And there it was – the bright yellow Mallomar box – like a box of sunshine just sitting there on the shelf at the Mayfair Market. A little ‘ooouwh’ escapes on a breath before I snatch the package from the shelf. This ‘ooouwh’ bubbles up from a place south of my lungs. It is usually reserved for the simple sensual perfection of a blue Tiffany’s box with the white ribbon or when opening anything from the Mac store. And what was this? - they were on sale – $2.94! where have you been all my life? Really – where have they been all my life? I vaguely remember experiencing the perfection of Mallomars in my youth. I’m not sure where I got them because in our home they were deemed ‘too expensive’ like Girl Scout cookies and any other cookie that never went on sale. Generic replacements like ‘fudge wheels’ were simply disgusting – oh my God – Mallomars! I’m a grown up so I purchase 2 boxes – one for me – one for ‘a friend.’ Seriously, I did give one to a friend – then ate mine every morning for breakfast for a week – not feeling a bit guilty. Does one feel guilty staring at the Mona Lisa or gulping in great breaths of air at Yosemite?
And sometimes a day of LA traffic – was made not so bad by thinking of that box of dark chocolate, fluffy marshmallow and crisp almost salty graham cracker goodness that was waiting for me in the big bottom right drawer my kitchen – the one that is supposed to hold bread, but instead held happiness. See – I can enjoy life - the simple pleasure of a Mallomar.
At the end of the week I returned to the market for another box, promising myself I would savor them a bit more now that the novelty was burned off. But I could have them – what fun! There were no Mallomars at the Mayfair. There were no Mallomars at the Mayfair’s parent store – the Gelson’s. Not at the Sherman Oaks Gelson’s, not at the Studio City Gelson’s, and not the Tarzana Gelson’s. Only the Gelson’s left was the Gelson’s in West Hollywood so I prepared myself before hand by checking on the web. Mallomars ‘due to their easily melting chocolate shell are only made available from late fall through April.’ It is May. Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Why does the world conspire against me? Why do I conspire against me? When I find something I love I try to grasp at it with both hands – making it stop -making it stay – making it always the same. I want to have it. I know this never work and that I am resigning myself to defeat, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Standing in the gotdamn super efficient West Hollywood Gelson’s looking at a cookie shelf that doesn’t even have a Mallowmar shelf sign I know I’ve missed it. I’ve missed it for a whole year and I promise myself I’ll make time to find the street just south of Sunset with the Jacaranda trees that bloom in May. Massive trees made of flowers canopy an entire street with an absolute decadence of color – an explosion of purple that makes me want to get out of my car and stand on the sidewalk – head thrown back, – tongue out to catch them like snowflakes.
I had stumbled across this street quite accidentally a few years ago when I was attempting to find a shortcut home from my agent’s office. It felt like a blessing. It felt perfect.
Last year I hadn’t made a conscious effort to go until June and the trees were made only of leaves. I was angry - at myself – at this place, at the world. It felt like a loss. So on Saturday I washed my car and took my sparkling clean windshield to Beverly Hills to drive up and down the street with the purple trees and waited for it to take my breath away, but I couldn’t recreate the feeling. I mean the trees were there, kinda blooming and it was beautiful – but empty – was I too early? Too late? Or was it because I knew it would soon be gone and I couldn’t have it for an entire year?
But you can’t hold beauty – you have to trust that it will come to you.
The problem is - to let go you have to have faith in the next moment – you have to trust that the world is a loving place and holds more than enough to marvel at - a thousand lifetimes of things that will take my breath away - fireworks, sunrises, children, flowers – I don’t have to try to capture it in a photograph or write about it, I can just breathe it in - a lesson my heart knows but my brain refuses to accept – so I grasp at control - creating a log jam of resentment and disappointment.
But I’m learning – I have the evidence of knowing that this is how I had found this particular miracle the first time –a little lost - driving in a new direction – I let go of life to breathe – an accidental left turn and there it was. Trees. Made of flowers. For me.
One day I’ll learn. Until then I’ll try to recreate happiness –even if it comes in a bright yellow box.
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