Cinnamon Applesauce

/ olivia

My daughter made biscuits last night – beautiful “from scratch” biscuits like people’s grandmas used to make. I was kind of excited. I had a client so I was eating later than the family and I envisioned the biscuits with butter and some cinnamon applesauce.

Ok, not the kind of applesauce your grandmother used to make, but the kind that comes in a six-pack of little containers with foil on the top. But it was a name brand and I really like it, especially with thick slices of brown bread and butter or with biscuits.

So I got my favorite little plate out. It’s an appetizer size square plate that I bought at Kroger, and I really love it. I got two biscuits and sliced them each right down the middle, slathered on some soft butter and went to get the applesauce.

It was not on the top shelf of the frig. Or the middle shelf. Not in the door. No, not on the bottom shelf, and not in the vegetable bin. What was in the vegetable bin was 5 packages of sugar free applesauce that MP prefers. 5 packages, each with 6 of the little foil-covered containers, equaling 30 containers of applesauce. Not one of which was the kind I like.

I’m laughing about it now, but at the time, for just a moment, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal. And I fussed and bitched for a little bit. Long enough for MP to suggest I add cinnamon to the cherry applesauce or the Granny Smith applesauce. No, thank you very much.

Because by then, it was not about the applesauce at all, it was about all the possibilities I’ve been excited about that fell through. It was about the times I pushed my own wants aside to make sure someone else had what they needed. The times I didn’t complain about something because it “wasn’t really a big deal.”

And quite suddenly, unexpectedly, it was about everything, and I stood in the kitchen, by myself, and cried.

15 thoughts on “Cinnamon Applesauce”

  1. This was me over the weekend— dealing with my mom canceling on me for my birthday, then showing up after all; coming down from all the work stress and yet anticipating this week’s work stress; all while watching my daughter repeat the behaviors her father does that make me crazy; and feeling the anxiety of “will anyone really care that it’s my birthday? Does anyone really see anything in me that only I can give them?”

    But so far, work still sucks but I’m making it a good birthday. By making sure I do the thinks to make me happy and take of myself.

    And if I remember I’m having applesauce tomorrow— which is my actual birthday… I’m entering that new age bracket “45 to 65” or whatever. You know— the old age group but not the ancient ancients.

    And here I am practically blogging in the comments of your blog.

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  2. Sweet Olivia, i think all of that is worth crying about. All the times no one knew what you gave up for them, the big moments, the small ones too. i’m sorry that you had one thing you were looking forward to, one comforting moment, and it got taken away by the applesauce monster. You deserve to have comfort things, too. On your special plate. i hope tomorrow is better and you create lots of moments to enjoy. i wonder how long since you have got your toes into the sand. ❤ (My God, i miss the sea.)

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    • Thanks, Dearheart. Yes, that whole cumulative bunch of things probably is worth crying about. And maybe I actually don’t cry often enough.

      “Tomorrow” was better, and other today/tomorrows have been too. AND omg, yes. I miss the beach soooo much too.

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    • Hugs back to you, Roz, and thank you for the support. Of course, the Buddhists could point out that it was my attachment to the experience that made it painful… but still. Thank you!!

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