Nostalgia

Daughter #2 and I have been having a grand old time watching movies and eating. We decided to buy orange crush and vanilla ice cream and make floats, and we also bought pretzels and chocolate chips. Pretzels dipped in melted chocolate chips with orange floats is yummy. (I do realize that this will not help me lose the 25 pounds left that I need to lose before I head off to Olds in two weeks but I don't think that is going to happen now anyway, and if moms and daughters can't have an over the top weekend while everyone else is off having fun, then life isn't worth living!) What I have noticed though is that Orange Crush floats don't taste as good as they used to when I was little. So what I'm wondering is, has the food changed in flavour or is it my taste buds that are becoming decrepit?

I remember growing up home in Newfoundland having ice cream floats that burst in your mouth with the most divine orangy flavour. When I was a little girl a part of the summer was going to visit my grandfather who lived in a little small outport in Newfoundland that was lucky enough to sport a sandy beach where swimming was actually possible and free of undertowes if one was brave enough to bare the frigid temperatures of the North Atlantic. Days were spent in glorious sunny splendour roasting your skin, fearless of the sun's damaging rays, building sand castles and diverting the brook that flowed down through the beach rocks cutting a meandering path through the soft sand. Or perhaps we would go gathering sea urchins that the gulls would drop along the cliffs above the beach. Occasionally we would brave the frigid cold water and the jelly fish for a swim or body surf in the waves that broke on the beach with ever ready persistence. It was a lovely way to spend the summer. In the memory of my very early years there was a snack bar in the parking lot that served the people who enjoyed the beach and there you could get any number of bars, chips, or pop, and of course my favorite was Orange Crush and Hostess plain chips, which as soon as you opened the bag, filled with sand and became gritty between your teeth. This did not deter us youngsters from munching because after an enthusiastic afternoon of play we would be so starved that we would have licked up the sand itself if it was flavoured. Part of our joy was the bottles in which the pop would come. Glass bottles were beautiful to behold.... and the chip bags were a paper covered in a tin foil which if you were like me and had bad teeth with fillings, would give you a delightful shiver up your spine if you happened to chomp down on a portion of the bag. By five in the evening when the beach was emptying of people my father would go to our car and return with the Coleman stove and a picnic basket full of food to be cooked on the rocks of the beach and we would have a pleasurable time wading in the seaweed while a supper of fish and potatoes with drawn butter would cook with mouth watering smells to encourage you to stay close in case your sibling made it to the pot first when my mother called that everything was ready. Around 8:30 p.m. when we were exhausted from the day's activities and dehydrated from an abundance of sunshine and sunburn we would pile into my father's car and drive the five miles with no seat belts to my grandparents house where I would have a cool but refreshing bath and wash all the sand that had managed to collect in the crotch of my swimsuit. Then in fresh babydoll pjs I'd crawl into a cozy bed and drift to sleep listening to the adults chatting amiably in the lower portion of the house. Next morning I would wake to the sound of crows cawing at dawn around 6 a.m. and begin the whole process again.

What happened to those times when flavours and smells and sights were so poignantly spectacular that you could never forget them no matter how hard you tried. Some people say that the flavours of food have deteriorated, but I think that as you get older things don't have the same profound impression on you. Still for two nights I have lay in bed and felt the cool breeze from my window and there is nothing as lovely as the sound of the leaves bristling in the evening breeze, a soft sound like the feel of a butterfly brushing your skin.

I wonder if when you die and your life passes before your eyes these are the memories you take with you into the next ..... place.

Not what you ate, but the flavour against your tongue. Not the fish that you caught but the sparkle of the light on the water. Not who you kissed but the touch of lips on your cheek. Not what you said but the whisper of breath against your ear. Not who you were with but the touch of their hand in yours. Not the ones you love but the feel of love swelling in your heart.

Like the mist of a damp path being evaporated before you on an evening walk, is nostagia. The memories of your life drift in and out of your consciousness. They are still there if you think about them.

In middle age I would like to have things leave an impression..... that will stay with me always.
It felt good last evening with my shoulder brushing against Daughter #2s as we watched our movies in the semi darkness of the living room while drinking our floats and munching on chocolate coated pretzels, even if they weren't as flavourful as when I was younger..... and even if it is not a long term memory for me maybe it will be one for her.