For the past two days, as I am mostly done with school, I have been doing some much needed straightening and organizing around the house. Part of the organizing involved going through several boxes, bags and drawers full of stuff, accumulated souvenirs, mostly brought by my parents on their past trips. As I went through drawers, I found a mostly-emptied-out small bag of pink peppermint candy. Although they would look like nothing special to a stranger, I knew exactly where they were from. My grandma gave them to me on my last trip to Quebec, 3 years ago. My grandparents always had pink peppermints (“papparmane”, as we call them in a thick Quebec slang) on their kitchen counter. Each time we would visit them, we’d grab one in the bowl. Last time I went, as I asked my grandma for a piece of candy, she offered her leftover bag to take back with me to the US. When I came back home, I tucked them away in a drawer and a couple times each year, I find the bag and take one out to eat. As soon as I eat one, I am automatically transported to my grandparents’ kitchen. I see the newspaper on the end of the table, the family photos, and the familiar decorations.
All this to say that there are very little things as special to me as memories related to senses. A taste. A smell. A song. It’s all so special. As my grandmother passed away almost a year ago now, I crave these memories. I miss my grandma and her picture won’t leave our fridge anytime soon. When I’m cooking, she’s right there with me. When I go through old birthday or holiday cards, I always get a little chill as I find hers. My grandma was a short ball of energy and laughter and she will always be a part of me.
Of course, after this heartwarming moment, I clearly had to go through something stupid. So today, as I was fixing up my plants and my garden, I stepped on a bee and got stung, right between my toes. As I came inside the door wobbling and sobbing like a baby, my husband had no choice but to come to the rescue. The good news is that I am not allergic to bees. The bad news is (and we pretty much already knew this) I am allergic to pain. I have absolutely no tolerance for any sort of pain. I cry, I whine, I can’t function. With my foot elevated and on ice, my husband agreed to make dinner for us. I can’t say that I’d be willing to suffer more to have more meals cooked for me but, gosh, my man can cook! He made beef patties (as I had planned) with bonus sharp cheddar and caramelized onions. As I rarely have the patience to really caramelize onions, this was quite the treat. I definitely love it when my hubs cooks. 🙂
A good dose of nostalgia and a delicious meal made by my love. What else does one really need? Not a bee sting, I can tell you that much!
The Hungry Quebbie 