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The Daily Biff
     
 
Sat, 01 Oct 2005

The Corner Bread Box
I attended the Priesthood Session of Conference tonight with Scott. After I dropped him off at his home, I tuned to 94.9 for the weekly Saturday night program, Swing Years and Beyond, music from the late 1920s to the late '50s. I hunkered down into my seat, focused on the road, and slowly meandered the route back home.

While the car smoothly consumed the road beneath me, I let me mind wander... I walked into my Grandma's house and heard the familiar big band swing music radiating softly from the kitchen. As I had done possibly dozens of times before, I visited the kitchen first and checked the corner bread box for cookies. If I was lucky, Grandma would have recently restocked the box with cookies; always Mother's-brand cookies, usually the Iced Oatmeal ones, the Cococnut Cocadas, or others (like The Cookie Parade grab bag).

A plastic analog clock radio, permanently tuned to a local Salt Lake City music station, sat on top of the bread box. The small single speaker perpetually broadcast the sounds of the big swing bands. Grandma was sometimes there, working on getting a ham carved or preparing some other food for the table.

"Grandma, this music is old!", I would say, stuffing a cookie in my mounth.

"This is the music of the golden era, of my youth.", she would respond.

With a few cookies in my hand I would settle down and flip through some magazines, find the comics in the paper, or watch some TV. But the music of the "golden era" was always there in the background at Grandma's house, emanating from that single speaker in her kitchen; sometimes imperceptible, but always there.

And now, though the music plays on, my Grandma is no longer with us, yet my ethereal memories of her are always there. On a quiet drive home while listening to music performed during my Grandma's youth, her "golden years", those memories readily cascade into my consciousness. At times like this, I wish I could check that corner bread box for more cookies, or that I could simply pick up the phone and call her... if only to hear her answer "Nyello." But the music, and the memories, will have to suffice.

:: Posted by rus on Sat, 01 Oct 2005 10:36 pm
:: Filed under /daily_journal/2005



         

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