I was curing olives, mixing the brine, a combination of water and salt, and then ever so gently slicing each olive to the seed and tossing them into very large glass jars.
The jars are relics of my grandfather’s one-cent candy store, opened in Western Pennsylvania in 1927. The lids, still intact, are embossed with a beaming child holding a jawbreaker. “Giant jawbreakers, one-cent,” it reads.
As I ratcheted the lids and placed the jars in a cool place, I began to think of my grandfather’s candy store. As a child, I would stand transfixed before the candy counter. I would open those very same jars and pick a brightly colored jawbreaker. Reds, greens, blues and yellows, they were the size of a Morgan silver dollar. I coveted the colors themselves as much as the pleasure they promised me.