anthimeria

Sameer tagged me in a meme. If you haven’t read his answers yet, you should, because it’s a lovely vignette. And while his praise of me is downright effusive, I’m happy to comply with seven stories from my childhood. (Steeping events in nostalgia is always a happy act.)

Perforated
This was my first and favourite word. I’m incredibly tactile, and something about folding along a perforated line, the sound of paper neatly ripping, and gathering up the stray bits was so satisfying. My family members supported my habit, offering up paper dolls and sheets of stamps and coupon books – I amassed quite the collection of paraphernalia.

Living-room picnics
I have the loveliest mom in the world, and she gave us a storybook childhood. E and I always looked forward to rainy noontimes, because it meant living room picnics. Mom would pack up our straw basket with little sandwiches, cubes of cheese, tiny dill pickles and her lemon cake with the tart crinkly glaze. We’d spread a blanket on the living-room floor, open cloth napkins in our laps, and listen to Raffi and the rain on the windows. As she cleaned up, we’d retreat to the basement to finger-paint masterpieces which lined her walls in thanks.

Wilbur
Summer 1996 I witnessed a hog being slaughtered down the road from my grandparents’ home in Greece. I won’t recount details, but it was visceral, horrifying and I can play the film reel back vividly to this day: my love of Wilbur, feet planted like mud, Papou consoling me, and the hog’s blood mixing with sweat and dust and the dry pervading heat of Cycladic summer.

Bunsmaster
Oh, I still giggle at that unfortunate name. On Sundays, the bakery that delivered to our family’s restaurant was closed, so E and I would get to do an early-morning bread run with my dad. The shop had a pervading scent that I’ve never smelled in another bakery: sweet, heady, yeasty, divine … and I would marvel at the rows of buns and loaves and breadsticks as my dad gathered his order. 

Green beans
My mom kept a spectacular vegetable garden when we were kids. My favourite part was the unwieldy rows of bright green beans that overtook everything else despite pruning and tying and fencing. I would sneak outside with my little bucket and collect the verdant specimens, splash them under the hose, and stow away behind the shed snacking on my bounty. Raw green beans are still my summers, neatly packaged in a pod.

Taking tea
I most always drink my tea black, but from time to time I’ll take it with sugar and cream, as my Great Gran Emmy would prepare for us as kids. I can’t help but be overcome with nostalgia sipping the sweet lukewarm liquid – for the Dove-soap-and-cigarettes smell of her home; the tiny roses on her porcelain tea cups; and the jam thumbprints she kept in the freezer that never quite thawed completely in time for tea.

Sister
My crazy parents had their daughters roughly in pairs, and it worked, ‘cause I’ve always had a built-in best friend. Eleni drives me crazy most of the time (likewise, she’ll attest), but there’s no one else with whom I’d want to have worn matching outfits for the first ten years of my life.

I’m not tagging, but I’d still love for Niki, Ben, Mere, Eleni, Jesse, Dave, Sameer (and everyone else) to tell me a childhood story … or seven.