A Fond Memory

Now that I've been alive more years than I like to admit, I've noticed that some memories stand out as charming, beloved or pivotal.  Certain moments or little 'things' shine thru the muck of all the years.  Feel free to post a comment with one or more of your beloved memories. It could be an event, a person, a smell, a walk, a compliment, an artwork. Anything.  What stands out in your memory?  Post short or lengthy comments!

I'll start:

Grandma.  My father's mother. She was from Russia, always cooked a bounty expected of a Russian grandma and had the greatest-smelling Christmas tree every year.

Grandpa and Grandma at their Easter table, 1957

Christmas and Easter (and "Russian Easter") were my favorite holidays to visit her, as she always had a dining room full of hearty food.  Piroshki, pelmeni, kasha, and a particular favorite of mine as a boy was her white rice with mushroom soup mixed in. And it seemed as though the savory aromas of all these delicious meals embedded themselves into the very walls and furniture of her old San Francisco house.  It was a musty and sweet smell that seemed to accentuate the taste of the sweet pickles she always had on a platter on her table (along with olives and slices of swiss cheese all for nibbling while everyone conversed for hours). And there were also bottles on the table for the adults including vodka and Creme de Cacao, the bottle cap of the latter I would rub my finger around the inside of and have a taste.

I don't know how she did it, but her Christmas tree every year had the most intense aroma.  No other could compare. Maybe the decades of savory food smells embedded into the walls and furniture accentuated the sweet aroma of pine.  I do recall that smells of pine and cooking buckwheat (kasha) and beef piroshki cooking in grease combined into a sense of comfort unmatched anyplace else.

Grandma was intensely opinionated, and called those she most despised "pygmies."  But she was also generous and always welcomed her lonely older Russian widow friends into her home on these holidays. And she always smelled nice, like the perfume counter at The Emporium (Stonestown Shopping Center, San Francisco, her favorite store it seemed), and was always nicely-dressed with a sparkly starburst brooch.

Her impression on me is so strong that myriad things evoke memories of her. For example, the 1950s jazz recording by flutist Herbie Mann of the song "Baubles, Bangles and Beads" reminds me of Grandma shopping in downtown San Francisco in the early 1960s; wearing a white sweater, large purse and the mild sun shining as she walked among the crowds.

Grandma.  Herself a sweet and savory gal. I remember her fondly.