I don't know why the can is so important to me, but it always has. A simple Premium Saltine can, white with a pale blue lid. It has been a fixture in my life as long as I can remember. When I was sick, and my Mommy made me soup, and out came the Can and the Saltines. On special occasions it was my Dad bringing out the Can, accompanied by a taste of pickled herring or herring in cream sauce. Part of the Jewish Holdiay tradition, I thought. Every Jewish family must have the Can.
Dad and Mom still have a Can at their house, albeit a more modern one ca. 1978 with a darker blue lid. I have joked that I want it to be left in me to me in the will. Or was that a joke at all.
It is been a personal quest, at places like flea markets and garage sales, to seek out a replacement for the Can. One must have on in one's family. I'm not alone in this. Trish's family has One too, or at least they did
until recently. Since I started discussing this I have learned
that other friends had Them in their lives to.
Prior to a few days ago it was to no avail. Even annoying, quirky letters to Nabisco, the manufacturer of Saltines and the Can (Hey why don't you sell these Can's again and make my otherwise humdrum life complete) were to no avail. I did not give up.
The annual community garage sale was a week or so ago. We took our annual walkabout. Sometimes there are treasures, like the antique food scale I found last year. Not this year. The Can was there as always, in the back of my mind, but there wasn't much hope with this year's pickings. The sales were interrupted by an expected, if unwelcome, rain shower. When the skies cleared a few people reopened and we resumed our wander.
The Can came to the forefront when we found one guy selling a couple of Ritz cracker cans. Not quite a Can. but at least in the ballpark. Unfortunately, aside from not really being a Can, they were a bit rusty and overpriced. We were about to give up for the day when we found one gentleman closing up his garage sale stands. We wandered over and he offered us half off on anything that was left.
It was then that I spotted it. The Can. Sitting on the table coyly hiding. In Its voluptuous all but pristine form. Daring me to come over and look at Its price. I reached over and grabbed It. The sticker said 50¢. I'd pay much more, but the owner didn't have to know that. The owner and Trish were was talking about something else. She indicated she was perhaps interested in some wicker plate holders. Plate holders ha! I held the Holy Grail.
I brandished the Can aloft. "How about this", I exclaimed. The gentleman said that I could have It for free. We took it (and bought the plate holders). No I can, at long last find peace.
Cue "Thus Spake Zarathustra".