06 November 2010
let me tell you a little something about wonder bread-- their product may be crap but their logo is ace. I grew up on wonder bread and I guess I turned out okay. though I suppose that is debatable. my sicilian grandfather used to take bright white slices of wonder bread into his toffee-colored hands and ball them up until there was nothing left but small starchy globs. dough! he'd bark. nothing but dough! and he was right, of course. my grandma baked fresh loaves each week so when it came to bread, my grandpa knew what time it was. he was on to the wonder bread scam. grandma's bread was the real stuff, the good stuff-- bread substantial enough to hold a whole mess of grape jelly or fat slabs of lunch meat without completely falling apart, yet soft enough to melt in the mouth. it was the kind of bread ideals are built on. the scent alone had the power to alter moods, therefore, the course of any given day. in my family, we still talk about this bread. we dream about it. we probably always will.
I drive by the wonder bread outlet and often think of this. I think about how much I love the sign, how I much want to take photographs of it. I circle around the block but am usually too lazy to stop and get out of the car. the other day, I stopped and got out of the car. and then there's this photograph of ava-- taken over the summer at my mother-in-law's neighborhood swimming pool and I think about the moment right after I took it. after counting the recommended 90 (or 100 or whatever) seconds while the picture developed, I slowly peeled back the paper to reveal the image. and I was filled with wonder.