The silver metal milkbox on our stoop is left from when we used to get milk delivered in old-fashioned glass bottles. [We stopped after some bottles froze when we were away for a few wintry days. It got wasteful.]
We keep the box there for various reasons. It's handy to step on when hanging Christmas lights, we stash some garden tools in it, and sometimes leave a key for a neighbor to water our plants.
But on this rainy Tuesday, the Original Fig Newtons are in the milkbox. I put them there when I found myself unable to stop eating them. They are so soft and uniform, perfectly shaped little packages with exactly even amounts of filling. Old-time, comforting kid food. Fair and square, even-steven, all is right with the world.
I haven't bought them in a while precisely because I find them hard to stop eating, but they caught my eye at CVS last night when I went to wait for an Rx.
And now I remember: As a high school girl, eating a full sleeve once after school from a four-sleeve pack of store-brand fig bars. John, my mother said later to my dad with alarm, look how many of these Alice ate.
And then: Living on my own by the Jersey Shore, doing my laundry at the Busy B's Launderette and buying one of those boxes of a single sleeve of Newtons. I shared a couple with Kathleen, the kind grandmother who owned the place. Home again, with washing machines, dryers, stacks of clean clothing. No mother to watch [Mom was gone by then, and plus, I lived 1 1/2 hours from Dumont], but Newtons to eat.
But now those bad boys are banished again, and not a moment too soon. I had eaten more than a full row by lunchtime.
We keep the box there for various reasons. It's handy to step on when hanging Christmas lights, we stash some garden tools in it, and sometimes leave a key for a neighbor to water our plants.
But on this rainy Tuesday, the Original Fig Newtons are in the milkbox. I put them there when I found myself unable to stop eating them. They are so soft and uniform, perfectly shaped little packages with exactly even amounts of filling. Old-time, comforting kid food. Fair and square, even-steven, all is right with the world.
I haven't bought them in a while precisely because I find them hard to stop eating, but they caught my eye at CVS last night when I went to wait for an Rx.
And now I remember: As a high school girl, eating a full sleeve once after school from a four-sleeve pack of store-brand fig bars. John, my mother said later to my dad with alarm, look how many of these Alice ate.
And then: Living on my own by the Jersey Shore, doing my laundry at the Busy B's Launderette and buying one of those boxes of a single sleeve of Newtons. I shared a couple with Kathleen, the kind grandmother who owned the place. Home again, with washing machines, dryers, stacks of clean clothing. No mother to watch [Mom was gone by then, and plus, I lived 1 1/2 hours from Dumont], but Newtons to eat.
But now those bad boys are banished again, and not a moment too soon. I had eaten more than a full row by lunchtime.
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