. My adhd brain has multiple tracks and many destinations.
Anyways, this bakery here....this magical place, as I thought of it as a child...was part of those good memories. I remember fondly, around Christmas time, as my mother would take me out and about the town, shopping for Christmas presents for my, then, infant sister and my father who was at home watching her as he didn’t have a steady job at the time. She made these trips with just me in tow, most times it was after she had worked all day from her former job as an ABC store clerk. But sometimes we would go on a weekend right after noon (which is one of the days I am referencing below). She would not get any rest on her weekend days, as she had me and an infant to care for, yet would still somehow have the energy to smile sweetly at me as we went around looking at various items to take to our extended family's house for the impending Holiday. After we would go shopping at the mall, that I thought was an infinite wonderland of food and toys just for me, she would stop at this bakery on our way home to pickup a preordered batch of thumbprint cookies that her and my dad liked. I remember as a child stepping out of the car and feeling the crisp autumn air...soaking in the lazy orange glow from the sun as it was setting and smiling at the knowledge of what the next few minutes would inevitably bring. Going inside the bakery I would immediately feel a sense of happiness wash over me, maybe due to the smell of all the confectioned sweets they were baking, or possibly because I was searching the front glass of the small bakery and gawking at all the pretty Holiday decorated cookies and cakes. Either way, I was happier than Peter Rabbit in the middle of a carrot farm. However, I never got any of the fancy cakes or cookies, my mother always knew exactly what I wanted, she never had to ask...I wanted but one thing every year from this magical bake shop, a gingerbread man cookie, one with raisin eyes and a smile also made from raisins. It was a very simple cookie, and definitely not the prettiest they had to offer....but I was always so excited for this specific cookie that I could hardly contain myself in the car ride home, I wanted the cookie right then and there. The cookie too big for me to hold with one hand. My mother would always smile the biggest smile when she saw how happy I was that I received my favorite cookie, even though she didn’t let me eat it in the car. I don’t remember much beyond getting the cookie and going home, but I remember the feelings I had before and after getting that cookie very fondly. The unconditional love my mother would exude towards me, the animated twinkle in her eye when she would tell me that we were going to get my favorite cookie, the magic of it all. I got to be with my mom for a few hours just me and her, then I got my favorite cookie. All was right with the world, it was Christmas time! Everything was beautiful and shiny, all the smells were of cinnamon and chocolate chip. The knowing that, no matter what, I always got my cookie. I don’t even know when we stopped going, I just remember that being my favorite part of the holiday season. A constant in my life....but much like the rest of the things I thought were forever to be a constant, it changed. I haven’t had a gingerbread cookie from that bakery in over 10 years now. But I will never forget the exaggerated happiness from those days, the days before.
The bakery still stands, the original owner having passed away a few years ago sadly....his legacy remains with the bakery, which is about 3 hours away from where I live now. I know already, however, that even if I did go back to the bakery I wouldn’t feel as I did back then. My mom is alive, don’t worry, but my story has a lot of pieces (I already said that though, pay attention) that I am not quite ready to relive, so for now I will recount this one pure memory....anyway...I could go back I suppose. I believe, though, that it would hurt more than it would bring me any happiness at this point. I don’t know, maybe one day?
Well, I don’t expect anyone to read this, but if you are thanks for staying until the end. This is just the beginning of a very long story, this one was just on my mind currently. My stories may not follow my timeline exactly, as I will write about them as I remember them. It may be boring to some (or most) but I can only hope that it makes for an interesting story to at least one bored human on the other side of the screen. Please be kind, as all the stories here are of my real life, not a fiction that someone decided to make up to go viral.
So adios for the time being, I may and may not be back.
-RR
