Life in the mountains

By LEE GAREN

I awoke this morning as if coming out of a nightmare!

There is a glass cake tray in the kitchen that has a rather heavy lid.  It’s guarding something that I hold near and dear to my heart.  I see it everyday with every visit to the kitchen.  A gift from my wife’s parents that they so thoughtfully picked up during their last  trip to their home in Williamsburg, Kentucky.

Not the cake plate…but what it holds – my last individually wrapped Twinkie!

It has become somewhat of a rare commodity here in Franklin, North Carolina where we live in the beautiful mountains.  I wandered out of the bedroom to our livingroom where the cake plate was moved last night when we needed  the rolling butcher block table to treat our cat, Boo.  She has been overtaken by a tribe of fleas that escaped from the circus that was down the street last month.  Anyway, it is an easy table to use when we play veterinarian with
our pets.

I stopped in the livingroom and was overtaken by the sight of that Twinkie sitting all by itself dwarfed by the size of the cake plate that held it.  I couldn’t help feeling a wave of emotion that swept through my aging body.  There was a  twinge of pain involved but nothing like the severe stenosis in my neck or the torn rotator cuff in my right shoulder.  It was a different kind a pain.  The kind  of pain that fills your inner self with an emotional sting.  One that has the ability to simultaneously squeeze a tear or two from the corner of your eyes.

Feeling a bit silly over this attack of what feels the same as losing a best friend, I lifted the cover and cradled the object of my obsession in the palm of my hand.  You would not believe the memories that came pouring from my mind!
Memories of arriving home from school, getting a glass of milk, my daily bit of  sweet-tooth nourishment, as I sat there prepared to watch Uncle Johnny Coons and then The Howdy Doody Show.

That item I held brought images of my late mother to mind and her words  echoed through my head, “Don’t spoil your dinner…eat just one.”  “Just one” I thought…”just one.”  And the pain of emotion became a little more real, a little
more cruel.

Should I imbibe of this precious item I hold so near and dear to my heart?  This item of sheer baker’s genius seemed to look back at me and say “Not now…let’s  have a little more time together, after all…I could be the last one.”
To think, if I unwrap this work of genius, it could be the last one.  But just how long can I go with the temptation staring at me every day.  It is the last one from the box that has since taken its place in the recycle bin outside.  ”The last one”
has such a final ring to it!  Perhaps this ”last one” could bring a small fortune if I placed it on EBay.  I laughed out loud to myself and thought, “It could be worth a small fortune!  Maybe I should leave it in my will to one of kids.  Hah!  Now
that’s a funny thought.”

I figure the possibility of a strike by workers at the company where this object of my deep affection came from could make this the last one.  Putting it on EBay would be like selling all my memories along with it.  Memories of sitting with my  best friend in the whole world with a glass of chocolate milk watching our favorite Saturday horror movies as we devoured our favorite snack…a snack that could now be the last one.

The rest were gone a week ago.  This one holds the distinction of being perhaps, the last one to cross my lips, float through my mouth as I savor the flavor and memories of my childhood and the years that took me to where I am today.

That’s a big decision to make at this hour but I’m almost at the point of drooling over the thought of reducing this little cake to a mass of moosh.  But, ahhhhh, the flavor that bursts forward with each bite is like a food gourmet’s orgasm.  It’s that creamy center that puts the final touch of flavor on your tongue.

Perhaps I’ll find more…maybe they haven’t stopped making them just yet.  They don’t deliver them to our supermarkets here in the mountains of Franklin, NC. If so, I’ll have to count on my wife’s parents to bring me another box of them on their next trip to Kentucky.

But just the thought of Hostess not baking any more Twinkies is wearing my emotions thin.  You have to understand how much Twinkies have meant to me during most of my 69 years…it has been a food lover’s affair.  I really do love my
Hostess Twinkies…they’ve been such a part of my life!  A pseudo Twinkie just doesn’t cut it!  They’re not the same.

Copyright 2012 Lee Garen

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Posted by Gary on Jul 18 2012. Filed under Arts/Media/Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.