A few of days ago, Rosalind played outside in the snow all day, thinking it might be her last chance this winter. She built snow people and challenged her Aunt Rachel to three snowball fights. When she went inside for meals, she kept peeking out the window watching for any signs of the impending rain that would turn her snow creatures to mush.
Her contagious fervor got me to go outside (in the cold!) and play. As I was gathering up ammunition for my snowball fight with Rosalind, I thought about the cake I made for a friend's wedding two summers ago. I piped lots of dots in groups of three and thought that they looked like stacks of snowballs. And I did worry about losing those dots in the Sacramento heat.
Admittedly, that is how it is with me. Pretty much anything conjures the thought of food. It's sad, really. But I take consolation in knowing that it works vice versa: food also triggers memories. For example, homemade truffles remind me of the birth of my first nephew. I remember my older brother, looking tired yet elated, sharing the chocolate confections with the nurses in the maternity ward and proudly saying that his sister made them. Pesto takes me back to a pizzeria in Davis where Steve and I ate one of our first meals together. A bite of Kraft macaroni and cheese reminds me of freshmen year in college and Babybel cheese of a trip to London. Some people will say that I'm just a glutton. But what I truly wonder is how a psychiatrist would interpret results if I take one of those word association test.
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