I just bit into a plum. I’ve eaten several plums in the past few days, but when I bit into this one, it was special. It’s sweet and delicious in this very specific way. When I tasted it, I was immediately transported to a time when the leaves of the walnut tree blew in the wind, when sunshine seemed brighter and fresh berries grew in the backyard. I ate a lot of plums when I was a kid. And for some reason, this plum today tastes just like those plums used to. I see my best friend’s face. Not her current face—her young face. I feel her backyard around me. Shady because of the giant tree. I see her front yard—sunny. No tree there. I hear my mom. I hear my family. Time has not yet become a precious and scarce resource. The hours stretch on endlessly, punctuated by occasional trips to the grocery store. Time to sit and let the sun shine on your face and listen to the breeze blow in the walnut leaves.
I miss that walnut tree. And that friend. And my family. I’m so tired these days.
What a good plum.
Sweet… The memories of youth. There are such special memories of sweet pickles. The tangy scrunch of the alum on your tongue followd by the juicy, crunchy sweet tanginess of the vinegar. Ahhh yes! Memories are made of this. The delightfull look on the young people’s faces followed by their exclamations of surprise and delight (such as GOOD!! And Oohh! Or maybe it was Gaackk!! And Eew! The memory is a little hazy now that I think about it.)
Yes sweet memories are made of this.
Or in your case, maybe not so much.
It is November. Do you know where your blog is!