One of the things about cleaning out, as you know, is the emotional path it leads you down to remembering days passed that have disappeared like a vapor unto the mountain tops.
On the top of our kitchen cabinets is a bright multi-colored basket and in it sets a Velveeta cheese cardboard box. Without knowing the history of that box, there is an excellent chance that someone would throw it away.
That person could well be Tink.
I say this for two reasons: First, he has OCD and he’s liable to throw away any empty box he finds. He is especially likely to throw out an empty Velveeta cheese carton because he is a Yankee and he doesn’t know the importance of Velveeta to the South. It didn’t save us – that honor belonged to government cheese – but it gave us a mighty helping hand. Secondly, I figure that the way things are going, he is going to far outlive me so one day when he and my niece, Nicole, are disposing of that which was once a bundle of my life and purpose, they’ll toss it without second thought and nary a regret.
Figuring that Tink was likely to be a culprit in the disposal, I called him over when I took it down to dust it.
“See this? It’s a special Velveeta cheese box.” He kinda rolled his eyes comically. Then, I turned it over and let him read what I had written in a black sharpie on the bottom.
It reads: “Last thing Mama ever bought … at IGA – 2 hours before she died.” 2/24/08
Ronda Rich, Columnist
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