I just had the sweetest memory, of being at my grandparents' house, triggered by the smell of toast finishing up in the toaster.
I can picture their little kitchen in Downey, California. We kids - either me and my brothers, or else my cousin Jeff and I - would wake and find them already up and making breakfast. On a chilly morning they would have the white stove open to warm the kitchen, I can still even smell it all: The gas from the oven, the wheat toast they would make, with the tiny Pepperidge Farm loaves they preferred. They kept the toaster by the table, not over on the counter. That way the toast was made just when you wanted to eat it.
Their windows by the table had a view of the small side yard and a fence, but what made it interesting was the bird feeder Pops had hung out there. All the birds would join us for breakfast and we could watch them all coming and going, vying for the little bit of remaining seed.
Some mornings Pops would make his famous pancakes. They were light and fluffy and HUGE - he pulled out the electric skillet and would make a big plate-sized disk! I don't remember their taste as much as my awe at how gigantic they were.
What makes me so emotional when remembering these things? Sure, I miss my grandparents, and I truly believe they exist in the next realm and I'll see them again. But this emotion I feel right now - I think I'm missing more the whole childhood experience, the warm kitchen and the SAFE and loving feeling I had as a little girl there. We had so much fun with them, and we knew they loved us.
They made things for us, Pops could make ANYTHING... there was a huge set of wooden blocks we could use to spread all over the patio, making roads and buildings. He built us a couple of small platforms up in the backyard tree, too. We could climb up there, eat lunch looking over the big rose garden.
Pops had an old typewriter he let us type on, and we would just peck away, making long paragraphs of gibberish. We would take them out to him to read, and he COULD! (In some asian-sounding language.) We loved playing with their wooden abacus, and I knew how to use it to add and subtract.
And they took us to the best places! Their park with its huge timber climber was SO FUN!
When they moved to Newport Beach, there were new adventures at the beach, or taking the ferry over to Balboa Island. There was a public lagoon we could go swim in , with a large dock we liked to swim out to. But the big challege was to swim with Pops clear across to the other side! We felt priviledged to be considered old enough to do that with him.
They say smell triggers strong memories, and as I walk through that little house in my mind, I can easily smell the dove soap Nana Bern used in the bathroom, and the sharp sulfur smell from the matches they kept in there.... from the days before Glade. We kids loved to occasionally sneak in to light one or two just for the fun of it.
And tooth powder. Does ANYONE remember that? We were instructed to pour a little into our palms and with a little water, grind it around with our toothbrushes to make a watery paste. I can still taste the Colgate!
Google tells me those powders are still around. Here is a link to a very informative blog entry regarding current tooth powders I just found... apparently even the best toothpastes can't beat the great herbal tooth powders you can find. http://vintagenostalgia.blogspot.com/2012/09/why-i-threw-away-my-toothpaste.html
I think I'll go investigate further.
But I seriously doubt that even if I once again swirl my own toothpaste in the palm of my hand, I'll be able to recreate the wonder and joy of doing it at my grandparents'. It's been a wonderful (and sort of sad,) morning remembering it all, but there's really no going back.
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