One of my “to me from me” Christmas presents this year was a brand-spankin’-new, double-decker, clear-glass cookie jar with a non-skid bottom and unbreakable lid. It was really hard to toss the old one, but the amount of Super Glue that was holding it together had started to stink up the goodies inside.
Oreo cookies looked beautiful in the new jar, all placed in neat little stacks or swirls, depending on the day of the week and whether I thought my kitchen should look modern or contemporary.
Oreos and I have a love-hate relationship; it’s one of those snacks that reach out and grab you from inside the jar while you pass by and nag until not just one hand is full of cookies, but both, with a couple extra for the pockets.
The black-and-white beauties have a way of making one’s mouth water from twenty miles away, and by the time a person is pulling into the driveway, it’s a beeline straight to the jar. Not having bought replacement Oreos that day as there should have been more than enough to go around until the next shopping trip, I sank right down to the kitchen floor as the cookie jar sported just a few black crumbs. Almost to the point of having to go to counseling while imagining stack after stack of shiny Oreo packages back at the store, I high-tailed it back to town for a supply of my very own.
Oreos fit nicely in the quarter slots of the car’s console. There’s also a “liver” stamp in the junk drawer that, when inked on a white paper-wrapped bundle of Oreos in the freezer helps them remain Emily’s very own hidden treasure, as no one in our house likes liver and would ever notice the package got a bit smaller each day. One whole package of Oreos fits perfectly in the vacuum cleaner hose and, God forbid, if someone turned it on, they would disappear unnoticed into the depths of dust.
Some items that I’ve hidden so well I just plain forgot about them have been happened upon and have gotten me into a big pile of do-do. I think the worst instance was when my oldest son brought home a nasty video and stashed it under his mattress, never in a million years thinking that Mom would wash his sheets each Saturday. Deciding to teach the boy a lesson, I seized the video and placed it behind some brushes in the back of a cabinet in my horse barn. I fully intended to wrap the video up as a wedding gag gift a thousand years later, but my little plan backfired when Ed found it. Now, Ed borrows my hammers, my ladder, and sometimes even a straw bale or two, but what was he thinking, going into the cabinet in my barn for a brush to beautify the dog? Oh, holy Hannah, did I ever have some explaining to do!
Saving a dollar here and a dollar there, I wasn’t saving for a new pair of shoes at the end of the month; after four years, I brought home a shiny new stock trailer. After Ed came down off the ceiling—and, believe me, it took a couple of weeks—he hooked the trailer up and hauled a load of pigs in it. After the second or third load, I caught a grin and even received a little nod when I passed him on the road. Totally backfiring, my plan to haul Ol’ Dobbin in a nice new, clean trailer went out the window and down the smelly trail.
Ed really jumped when I told him he had some brown stuff smeared on his face. Figuring it was just dirt, I went about my business until, a few days later, the same smudge was showing on his chin. A bit suspicious, I didn’t say anything and let him fall asleep in the recliner while watching the nightly news. Sneaking over and taking a whiff of the smudge, I found it was just as I thought: chocolate!
Ed had hauled a load of livestock the week before and had made his usual stop at Fleet Farm for feed stuff, lumber, or whatever his little grocery list entailed, but chocolate not brought into the house was against our wedding vows.
Rifling through the pickup inch by inch with a flashlight at midnight, I found things I never knew existed and that Ed probably didn’t either, but alas, no chocolate. Leaving the lights off in the shop, I felt like the main character in Watergate with my Mini Mag flashlight leading the way to Ed’s chocolate stash. The more I searched, the more the “chocolate” spot in my brain dug in and said, “Feed me.”
Just before dawn, thinking I could straighten the shop up after a nap before Ed found everything inside out and upside down, I found the mother lode under the seat of the riding lawn mower. Chocolate stars, hundreds of them! I sat atop the mower seat, enjoying every morsel star by star, and it was fully daylight by the time I waddled across the yard and into the house. Ed was sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and asked what I was doing outside so early. “Oh, just checking on a mare that’s due to foal soon,” I said, thinking, “What’s he looking at?” as I headed down the hall to the bathroom with a very queasy stomach. One look in the mirror brought Lucy Ricardo to mind as I viewed chocolate-star evidence smeared all over my face…