The Jar
I don’t remember how old I was the first time I could reach The Jar. As I got older, I took it for granted that I could get to the peppermint. I know there was a time I couldn’t because I can remember having to stand on my tip toes with the edge of the Formica counter digging into my ribs as I stretched towards the piece of black crockery, its gold writing rubbed off in spots, reading, “Cookies.” I knew better though. Underneath the lid to that jar were peppermints. The most wonderful icy-cool treat I could hope for. Barefoot I stood on the hardwood floor and strained forward, fingertips brushing the jar, rolling in along the wall towards me, until finally I was able to pull it to me in almost a hug to get at the candy inside.
If I were in a store with a pocket full of change scraped up from allowance and odd lawn jobs for neighbors, I wouldn’t buy peppermint. It wouldn’t occur to me. Peppermint wasn’t gotten from a store. It was created by some sort of magic in the dark coolness of my grandma’s cookie jar…tantalizingly out of reach, almost.
Of all the things I remember about holidays and visits to her house, that stands out as one of the anchors that hold the past firmly in place. The peppermint jar is a peg on which innumerable memories hang. Sneaking in to get one after being told, “No more candy until after lunch.” Running inside during a game of hide and seek to grab a peppermint. Setting the lid down ever so gently so as not to make any noise that the others might hear. They would then want some. After Halloween there would be other candy in there, too, and the other kids, not knowing the value of the peppermint, would eat them first. I, however, was loyal. I would dig through the layers of butterscotch looking for the peppermint. Unless there was caramel in there, and then I’d try and get them all before anyone else found them. That wasn’t cheating though. Caramel isn’t in the Hard Candy competition.
It’s time to go to bed. I think I’ll have a peppermint. It’s not out of The Jar. Granny died. I don’t know what happened to the jar, but the memory lives on, and on my kitchen counter, pushed into the corner rests a jar. Inside the jar are peppermints, and there always will be, come on by and have one…Granny wouldn’t mind, unless it’s right before lunch, then you’ll have to sneak one.
