I had one of those odd moments on Saturday, the kind that hit you right out of the blue and leave you wiped out for a few minutes. One of those odd little grief moments that remind you how much things have changed. This one was brought on by Chex mix, of all things.
I was at a church sale that ended up being pretty dismal. The selection was bad and the prices were worse. I did find a mystery by one of my favorite authors and a couple of small items, but nothing major. As I'm checking out, I glance over the baked goods they're also selling and see a bag of homemade Chex mix, which I also bought.
My mother had made huge batches of Chex mix (the original) every year for Christmas for as long as I could remember. I always got a tub of it with my presents, and so did my brother. Seeing that little baggy of the stuff at this sale reminded me of that. It also reminded me that there wouldn't be any tubs of Chex mix any more.
By the time I got back in the car, I was a mess. We had to sit there for a few minutes before moving on. Thinking about the Chex mix also reminded me that my mother was the last person who could make my grandmother's fudge right. I try to make it every year and always screw it up. I knew that the holidays would be different this year, but I hadn't realized just how different until then.
And the Chex mix I bought was nowhere near as good as my mother's.