Jelly Bean Hailstorms
by CHristie Perkins
Send someone a Jellybean Hailstorm today. It’s so simple to let someone know that you care.
The bag of jelly beans slumps haphazardly on the top shelf. I reach up on my tippy-top toes. It’s about to fall. A simple touch and it all comes cascading down in a rain of jelly beans. It tinkles and clanks all over the shelves and floor like a marble hailstorm on a tin roof.
I groan. Then, I smile a little. What a mess!
My little guy come running in. “What was that?” he asks before figuring it out on his own. He catches me doing the reverse butterfly stroke in the jelly bean puddle. His sense for candy is so fine-tuned it would have been a tragedy to miss the aftermath of the jelly bean hailstorm.
By now my other boys’ sensors have been activated and they are standing in the doorway begging me with tinsel eyes. I only have to give a nod and they dive in. It’s not the first time they’ve disregarded floor germs in the name of candy.
We are all smiles.
A simple touch creates this amazing, unexpected, result (and honestly a little complaining from the mess). But, it’s not the first time a jellybean hailstorm ends up in sunshine. A simple touch created a similar outcome for an incident that happened years and years ago.
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My taste buds are salivating. Chemo killed my taste buds for Thanksgiving last year. Though chemo had been done for a couple of weeks they were still in slow recovery, numb to my Thanksgiving feast. This year is going to be different.
