Snowballs.

I went for a long walk today as it was New Year's and it felt like the thing to do. I ended up at the always overly crowded CVS across from the Grove. I love miscellaneous sundries shopping. I really do. When you put a stick of deodorant or a tube of toothpaste or even give in to a moment of splurge with a pot of lipgloss, two things are certain in my mind: 1. These items will not break the bank, and 2. These items are necessary and comforting. Once you get these items homes and house them in the appropriate cupboard, shelf or drawer, you're life is a little closer to being complete. You have the things necessary for making you're life nicer and isn't that what everyone wants? Completeness. Wholeness. Well, the wholeness never lasts and you find yourself back at CVS or Target, but the search is half the fun. What deodorant will make my armpits more pleasant. Is there a shower gel that will make me so giddy I will wake up running to the shower...unable to wait to get my day started? It's like hunter/gathering for the times, so pleasant and affordable.

As I was strolling down each aisle, in no particular hurry and without a definite list or design, I allowed my eyes to roam over each shelf and contemplate which items would be most useful to me. Which "thing" would bring me more joy. I was in the snack section, as I was indeed hungry and I knew what I would find at CVS would not be available at the Whole Foods next door where I was planning on getting my dinner. Cashews. Corn nuts. Combos. Nothing was appealing...and then I saw them.

I was drawn by the color. The vibrant pink I adore so much and yet try to balance my desire for it with other, more adult, colors. The pink encasing fluffy mounds nestled side by side, a little like breasts, in their perfectness. I reached for the cellophane packaging and immediately began to cry.

Why I don't know. It reminded me of the year before when while shopping at this same CVS with my close friend, Garuda, I saw a tin of bright orange cheesy puffs and again burst into tears inexplicably. After a few minutes of weeping so hard I began to draw attention, I remembered bringing a tin exactly as the one which prompted the fit of tears to my mother in the hospital. I remember thinking how much she loved to take one. Then two. Then about 1/3 of the can with a sneaky smile on her face. I remember thinking as I bought the cheesy puffs, what delight she would find in peeling the aluminum from the top of the can and dipping her fingers in gingerly to indulge in a guilty pleasure. But she would never open the can. They would sit for a month on a counter in the hospital as I waited in vain for my mother's appetite to return.

But snowballs held only happy memories for me. I remembered quickly how my little sister, Lisa, loved snowballs when she was a little girl. That made me smile. I loved them myself as a girl. If I remember correctly, I loved the thought of them much more than the actual taste. I was never much for marshmallows. Unless they were holding Rice Krispies together or blackened by a campfire. But the idea of snowballs made me buy them nonetheless. It was as if they represented life as it should be. Pink and perfect and filled with cake. Chocolate cake. With a dollop of creme at its center.

And with this purchase of my beloved snowballs I decided to come home and write. Because its a new year and I want to start living my life as I would like it to be. And that means writing. Everyday. Whether I feel like it or not. Whether I am pink or blue or yellow or green. It means devoting at least 30 minutes each day, a mere 1/48th of the day to becoming the Monty I want to be. So I'll write. Maybe someone will read it. Maybe not. But it will make my life a little nicer, a little more complete. And isn't that what I've wanted most of all?