Am I the only one who loves the smell of sunscreen?
Anyone? Anyone?
Bueller?
I think that sometimes smells create more poignant memories than your other senses. I can smell something and associate it with an event that happened 12, maybe 14 years ago. I remember the most random things; the sweaty stench of the gym where I did gymnastics when I was six, and the chemical smell of the cleaner used at the school I went to when I was ten. Now whenever catch a scent, it brings back memories, good and bad.
For me, the memories associated with sunscreen are almost exclusively positive. The pungent, coconutty aroma reminds me of sweltering road trips and sandy beaches; of building forts in the woods that surrounded our house; of our hands stained crimson from picking pound upon pound of dusty raspberries to make into jam; of the endless, pleasantly uneventful days.
In short, sunscreen reminds me of everything that makes summer so great.
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food. Show all posts
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
18. Cookies
As school is slowly grinding to a halt, classes are easing up and I finally have time to do those things that I enjoy so much. One of the things that I missed dearly is the simple joy of baking cookies. So last Tuesday (on a school night, no less) I resolved to bake a batch of shortbread. I proceeded to spend the next several hours calmly measuring, sifting, mixing, rolling; after a short stint in the oven, the resulting creations were a pale cream color, tinted just around the edges with caramel brown. The rich, buttery scent eminating from the oven wafted soothingly throughout the entire house. In spite of
the heat of the oven scalding my fingertips, it was impossible not to pull a jagged piece of cookie straight off the sheet.
Delicious.
the heat of the oven scalding my fingertips, it was impossible not to pull a jagged piece of cookie straight off the sheet.
Delicious.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
1. Nachos
I know, I know, it sounds random. And weird. But I do have a reason.
When we were younger, my sister, older cousin, and I would go to my grandparents house for a week or two over the summer. It was always the same. We would spend lazy hours reading Farley Mowatt books, playing in the sprinkler, and riding their horse Casey. One summer, when we got sick and tired of doing nothing, we convinced our grandma to go into town and get us one of those inflatable boats. She returned an hour or so later with a red, white, and blue raft-like thing. My sister, determined as always to terrify me, promptly coined it Speedy. Not only was I scared of the name, I was convinced that it would carry us under the bridge, (which couldn't have been more than 6 inches off of the water) and into who knows where. Being hungry by this time, we decided to make nachos for Lunch. My grandma gave us each small tin pie plates, and we filled ours to the brim with chips, olives, tomatoes, onions, and of course a life-time supply of cheese. We put our respective culinary delicacies into the oven and waited impatiently for the cheese to melt. We then topped them with dollops of sour cream and canned salsa, and raced out to the awaiting boat. The three of us shoved on life jackets as quickly as humanly possible and crammed ourselves into a boat meant for one person at best. We spent the rest of the afternoon trying every possible way we could think of to make it remotely comfortable, although it was futile. So we finished our nachos, my nose crammed into the back of my sisters life jacket and my cousin balancing precariously on the bow of the boat. But we had a blast doing it. Many years, holes, and rolls of duck tape later we are on to our fourth, (by my count anyway) speedy. We are now lucky if we can fit just two of us onto the boat, and my grandma has become to arthritic to really play with us anymore. But, in spite of the years, nachos remain a summer tradition I will always love.
When we were younger, my sister, older cousin, and I would go to my grandparents house for a week or two over the summer. It was always the same. We would spend lazy hours reading Farley Mowatt books, playing in the sprinkler, and riding their horse Casey. One summer, when we got sick and tired of doing nothing, we convinced our grandma to go into town and get us one of those inflatable boats. She returned an hour or so later with a red, white, and blue raft-like thing. My sister, determined as always to terrify me, promptly coined it Speedy. Not only was I scared of the name, I was convinced that it would carry us under the bridge, (which couldn't have been more than 6 inches off of the water) and into who knows where. Being hungry by this time, we decided to make nachos for Lunch. My grandma gave us each small tin pie plates, and we filled ours to the brim with chips, olives, tomatoes, onions, and of course a life-time supply of cheese. We put our respective culinary delicacies into the oven and waited impatiently for the cheese to melt. We then topped them with dollops of sour cream and canned salsa, and raced out to the awaiting boat. The three of us shoved on life jackets as quickly as humanly possible and crammed ourselves into a boat meant for one person at best. We spent the rest of the afternoon trying every possible way we could think of to make it remotely comfortable, although it was futile. So we finished our nachos, my nose crammed into the back of my sisters life jacket and my cousin balancing precariously on the bow of the boat. But we had a blast doing it. Many years, holes, and rolls of duck tape later we are on to our fourth, (by my count anyway) speedy. We are now lucky if we can fit just two of us onto the boat, and my grandma has become to arthritic to really play with us anymore. But, in spite of the years, nachos remain a summer tradition I will always love.
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