There’s a little place not far from where I live. It has a red door with a rectangular gold kick plate, gold horizontal door handles that span the door’s length, and a vertical red and white striped awning over the top. Inside is as wide as two and a half people standing shoulder to shoulder, and maybe two car lengths long.
Despite it’s smaller size, there happens to be a floor to ceiling wall stocked solely with any and every type of candy fathomable, even the unique kind. My father’s favorite happens to be the Ice Cubes, which are cleverly crafted small squares of chocolate that literally melt in your mouth like an actual ice cube. My son’s favorites are the always exposed, probably infused with germs, gummy worms. My mother loves the caramel bullseye pieces while my personal favorite happens to be those apple caramel suckers.
Legit though, any. kind. of. candy.
But there happens to be something more significant at play here than a quaint candy shop, which is actually called The Little Popcorn Store. (And yes, they also have some of the best popcorn I’ve ever sampled.) I’ve actually discovered through the #sol18 challenge that patterning in my blogs indicates frequent journeys down memory lane. I’ve also discovered that writing has become a therapeutic way for me to cope with things from my past, and move onto enjoying today. I can feel a shift in my spirits, where I’ve released a heaviness that once weighted me down for too long. I’m extremely grateful to my friend for sharing this challenge with me, and to everyone who entertains my thoughts. I’m also appreciative of Little Popcorn Store moments, and all the others in between.