When I was five years old my mother went back to work; I had just started half day kindergarten and would need a sitter for after school. My new sitter would be a little old lady at the end of the block I had never met before. I don't remember much about her or the times I spent at her house. I do though, remember; being very frightened and hiding in a corner behind a chair for a long time. She couldn't talk me out so she lured me out with Choward's violet mints.
First she gave me one, then another, then she set another on an end table, then two more a little further away on the coffee table and sat near them on the couch with two more packs in her hand. First she used Choward's violet mints to build trust then friendship. Everyday after school I would get my treat of Choward's violet mints. Every time I smell them I feel like I'm five years old all over again!
I'm thrilled to have found them so I can now share them with my daughter who is now five years old and start memories of our own with them and their wonderful smell.
Leslie from Wisconsin
Talk about the "sweet scent of a woman!" My Aunt Julia was a charming role-poly woman with an air of lovely, intoxicating fragrances always surrounding her. And when she opened her purse, the scent of Chowards Violets arose to fill my sense of smell and encourage my taste buds. Then she would offer me one of those intoxicating treats. Almost 70 years later, I am transported to that time, even before I open the package of Violets and partake in their sensory experience.
Barbara from New York
There were things that you DID NOT DO on the Sundays of my African-American Childhood. You didn't fry fish (Catholics habitually did on FRIDAYS) because it made the house smelly; if your unplanned Guest was a Gossip, that would never do. Women wore hats and white gloves to church. (It wasn't Middle Class; it was respect for the Day of Rest) Men starched pristine white handkerchiefs in their vests, and Women tucked flowered hankies in slim purses along with a roll or two of CHOWARD'S VIOLETS. In a quiet church, Dad might motion to Mom; VIOLETS were passed across you to him, and the delicate fragrance hit your nose. You looked imploringly at her (YOU DIDN'T TALK IN CHURCH BACK THEN), and she passed a round of those good purple squares to each of us kids.....For many a Baby Boomer, that's the way it once was.....
Amy from New York