In a Pickle
In elementary school. I left campus each lunch period to go to the corner convenience store. The principal figured this out and called my parents. They asked him to follow me to see where I was going. He followed me the following day and watched where and what I did. He called them back and reported that I was going to the store and purchasing a jar of pickles with my lunch money and eating them on my way back to school. My parents treated this as a very big deal. They bought me lunch tickets and I was selling them to other students at a discount in order to obtain cash for my pickles. They grounded me for the rest of my life and made me write daily reports on the dangers of leaving campus at lunch. On the last night of my report-writing punishment I had run out of dangers and spent the evening writing about how dangerous wild dog bites could be.
I’ve always had a weakness for dill pickles. It’s that thing that once I start, I can’t stop. I am reminded of this today, decades later. I was at Winco and saw a jar of baby dills. I stopped in my tracks, staring at them as if they were talking to me. I bought two of the big jars. When I came home, I sat down and couldn’t get them out of my head. It’s been three hours and the jar is about empty. I am Jolene and I am a pickle-holic. Thankfully, my children don’t read my blogs.
Thoughts that are alien to any of my other projects can be found here.