Saltines

It is funny what evokes a long ago image. An instant of flavor, or smell or the way the sun is setting in the sky. It's never expected, and as I have learned in the last few years, sometimes welcomed, sometimes not.

Yesterday, it was the saltine crackers Ben pulled out.

I haven't had saltines since I was pregnant. Miserable, nauseous, I chipped away at saltines while wetting my lips with Ginger Ale. It was one of the few times in my life food was absolutely the last thing I wanted to be around.

I remember being in my office at the software company with those crackers and getting a phone call from a woman who was looking to start a support group for pregnant lesbians. My name had been given as a contact, something I did not remember signing up for.

It was the beginning of the moms group I hold as my family today. Thirteen years and ten kids later, we're still at it.

I remember my mother and how she would make careful little sandwiches with saltines. She'd spread peanut butter on one cracker, jelly on another and hand them to me to press together.

The jelly oozed out of the tiny holes signaling the perfect pressure. The extra salt on the cracker made it ever so slightly a savory snack rather than sweet. Finger sandwiches for the seven and under set, although she always had a few herself.

A simple box of Saltines on a hot day when having your mind move from one image to the next is enough to break a sweat.