This week I reorganized the kitchen cabinet that held all my zip-lock bags, aluminum foil, and food wraps. I found a box of waxed paper I must have bought three years ago when we moved here. I decided to use it when I wrapped my husband’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich I made for him for lunch this morning. I tore off a sheet, leaving enough extra wrap to fold over and over itself until it was snug against the bread, and then I folded the sides into triangles and flipped them underneath. That simple act brought back so many memories.
Roger Sherman Elementary School in Fairfield, Connecticut. My mother always wrapped our sandwiches in waxed paper. My favorite sandwich was balogna with yellow mustard on plain old white bread, Wonder Bread in those days. My brother used to take a piece of that soft bread, wad it up into a little ball, and pop it into his mouth. I’m sure there was nothing nutritious in that balogna lunch, but I wanted it every day, day after day, wrapped in waxed paper. I guess you could say I was full of baloney.
My mother found other uses for waxed paper. We ironed fall leaves between sheets of it, we rubbed the steel slide at school with it to make it faster, and my mother would cut a square of it to wrap around the heel and back of our shoes in the winter so we could get our boots on. Ingenious.
Anyway, I didn’t have anything much to write about because my brain cells have been occupied with NaNoWriMo, as you well know (43,290 words now), but I just had a little thought about waxed paper and I thought I’d share.