So just recently I was perusing some photos from my sister’s recent wedding and I was reminded of a recent Google search. While searching online for random things that would add to my sister’s wedding, the term “wedding bells” popped up a few times. Immediately my mind took me back to a place when I was much younger, maybe 10 or 11. In my mind’s eye, I can see myself downstairs in my mom’s “school room”, cross-legged on the floor. For some reason, the picture is slightly hazy and tinted blue.
I remember finding on the very bottom shelf, nestled in a corner, a special looking box that was labeled “wedding cake bells”. Curiosity got the best of me and of course I opened it. Much to my surprise and delight, I found baby blue sugar bells with delicate silver detailing. There were slightly less than a dozen and for the most part, they were completely intact. I picked one up and could sense the history and sentimental value even at that young age. As I was carefully replacing the bell, I noticed that a few of them were completely broken and that a few others were chipped. I wondered what they tasted like. Rationalization, at its best, took the stage as I decided that eating a broken bell wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was nasty and stale….but it was also sugar and colored blue. I nibbled on another one.
Over the course of the next few months, I would occasionally make my way downstairs to visit this special box. I don’t remember now, how many I destroyed, nor how many times I fought off the guilt, but I did it one too many times and kind of still feel bad about it. Maybe I should tell my mom. Anyway, at least my sister won’t have this same problem ten years down the line. She used flowers.
I remember finding on the very bottom shelf, nestled in a corner, a special looking box that was labeled “wedding cake bells”. Curiosity got the best of me and of course I opened it. Much to my surprise and delight, I found baby blue sugar bells with delicate silver detailing. There were slightly less than a dozen and for the most part, they were completely intact. I picked one up and could sense the history and sentimental value even at that young age. As I was carefully replacing the bell, I noticed that a few of them were completely broken and that a few others were chipped. I wondered what they tasted like. Rationalization, at its best, took the stage as I decided that eating a broken bell wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was nasty and stale….but it was also sugar and colored blue. I nibbled on another one.
Over the course of the next few months, I would occasionally make my way downstairs to visit this special box. I don’t remember now, how many I destroyed, nor how many times I fought off the guilt, but I did it one too many times and kind of still feel bad about it. Maybe I should tell my mom. Anyway, at least my sister won’t have this same problem ten years down the line. She used flowers.
5 comments:
I lvoed reading this in the ward email. I also like your german on the side bar and your Christina A song. Too bad you're so cool/
Oh Malia...why did you never share those delicious bells with me!? The guilt was probably too much!! I love you!
That is hysterical! Yeah, I would have eaten anything that was sugary back then. I can't believe you little sis is married!!
That's hilarious! Why are kids so weird?!
I once at a little thing that looked like a wedding bell. I found it on the floor of the elevator in your building.
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