Carol and I ate at a Cracker Barrel restaurant tonight, where it’s like dining in a museum—or a barn—what with all the old stuff hung on the walls.
We were greatly entertained by a nearby family with two young boys. The older one, at about 5, reminded us of our oldest son at that age: endlessly curious, amiable, energetic, chatty, and just ready for anything—to the ultimate exhaustion of the loving mommy!
The young boy pointed to a portrait on the wall above our heads of a woman in the 19th Century:
- Who is that? His mom was quick with a reply:
- That’s the one who cooks and bakes all the food we’re eating.
- What’s her name?
- Mrs. Cracker Barrel.
- I was wondering where the name came from.
We get it. Our Andrew once had so many questions about a box of Keebler cookies and where it came from that Carol finally answered: “It fell out of the sky!”
Months later, as we drove past the Keebler plant on Route 22 in the Lehigh Valley, that absorbent kid, who couldn’t yet read, pointed to the green and red logo on the side of the building and exclaimed “Fell outta the sky!”