It’s been said when in times of trouble, distress, or plain funk, one should go to one’s “happy place.” Whenever I think about it, memories of my childhood usually come rushing through. Like the times my mom and I used to walk down the street on any Fall day, with the sidewalks strewn with fallen leaves crunchy underfoot, that I loved to walk on, the smells of the season in the air.
Or the times my dad would take me to tea at the “Cafe Riquet” in Valparaiso, where one could taste the most wonderful pastries, particularly the “cafe helados,” spectacular floats of vanilla ice-cream over coffee or iced chocolate, with gobs of whipped cream on top–yum! Or walking by a florist’s shop with Mom where the scent of roses I can still smell, and which will always take me back to that particular street corner of long ago every time I smell roses. Or the time when we went to see the roller skaters in the park one evening and I heard songs by Bill Haley & His Comets for the first time.
One of my favorite memories has to be of afternoons at my grandparents’ when grandpa was taking his siesta, the house in complete silence, only classical music as background, and I’d be sitting somewhere in the living-room trying to decipher the words to some comic book, before I learned how to read.
There are lots of memories of those days when I was still too young to be troubled by the viscisitudes of life and living, the times when one lives for the moment and pleasant memories become embedded into one’s brain. Thank God for those times!