Sounds of Distant Memories

When we think about which of our senses bring back memories of our youth, we generally think of smells or tastes. That’s probably because much of our early years are spent in the kitchens and dining rooms of the homes we grew up in. Of course, our sense of sight also comes to mind, especially when we’re looking at photo albums (paper or electronic).

I particularly remember the smell of lilacs and honeysuckle, which grew behind our house. My bedroom window faced our backyard and it was almost always open on summer nights. And of course, I think of the smell of a freshly cut evergreen when we brought the Christmas tree into the house. That’s what I miss most now that I’ve done the previously unthinkable and gone artificial. Just one more capitulation brought about by an aging body.

When we reflect on our past, most of us rarely think of the sounds of distant memories. But they can be just as powerful as sights and smells and tastes. When I was watering the plants on our deck this summer, a sound caught my attention. We had several small Amercian flags attached to the posts on the deck railings. What I heard was the flags gently snapping in the breeze. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. It took a minute to understand what was happening.

I was remembering warm summer days on the lake where I grew up. On weekends, I’d take my board boat out to a quiet area along the rocky shore, drop the sail and lie in the sun. The wind on the lake was highly changeable. On the trip to my chosen spot, it often shifted direction with little warning, setting the sail to flapping with a sound much like the flags were making. That small snippet of sound brought back such wonderful memories, ones that seldom bubble up to the surface. Memories of other boats I owned, other places I sailed years ago.

We also have a wind chime out on the deck. The tinkling sound it makes is soothing. It, too, brings back memories, though I’m still trying to figure out where they are taking me. I know it’s somewhere I loved to be. Perhaps it was the first house I owned with my former significant other. My sister gave us a Woodstock chime when we moved in. After we went our separate ways and I had a house on my own, I hung wind chimes as a welcoming gesture to myself. I often give these as house-warming or wedding presents to friends. It’s impossible to feel stressed when you hear a wind chime.

Some sounds send a slight chill up my spine, a frisson of pleasure remembered. One in particular that does that is the whining sound of motorcycle gears shifting in the distance. Then the sound of the machine accelerating, heading farther away from me. It reminds me of summer nights during my college years. Several young men I dated had bikes. I’d sit behind them, arms around their chests, as we headed off on some adventure. That sound is somehow melancholy, especially at night. I think it’s because it’s what I’d hear after the adventure was over, when the young man was heading home. These days I’m sad because I’m not on the back of the bike that I’m hearing.

Some sounds trigger bittersweet memories. That happens when I hear metal scraping on asphalt. My best friend died of lung cancer when she was just sixty. She’d never smoked a day in her life. She’s been gone eleven years now and I still cry when I think about our lost friendship. We met when I lived in New Jersey and we both worked at a large corporation in Manhattan. For a short period of time before she moved back to Rhode Island where her husband lived, she stayed with me.

The first week she was there, I was startled one night by sound of a metal trash barrel being dragged from behind the house, down the driveway to the street. It turned out that in Rhode Island, folks put their barrels on the curb on trash day. Not so where I lived in New Jersey; the men came around the house to get them. We were both laughing as we dragged those cans back up the driveway, making that distinctive sound again. Often when I hear that now, memories of my funny, smart and loyal friend come back to me. I cry a little; I smile a lot. And I’m grateful for all those sounds of distant memories.

Copyright 2019 Business Theatre Unlimited

Spices of Retirement

Occasionally I’ll read or hear an article on planning your meals so that they satisfy all five of your different taste buds. If you miss any of them, you’ll walk away from the dinner table with cravings for the missing one. We’re talking about sweet, sour, salty, bitter and umami (savory). If this last one is not familiar to you, think cheese or ripe tomatoes, and read up on Monosodium Glutamate (MSG).

It’s not unusual for me to walk away from meals craving more. I’m not convinced it has anything to do with the five basic tastes. The diet my sister talked me into last June has me keeping a food journal, so I know exactly what I’ve consumed and what buds have been palpitated. After about ten months, I think I know what drives me and many other seniors to forage in the pantry and the refrigerator late at night. And in the middle of the afternoon. And sometimes even mid-morning.

When you reach retirement, you have an entirely different set of tastes to be satisfied from your culinary cupboard. It’s important to address them all, or you’ll spend your golden years feeling deprived, depressed, anxious and confused. You may spend those years that way anyway, but understanding the Spices of Retirement will make this less likely.

Family Flavor. This is the most important spice in the retirement rack. It doesn’t matter if you come from a small family or a large one; or if any members live near you vs. all being far away. A meal that includes Family Flavor fills the need to feel part of a clan, to be connected to loved ones on your family tree. And even to those with whom you’ve had a long-standing feud. Once we reach retirement, savoring the feuds can be as fulfilling as feeling the love.

Holiday Memories. Sprinkle this one on anything on your plate, and you are instantly transported back to the most wonderful times from your youth. Holiday Memories have the flavor of every meal that was prepared with extra love. It’s rich in tradition. It’s also high in calories, but who cares?

Pinch of Frugality. Even retirees on a fixed budget will splurge on a fabulous meal now and then. To help you forget about how much the meal costs, be sure to have a Pinch of Frugality on your entree. As an added benefit, Frugality has a negative impact on calories. So, if your dessert is a calorific treat, a Pinch of Frugality on that will make it taste even sweeter.

