| email Nancy |
|
Spoonful of Sugar For those of you who know me, you have probably heard a bit about my mother, Pat. Patricia Clare Lindauer Reinhart, former nun and professional water-skier. In the last package she sent me, I received not only 3 pieces of Trident gum, a plastic bread-baggy full of pepper, and an internet picture of Bush dressed like Osama bin Laden, but also one small, brown, 20-calorie packet of “sugar in the raw.” Why does this warrant further discussion, you now ask? Here is the problem: What does one do with just one packet of sugar? I initially considered mixing it with my other sugar crystals, but then the money spent to send it would have seemed so purposeless. It would have become just a few dark crystals, lost amongst thousands of white ones. Next, I thought I should eat it, but that itself became a complex decision. Should I eat it alone (it is “in the raw” after all)? Should I mix it with coffee or put it one a fancy cookie? If so, would I really experience the full meaning of this lone sugar packet Americaeetz? Or should I give it to an Armenian neighbor, telling them it is “special sugar” because it is from America (Goal #2—a work in progress)? But, then I thought, what the hell would they do with it? All of these thoughts I have had about a brown “sugar in the raw” packet, which claims to be “turbinado sugar from natural cane, having blond color and robust flavor,’ but which contains its own share of preservatives. The packet suggests use on fresh fruit or cereal. Ureman, clearly it is not meant for use during a Hayastani winter. So here it sits, in my Jermuk apartment mocking me from the top of the refrigerator. Sometimes I wonder if this is just what Pat intended: a packet of sugar sent across the seas as a small spy, to continually remind me of her presence in my life. Or maybe it offers more of a Peace Corps lesson, reminding me of how many individualized products we manufacture in our country, creating tons and tons of waste simply for the sake of convenience. I may be crazy, but I sense that I am not the only PCV in Armenia who has spent a chilly winter’s afternoon contemplating such a seemingly simple item. My little friend is not only indicative of the ‘randomness’ of my Peace Corps experience thus far, but more largely it is representative of the relationship I have with my mother. Thoughtful, confusing, funny, and guilt-provoking all at the same time. While Pat will never be able to say she supports my decision to join the Peace Corps, she is instead content to spend a few of her hard-earned dollars to send me a spoonful of sugar in the mail. Thus, I am left sitting here at twilight in my cold kitchen, watching a packet of sugar as it reveals its meaning to me. I know only one thing for certain: sugar is supposed to help the medicine to go down. Yes, it has inspired me to continue my stay in Armenia for today. Apres, mamma-jan, apres. |