Further transference. I have returned, in part, to an aspect of my childhood. Back then, a regular drive for our family was two hours on the highway to the capital. We would spend the weekend visiting family and friends. Visit about a hundred galleries. We often stayed with a particular couple. Friends of my parents forever.
Memories, mostly food and scent: B&H's smoked inside the house. Massive jars full of roasted cashews. She is Sri Lankan. Curries. Rice with cashews and sultanas and spices. A large bowl brimming with nuts and a nutcracker. Hazelnuts. Brazil nuts. Almonds. Walnuts. My nut-love suddenly explained.
So, twenty years later I have returned. I am staying with her again and am startled to find these icons of memory remain, although these days, she sits on her tiny back porch amongst the potted herbs to smoke her B&H in the sun. The door open so she can continue our conversations. The smoke drifts in. The nuts. A pantry with armageddon-preparation quantities of food. She has an elaborate collection of chocolate. She is also a diabetic. And conversation. Strange overlaps of experience. She advises. Philosophises. Observes.
The sabbatical continues. And I am so grateful for where it is taking me.
