My childhood replayed itself recently. I had long forgotten the story, yet a single question triggered a flooded of memories and feelings.
I was home for the summer, hanging out for the most part, enjoying the process of growing up in a town that few remember. The roads in the cantonment section of town were tree lined, wide, and rarely crowded. The air was wonderfully scented from the public and private gardens that described the city. Stress was usually something of one’s own making.
When we needed food for home, we used to go to Russell Market. The open air space was partially covered, without the need of air conditioning, traditional shelves, or prepared food. Everything was fresh from the field. Prices were always negotiated with the bartering on special items often going on for what seemed forever.
In the main we had what we needed. There were a few things that were not available. I remember mayonnaise being one of them. We had brought a two bottles with us when we returned from the US. I always assumed that they were for a special occasion; I assumed it would be a holiday or birthday.
Midweek Dad had volunteered to do a market run. As I looked at the shopping list I spotted the implied quest for perfect tomatoes. Dad was clearly in the mood for sandwiches. Halfway through the market we came to one of the favorite spots, quickly spotting the near perfect tomatoes on display in the shade. As we returned home with success in hand, Dad turned and asked for the mayonnaise jar. It was time to celebrate!
“Why not? It is always time for a party!”
As we walked into a restaurant recently, the smells for vegetarians and others was intoxicating. The sentiment in one writer’s observation was playing our senses; “The choicest cuts of meat for the sacrificial meal; Even the fragrance of roasted lamb is like a meal! Or make it an ox garnished with goat meat!” (Psalm 66.15)
There is always something to celebrate.