Snoops 365/86 - #86- snoopjes

Compilation Sunday: that special time of week when picture and prose become as one.

Sunday mornings in our household might be described as organized chaos, with the word “organized” being not always being such a regular part of the routine. In a flurry of activity from rousing the kids to eating breakfast to Carla doing multiple heads of hair, with each particular mop wanting a private audience with Vidal Sassoon, the morning rumbles on until we reach the relative sanctity of our van. And hopefully in the mad morning rush, someone has grabbed the snoopjes, the church candy, to get passed between each of us during the throes of another stimulating sermon. The problem is that it is becoming increasingly hard for our family to find the perfect snoopje to get us through the morning.

Believe it, there have been a lot of potential suitors who have come knocking on the door of our mouths only to be turned away after a single date with the cruel words escaping from our taste buds, “It’s not me, it’s you and you’re no good.” Take the unfortunate saga of Mr. King Peppermint as an example. He has history on his side with Carla’s family, plus a large segment of the market share at church. While initially making a nice impression on the tongue, the minty flavor turns too sugary too quickly, but his ultimate downfall is that he doesn’t last long enough. When in the market for the perfect snoop, we’re not interested in the sizzle and dazzle of a sprinter. We looking for longevity.

Another potential Johnny-Come-Lately is Senor Wint-O-Green Life Saver, long a favorite of Blake’s family while growing up. While this eligible bachelor comes from a strong line of life-saving products, its sugary base, as well as having the “taste of Ben-gay” (according to Carla) makes it a case of a candy with a nice personality, but the looks of Gilbert Gottfried.

A distant cousin of Senor Wint-O-Green Life is the multi-faceted, jack-of-all-trades, Dr. Five Flavors Life Saver. Truth be told, he’s kind of fruity, but quirkiness and weirdness is much appreciated in the Hiemstra household. While giving a nice variety of flavors, the Doctor’s ultimate downfall is his close personal relationship with Master Luden’s Cherry Cough Drop. No matter how boring the sermon might just be, no one wants to be passing the time with cough medication. His ultimate demise though comes in the trickery and deceit which characterizes him. Though he professes to be genuine grape, he ends up personifying the embodiment of artificial flavor.

One last possible date is the throwback from another generation, Sir Lemon Drop. He’s got the grace and style of a refined gentleman with a sense of history. He makes you feel like you’re going back in time and visiting the mercantile and plopping a couple of shiny Lincolns on the counter and reaching into that magical glass jar for a handful of loot. His flavor surely satisfies, but when you marry this fellow, you get all of his friends with him, including the most dreaded of all oral companions, Master Lint.

The whole contemplation of church candy has made me wonder about the limits of what is acceptable. Perhaps there’s a section in the Canons of Dordt all about snoopjes. Could I unwrap a Reese’s during church? What about a bag of potato chips? Popcorn? Now there’s something that would make the whole worship experience that much better. Seriously, with the pews we have, we could just pass the bucket of popcorn all the way down the aisle and then everyone’s happy, no one’s forced to read the bulletin during a sermon and in the event of a second offering, the buckets can double as offering receptacles.

Maybe that’s pushing the envelope a bit too much. Scaling back from that a little bit might open the door for the perfect church candy: a lollipop. One can get it in any flavor he wants, it’s got the staying power of Methuselah, and it would surely allow anyone with even the worst of hand fetishes to keep busy during the service. Plus, the communion cup slots would be the perfect holding area for the lolly. Yeah, it’s perfect.

Next time you see me in church and I’ve got a big wad of sucker in my mouth, don’t gasp or say “Honestly” under your breath or take it up with the communications committee. Just take joy that I’ve finally found the perfect church candy.