Ghost of a HoHo

Who doesn't love a HoHo?  I mean, come on - we can all remember our moms packing them in our lunchboxes, right?  I'd thrill to the rare occasion Mom would add one as a special treat - I can recall tearing open the silvery packet to release the chocolaty-creamy-cakey goodness within.  I have a clear sense memory of tucking into one, and feeling the cool, white filling tickle my tongue, the savory, slightly salty chocolate shell cracking gently with each bite.

Mmmmmmmm..... yummmmmm.... Ho Ho, my dearly beloved childhood treat.

Ever have one recently though?  I mean, as an adult.  Years removed from the Snoopy lunchbox surprise of it all.

Kinda waxy, huh?  Not a true chocolate favor, right?  Overall, pretty much a let-down.

Over the years, our taste buds have changed.  We've developed more sophisticated tastes.  Perhaps the only time we "do" chocolate these days is a square of 85% dark chocolate with sea salt from France.  Or maybe we've gone organic and simply eschew all things that have gone through an extruder or bare the name "snack cake".

But that memory - ain't it grand?  So fully real, even years (or decades) later.

In all truth, we're drawn to the ghost of that Ho Ho.  The memories associated with it, what it represented back then, when our 7-year-old selves reveled in the touch, taste, and smell of a delectable treat in the middle of our grade school day.

I'm writing about HoHo ghosts today because, in the last week or so, I wrestled with some "ghosts" of my own.  But not a happy HoHo ghost.  A ghost that caused night terrors and daymares.  Memories that were so real, so palpable, that, unlike the happy HoHo recollections, sent me into a dismal, dark cave of depression, fear, and loathing (of others and of myself). I was fearing the ghost of something long past.

But a very wise friend told me of her experience revisiting the HoHo world of days gone by - and that metaphor hit me so strongly, it essentially knocked me out of my doldrums and sent me spinning back into the present, where the reality is.  A reality filled with love and hope and truth.

With a glorious, creamy filling all its own.

Mom's Been Up to Things...

I shared a little bit about this on Facebook a few days ago, but I feel like I need to write about it now.

On March 27, at approximately 9:56 A.M., I had this sudden urge, almost as if my head was turned to the left by an unseen force, to look into the shelving area in the closet of my office.  My eyes spied right onto an object I hadn't looked at in a while: an old scrapbook.  It was assembled by my mom when I was but a mere tyke, in an effort to help me learn my ABC's.  Mom clipped little snippets from the newspaper that illustrated the alphabet for little ones.  My first clear memory of Mom was sitting on her lap while she paged through the scrapbook with me.

Thing is, exactly 11 years prior, at that very minute, my mom passed away.

To the minute.

So I wrote about it on Facebook because I needed to share that miracle.  But I knew more would be coming.

I drove to the gym and made my way to one of the elliptical machines.  As I pedaled away, I happened to notice a cardinal at the large picture windows, which take up most of the southern wall of the space.  This cardinal, a girl, was most insistent to be recognized.  It was almost as if she was saying, "Here I am!  Here I am!  Notice me already!!"  A fellow gym member actually got off his treadmill and walked over to the window to watch the bird.  She seemed to go away for a bit.  After he left, she returned and, I'm not joking, focused in clearly on me, with the same frenetic energy.  When I finally finished my elliptical, I approached her.  She looked at my intently, then flew away.

Cardinals were my mom's favorite bird and, quite often in the weeks following her passing, cardinals would show up.  So, two "angel winks" from Mom.  Would there be a third? 

So at that moment, a voice called out from the gym intercom, asking for a particular gym member to "please come to the front desk".  Thing is, the person had the same last name as my mother's maiden name.

And there's the "three".

Was mom contacting me to remind me she loves me and is always near?  To make sure I don't forget her?  To instill in me a sense of familial bond, so that I am certain to be with Dad as much as possible, at this time when his physical condition is seated right in the middle of an unrelenting seesaw?

Yes.  To all three.