TheBanyanTree: Give-away 2 - Cookies and Tea

[auntie sash]

Same intro.  New story.
 I am in the last week of wanagi yuhapi - Lakota "keeping of the soul"
ceremony.  There will be a give away on Sunday after I release the spirit
bundle and I realized that all of my offerings, so carefully selected for
their significance to my mother, would be random and meaningless without the
"back story".

So I decided to tell the back stories and attach them to the items on my
blanket.  And as I write out these little views of my mother, I want to
share them with you as well.

- sash
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It's hard to imagine now – when you can buy canned coconut milk and fresh
lemongrass at Safeway and even 7-11 sells Wasabi flavored potato chips – but
in Montana of my childhood, the Import Mart was truly the only place for
unusual foods.  It was also the only source for Irish linen, cuckoo clocks,
Hummel figurines, and – weirdly – origami paper.

To my mother, the little Swiss-chalet building on the east side of town
(next to the abandoned sugar beet factory) was *the* place to go when she
needed something special.  Something exotic.

OK – Doritos and canned refried beans were found on the 'foreign foods'
aisle at our Albertsons, so 'exotic' might be a stretch.  For mom, though,
it was any cultural port in a backwater storm.

The prices were ridiculous.  And it wasn't really about supply and
demand.  Granted,
the supply was limited but usually we were usually the only shoppers there,
so demand didn't really drive the price.  I think the shop keepers were less
concerned about economic principals and more concerned about meeting the
next mortgage payment by selling tole painted keychain racks and
Pennsylvania Dutch hex signs.  I don't blame them for slapping a hefty
markup on every bag of Gummi Bears and Swedish fish they could sell!  (And
yes, Gummi Bears were only available at the Import Mart.  Well – there and
at the annual Sentinel High German Club fundraiser.)

The inconvenient location and crazy prices did not deter Helen, nor did the
mockery of the uncouth, unwashed barbarians - i.e. my father.  Presented
with Real Walker Shortbread Cookies, my father would wash them down with a
swig of Schmidt beer and nary a comment – unless to ask why she only gave
him 2 cookies.  "Hell, you know I can eat a half a box of them Nilla wafers.
Why didn't you buy Nilla wafers??"

But mom knew the difference.  She knew this was true shortbread.  Not just a
dessert or a snack, these were a delicate and sophisticated connection to
High Tea, to Scotland, to the Queen, to her favorite authors, to mystery and
to history and to culture.  To Culture.
Forget for a moment the sense numbing varieties that bombard us at our
modern bakeries and shops.  Think of my mother – a big city girl trapped in
a small-town world – and enjoy as she did "The finest shortbread in the
world" served with a cup of Constant Comment – her favorite tea.  Remember
how it feels to be transported beyond your circumstances by a simple,
elegant pleasure.
 - sarahanne 22 april 2008
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My mother had a great deal of trouble with me but I think she enjoyed it.
- Mark Twain