Tupperware & the Storytelling Fairies

 

 

Well, do I have to say it...yep, the Storytelling Fairies were at it again today...within hours of editing a scene in Hawthorn Moon dealing with "refrigerators & Tupperware" I pull into the parking lot of my Mocha Lisa Cafe Heritage Press office and what do I see but the van above, a vehicle I'd never before seen at the cafe or in my life.

And, to make this unlikely Synchronous event even more impossible without some Storytelling Fairy influence, I spoke to the lady driving the van, she told me that a girlfriend had her come to the cafe's open house a few days ago, she won a raffle prize, and was only there for a few minutes to pick up the prize!

REMARKABLE...

 

THE TUPPERWARE SCENE FROM HAWTHORN MOON

 

Ooooh ‘70s…digging the retro vibe at the Holiday Inn, greeted by huge cantaloupe-colored pendant lights—designed as enormous ice cubes meeting each other, some sticking out together. The glow from them was dim and dingy, like a ripe avocado pit…totally relaxing.

Perhaps I do have more in common with my mom than I thought. She would whisper these pat phrases, like you were privy to some fabulous secret. One of her favorites was, some women dream of Gregory Peck, some women dream of Glenn Ford, I dream of a refrigerator full of Tupperware.

I was little when she would talk about the refrigerator we never got. I told dad in a whisper once that if we ever got one I wanted to live in it, but it could not be that ugly lame green, it had to be a pretty one—harvest gold. Dad’s eyes brightened as he replied, “If you get cold in the fridge, you should wear a sweater the color of tangerines.”

“Thanks for coming here, Mr. Marcus Aurelius. Mommy really wanted to see Aaron do his Elvis thing, and well, it even smells like fun here,” said Angela, breaking into her favorite hip-hop moves for emphasis before adding, “my brothers…had a group, Brothers 5, and they taught me everything I know about dance,” to explain her soft-shoe skills before anyone even asked.

Marcus joined in with a sweet Michael Jackson spin just for emphasis and replied, “How do you like that, Miss Angela with an A. I’m here for your Momma Rosa…all in, no other reason.”

He smiled, his head slightly tilted, as Angela shook her shag haircut and blew Marcus a kiss, leaving her tongue slightly below her two front teeth.

“You like Elvis, don’t you? I mean, everyone likes Elvis,” Angela added.

“I’m Black…does that answer your question?”