As I lay there trying to relax, searching for some distant thought or memory to sway me to slumber, I thought of Mom. She reminds me so much of my grandmother now. This illness has aged her faster than I think time would have done on it's own.
Then I remembered the grandmother of my youth. The one who rose early every morning alongside her husband to milk two dairy cows and gather fresh eggs from their chicken coop. After which, she dressed and went to work at a factory for 8 hours. Returning to do the same routine in the evening.
Like always, one thought leads to another and then I remembered the sun porch on the front of their home where there was an old refrigerator which housed the milk and eggs - appropriately labeled as to the date of collection.
Inside the refrigerator was a coffee can where neighbors and friends would place their money when retrieving the milk and/or eggs - with or without anyone being home. And always returning the empty containers for the next use.
This memory made me warm inside. The trust, both from my grandparents that the visitors would take only what they paid for and nothing more, and on the part of the customers who trusted the milk and eggs to be fresh as dated.
I remember the milk was always put in glass jars, not the traditional long neck milk jars you see in the movies, but larger ones, squarish in shape. Similar to this, but with a metal lid.
Little paper tags scotch taped to the lid told the date of collection and the clear glass allowed you to see the layer of cream on top.
This is why my friends, to this day I always shake the milk carton before pouring it on my cereal. Old habits die hard. Too many times as a child I poured milk over my cheerios only to see the cream clotted across the grain - not as appetizing as you would think.
Sometimes not sleeping can be okay.
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