This was a hard one for me. I rarely see vending machines where I live. I couldn't think of anywhere to take any photos. Then I remembered a vending machine from my history, so I will share with you a memory:
Growing up in a small town in rural upstate New York, I attended the big Catholic all girls high school, with several hundred young women, called Our Lady of Mercy. The school was housed in an ancient building, on a very pretty campus where the town met the city. We shared Mercy with the nuns that lived at the motherhouse, which was actually connected to the school.
In the school there was a long hallway near the main office where all of the guidance counselors' offices were, and halfway down this hallway was a chapel. We attended masses there infrequently, maybe only a few in my four years there. But they were memorable. A hushed quiet reverence came over you the moment you walked into the chapel, which was always kept dimly lit.
Down that hallway next to the chapel there was a very old elevator with round push buttons. It went up several floors. This was opposed to the stairs we all climbed in school to get from the basement all the way up three levels to the fourth floor. But this elevator was for the nuns only, to get to the motherhouse.
One time I went up in that elevator. I was with a teacher -- a nun I think, a younger one I was close to. We went to visit an elderly nun, her friend I suppose, someone who was possibly sick. We brought something to her. I wish I could remember the details, but at fifteen I was too self occupied to notice. All I remember is the feeling of respect I felt at being asked to come, and the awareness that students were not normally allowed in the elevator, and certainly not on the fifth floor. I glimpsed into the tiny rooms, all with a small bed, nightstand, and a single image hanging on the wall. Probably the Sacred Heart, or the Virgin Mary. I dared not stare although I so wanted to go in and look around a room.
And I remember the silence. In the long hallway we walked down we saw a few tiny old ladies in full black habits, shuffling along, some with canes. They all nodded at me and the sister I was with, but spoke no words. Growing up in a large family, I had never heard silence like that until then. Silence where people were choosing not to speak, for spiritual reasons.
One of the greatest things about our school was that it was really old, with intricate woodwork, beautiful furniture in a parlor room at the front of the motherhouse (I got to go in there once too), and a marble statue of the Virgin Mary. We also had these underground tunnels that we walked through to get to a whole other part of the building, heating vents exposed and all. The cafeteria was also on the basement floor.
Next to the cafeteria there were the vending machines. Two or three of them. There was no candy. Just chips, and soda as I recall, and bottled water. And one of the only machines like it I have ever seen before or since. An apple machine. I'm sure it was an antique.
It was a large metal machine with four windows for four apples, some red, some green. The apples cost a quarter back then. You had to push a large metal round button. I can still hear the sound of the apple falling, right before I would reach for it. Many a time I ate apples to keep me going after late play practice, or gymnastics practice, or softball practice, waiting at five o'clock for my parents to come pick me up. I don't know how, but the apples were never bruised, always shiny and perfect. I imagined a sweet old nun hand picking the apples every morning. There were many nuns there that were so kind to and loved us girls, that this was totally possible. They were everywhere, many of them not teachers, always looking after us like mother hens.
There was also a school store run by Sr. Bonaventure. She was a tough math teacher with a soft spot as well. Some girls helped her run it, I mean she was about a million years old. It was open in the early mornings, and they sold school supplies and candy. Everything was under a dollar back then. I remember how cute she was making change, like she was giving you so much money back, because to her ten cents was TEN cents.
The one thing that we got from Mercy that I didn't realize until now, as I write this, was an opportunity to have relationships with so many old women of our grandmothers generation, and older. Many of our teachers were in their seventies, some in their eighties. What this fostered in me (besides a few good inside jokes) was a love and respect and understanding of the pace of older people.
I never once bought candy from Sr. Bonaventure's store, perhaps an unconscious vow I took after my brother had been recently diagnosed with diabetes. It seemed wrong to have candy in school, although I never minded for the other girls. I was happy with my daily apple.
I wonder, how much can you get for a quarter today? And what lessons will our children get from their relationships with teachers in their lives?
I went back to this school a few years ago. By then my sweet, loving fifth grade teacher was the principal. And my eighth grade teacher also taught there. They both gave me huge hugs, calling me by my childhood nickname "Tree." It was a very warm and happy feeling to return there. I hadn't been there since I graduated. I ran into some of my old teachers and walked all around the inside of the school, visited the gym, the art room, the campus, reminiscing in my mind. What struck me was how many happy memories I had, of a place that had been a second home to me for so many years, even though at the time there was plenty of drama and even some severe bullying, and I seriously wanted to transfer to the public school after my first year there. Good thing I didn't.
So all of these thoughts come to mind when I thought about vending machines. And how both of my daughters are home schooling. They never want to go to regular school, certainly not
high school mom! I wonder, will they miss out on things? Or will the opportunities they get in their unique situation be better for them?
I have wanted so many things for my kids, exactly like I had them. I see now that that was a bit naive, and also idealistic. They are living a different life than I did, it is a different time in history. I grew up with four distinct seasons, they are growing up in the tropics and yearn to be able to play in snow just once. The woods were my backyard -- for them it's the beach. I went to and loved school for the most part. My daughters are home schooled and very happy. Plus, I tell myself, plenty of kids get into good colleges who are home schooled.
And, as my dear friend recently said to me. It is all part of God's plan for them. They are happy. So don't worry.
So there you have it. Apples and vending machines and a few of my thoughts and memories.
To see more interpretations of this topic (vending machines, believe it or not after reading my blog) from people around the world go to the sidebar at my friend,
Jane's blog.
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