Wishbone on the Windowsill
The Jewish holiday of Passover has just ended. With the conclusion of this holiday also comes the disposal of every matzo, cake meal, farfel infused item in the house, a prune smoothie down the hatch and bagels lined like soldiers back in the fridge. As I was cleaning the counters and organizing the kitchen my eyes fell upon the wishbone I placed on the windowsill above the sink. I found this sucker after hours of simmering my chicken broth; floating directly to the top of the pot I rescued it, washed it and set it out to dry. A week later it was perfect for a wish and ready for snapping.
“Why do you always put the wishbone on the windowsill?” Child number three was questioning.
That’s just where it goes I guess, and then I remembered.
Along with the avocado pits balancing on the edge of a glass of water with the help of three toothpicks as its purposeful prop, every now and then a dried wishbone would show up by its side. As a child I remember both of these objects randomly popping up on our windowsill.The best part was the wishing. My mom, in her soft pink robe and freshly washed strawberry blonde hair, would tell me it was time to make a wish; then, with her creamy hands and lovely nails directly opposite of my tattered and chewed up cuticles we would close our eyes, count to three and SNAP! I always got the longer piece and if I didn’t my mom always told me I could have her wish.
Memories are sneaky, suppressed little devils, or angels, that like to follow you around constantly like a shadow in the darkness. I have been putting wishbones on the windowsill for years and years and before my son asked me why I do this my motivation for doing so was being navigated like a veteran captain at the helm in a well known sea.
My father took me to see the musical CATS when I was about fifteen. After Grizabella sang her hit song, Memory, I remember a flood of slithery, gorgeous actresses meowing and purring up and down the aisles. One of them stopped next to my father and licked his face with her real live tongue!! She purred her way onto another audience member and my dad and I just laughed hysterically staring at each other with shock, amusement and maybe a little embarrassment. I was a teenager for goodness sakes, she licked my dad!
Memories. Like Grizabella how can we want so desperately to search for and remember what was, while at the same time be at peace with our present and desire for new, plentiful beginnings?
Snap a wishbone.
You can be in all three places at once.