Binge Fusion. Yes, we’re older, and we’re told to watch what and how much we eat. Our GPs discourage us from binging. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have the gustatory equivalent of a binge realized via our meals or snacks. A handful of Binge Fusion will taste like any number of items that you can’t eat just one of. It comes in several varieties. Pick your guilty pleasure, or lard up the pantry with several different packets of this retirement spice.

Alcohol Aspirations. Once we reach a certain age, we’re also told to cut back on alcohol. Don’t they realize that the older we are, the more a glass of fine wine transports us to places that can make us smile, lower our blood pressure and blot out the stressful world around us? No problem. A few drops of Alcohol Aspirations in your filtered water can give you the same result. It’s not as satisfying as an actual glass of wine (what is?), but it has its advantages. Just give me a few weeks to figure out what they are.

Titch of Tranquility. No retiree’s meal is complete without a Titch of Tranquility. It helps us leave the table feeling peaceful, refreshed and ready for a good nap. A small dose of Tranquility will also lower your blood pressure almost as much as a spritz of Alcohol Aspirations.

Chocolate. Period. Enough said.

There you have it. The seven essential Spices of Retirement. A meal that includes all of them is guaranteed to be as satisfying as one that tickles the five traditional taste buds. When the media finally picks up on this, remember: you read it here first.

Changing Tastes

When I did our grocery shopping this week, the type of yoghurt we prefer was nowhere to be found in the local Stop & Shop, a major chain. I usually buy their store brand, but I’ll pay extra for Stonyfield, if that’s the only way I can get the variation we use. That is: regular yoghurt, nonfat, plain, in the large container.

There was exactly one regular S&S yoghurt in the large container, and it was nonfat vanilla. We don’t like the vanilla. The Stonyfield section had several nonfat vanilla ones, and exactly one plain, but it was low fat. I snapped it up anyway, to avoid having to stop at another market. In case you’re not a yoghurt eater, let me tell you why our variation is so hard to find these days. Everyone has hopped onto the Greek yoghurt bandwagon. It’s thicker and creamier, but we prefer regular. Jagdish won’t touch the Greek.

This episode made me realize yet again that people’s tastes change over time, and because of that, food and beverages that I’ve enjoyed for years are suddenly difficult, if not impossible to find. I’m sorry, but the older I get, the more I appreciate some stability in my life. I resent having to rejigger my eating habits to keep up with what’s in vogue this month.

In rare instances, the world’s tastes have caught up with my own. I was a tea drinker when tea wasn’t cool. Now even Starbucks is pushing the teacart. This means I have more varieties from which to choose and every place I shop has a decent supply. Oh, yes, and there’s usually one brand on sale somewhere. Sweet!

One beverage where tastes have changed notably over the years, including my own, is wine. I’ve always gone for drier wines, but I used to prefer white. (These days I prefer red.) I remember when Chablis was the wine of choice when you went out to dinner. Now I rarely see Chablis on a wine list, unless it’s three pages long.

Likewise no longer easy to find is Verdicchio, which was one of my youthful preferences. I loved that citrusy zing and the interesting bottles, especially the cute fish-shaped one and the curvy number. Speaking of the curvy bottle (Fazi Battaglia), I also loved their radio commercials, the ones where diners struggled to pronounce the name. “Bring us some of that Fuzzy Baggies” is particularly memorable.

Mateus was another popular option in the early seventies, an affordable rosé that has pretty much disappeared (mercifully). Most folks pronounced it Mahtoose, but I always gave it three syllables, like Matthew in Portuguese—Mah-teh-oos. Apparently, the pronunciation, like the wine, targets a less-urbane audience, because the makers use two syllables.

Moving on to reds, more recently Pinot Noir (think the movie Sideways) gave way to Merlot, which is giving way to Malbec. I remain partial to a Cab or a nice Chianti. I could do an entire post just on changing tastes in wine.

Back to what to order when you go out to eat, when I worked in midtown Manhattan, one of my go-to lunches at the Brasserie on East 53^rd was steak tartare. It’s gone (the tartare, not the Brasserie), and not just because of Mad Cow disease. Blood red meat is considered too Mad Men macho; it’s also bad for your cholesterol. Everyone is more health conscious now. You’re more likely to see tuna tartare than the beef version.

Sweetbreads and Rocky Mountain (or prairie) oysters seem to have disappeared, too. What’s that about? Did the Internet make it easier for people to find out what they were actually eating? And frogs’ legs. Several species of frogs are endangered. Have we finally grown a social conscience? More likely it’s because France enacted laws to protect them in 1980. I doubt that Julia Childs would include Cuisses de Grenouille in a new edition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Many of my more salient food memories have been tossed into the gastronomic InSinkErator. It should make me angry, but it just makes me sad. I guess I should thank the Lord for small favors. All the items that are on Luke’s increasingly short list of acceptable foods are still available in supermarkets. There are some things he just won’t eat. He’ll sniff them, give them a poke or two and then walk away. That’s probably what Jagdish would do if I served him Greek yoghurt. Let’s hope we never have to find out.