I just bought a little tub of nonpareils at Trader Joe’s. They’re small dark chocolate discs covered in white sprinkles. The cashier said “These are delicious!” as he slid them over the scanner. “My daughter doesn’t like them, and she just brought some home, so guess who they’re all for?”, he continued with a big smile on his face.
I agreed, “Yes, they are really good.” I wanted to say more but I find that plastic partition rather inhibitive.
I wanted to say, “When my mother was small, her mother used to go into town on Saturdays to shop with one of her girlfriends. She always brought back a small bag of nonpareils for my mom. She died in childbirth when my mother was seven. My mom is 94 now and still loves nonpareils. Me too. Yes, they are really good, but for me, they’re a kind of nostalgic connection to a grandmother I never knew.”
My Mom’s Mother