SpaghettiOs, Corn Muffins, & Alex Trebek

Funny how certain sounds, pictures or even food bring back memories. When I was growing up I lived only a block away from my grandmother. She lives in the same house she did all those years ago.

Sure a few pieces of furniture have changed but the floors are the same with creaks in the all the places you’d expect them.

My sister and I spent many evenings there having dinner, watching TV and just having fun. Dinner at grandmas was usually the same. She’d fix us some homemade cornbread muffins and SpaghettiOs. After dinner grandma would always watch her “shows”. Have to say that the choice of programing was not at all what pre-tweens/teens wanted to watch – but hey we were along for the ride right?!

To this day when I hear Alex Trebek’s voice, the sound of a spinning of the fortune wheel or catch a moment of Lawrence Welk’s bubbles I can smell fresh cornbread mixed with the distinct scents of her home. It takes me back and makes me smile.

oh, the things we remember!

The only other memory I have like this is of my trip to Tibet eleven years ago. I love the movie Seven Years in Tibet with Brad Pitt. No it’s not because of Brad that the movie is amazing. It’s truly the story line and the connections made between the characters.

The sounds and scenery are much like I remember (although the movie covers the war) and each time I watch the movie I’m taken back. I can hear the voices, I can feel the thin air, and most of all I can smell. The dirt, the fabrics, the foods, the people and that one yak. Man, that thing really stunk!

it begins

Each day that goes by I’ve noticed these memories slowly slipping away. The memories of my grandmother’s home isn’t as vivid. I use to see a can of those fun noodles and could hear the beeping followed by Alex’s voice apologizing or giving the correct answer to some question that even the brightest minds couldn’t answer.

Anytime eating at a Chinese restaurant I use to thank the server by saying “xie xie” (she-eh she-eh) and I don’t any more. Words have left my memory bank. Sounds have been written over by new ones. Lately the only yak I’ve been smelling is those made by the baby.

What really scares me is when I read through my journals for my kids at all these memories that I had forgotten I even thought of writing down. Little phrases said by the boys so funny and cute – yet until I reread the journal entries I had completely forgotten them.

I wonder how many things I’ve forgotten about their precious lives that I neglected to write down….