Buttery Paper Towels

One day this summer, right after I was hired for this new job, I had to get fingerprinted.  And apparently in this town, they only fingerprint from 7:00-9:00 pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the jail.  I called.  Because it seemed odd to me that they wanted you to come to the jail at night rather than in the morning; I was sure it was a typo.  But no.  They really do have you come at night and it also conveniently happens to be at the very same time that everyone within a fifty mile radius who needs to get a daily breathalyzer and/or other daily check-in comes to the jail.  Let's just say the scene I walked into was that of a movie.  I took a cell phone picture real discreet like as I didn't so discreet like yell, "Who in the heck is in charge of this?  Why would people come to get their fingerprints at the same time as this?!"  

Then, I looked around at all of the stares and I thought to myself.  Self.  Shut it down.  Shut it down now.  No need to be feisty in current company.  

I made it out alive, with black fingertips.  

Previously that evening, I came home to find construction workers and a payloader on my lawn with all kinds of other business occurring simultaneously.  The corner of my lawn, but still.  The lawn!  My yard!  

I might have gone a little yell zone on them as well.  It went something like this.

I'm not crazy.  Yell yell yell.  I mean really, I'm a nice person.  Yell yell yell.  But this is ridiculous!  I swear I'm nice.  Promise.  Yell yell yell.  You will make sure all of those sprinkler heads work because hello?!  Payloader on my yard.  You are on my yard!  Okay so yeah, I mean I know you are just trying to do your job.  Like I said I'm not crazy.  Promise.  But this, all of this (insert flamboyant dramatic hand wave), is a problem.  

Then I went inside and then I went to get fingerprinted at the jail with all the common criminals and then I questioned the sanity of this town yet again. 

All of this is leading somewhere.  

The next day, I was baking cookies.  It was a July morning and I dobbed the paper towel in the butter and greased my cookie sheets and then I smiled to myself because I had this memory of my grandma and her paper towel dabbed in Crisco.  Greasing her pans for buns.  It's amazing, when we do things out of rote, a deep hidden memory of a strong impression.  Grandma's greasy paper towel.  My buttery paper towel.  I am so thankful I had a Grandma Gladys.  A person who gave me so many of those dents in my impressionable self.  

Gladiolas will forever be my favorite flower.  Grandma grew them by the droves in her garden and every late July and early August when they started blooming, she would make bouquet arrangements for church and then stand outside the door and pass the stems out individually after church.  A deep hidden memory of a strong impression.  Forever my favorite flower.  

After the cookies came out of the oven that early July morning, I put some on a plate and brought out to the construction workers who were working in the corner again.  I felt guilty.  Guilty about my rant over them doing their job - even if it was a bit of a careless mode of operation.   I apologized.  They accepted.  They apologized.  I accepted.  They smiled while eating gooey chocolate chip cookies.  I smiled as I walked away.  

I can't help but think my grandma would have smiled at that too.  Deep hidden memories of the model of what my own mode of operation should be.