With a Hint of Peppermint

One small fact to know about me is that year round I love peppermint. Really mints of any kind are my go to, so this time of year is extremely wonderful for me. Peppermints can be found anywhere: in coffee, in ice cream, and in cane form. It’s truly a beautiful time for my stomach, because I can indulge in one of my favorite treats in so many different ways that it should probably be considered illegal. No one look into that though, I’d much rather there be no prohibition placed upon peppermints.

Perhaps that little intro made you realize what was coming in, but it is more than likely you’re still left in the dark. My fault really, my leave of absence occurred shortly after I started Nostalgia Sunday. I really can’t blame you for forgetting.

A quick refresher pertaining to Nostalgia Sunday’s would have to be stating that this is the day I reminisce on feelings or objects that bring me back in time. For instance, peppermints.

Continue on if you’d like to read about my strong feelings for a piece of candy, move along if you think it’s too weird.

The smell of peppermint lingers in the air after just one lick. It seems to cling to your person, making you crave more of the succulent treat. The red and white blend catches your attention beautifully, and holds it without even trying.

I can remember it clearly; the sweet taste as it coats my tongue and the stickiness the red and white candy leaves behind on young fingertips. They come in around holidays, with their delicate arcs and graceful curves. Candy canes mean joy with friends and family. Candy canes crafty a point of happiness.

There was always something so simple about holding the thin treat in my hands while I crafted the end into a sharpened point as the sugary goodness dissolved beneath my taste buds. Time seemed to slow, coming to a halt as I sat by the tree – decorated in brightly colored ornaments and shining lights – as I devoured the delicacy.

Cleanup, of course, was always the worst. My mom would take a wet clothe to my hands and face, making sure none of the residue was left behind. The dishtowel always felt so coarse against my skin, rough and grating as it raked over and over trying to rid my flesh of the peppermint scented sugar. Yet, even knowing that I would be forced to endure the same thing over and over again, I always wanted  to have another candy cane.

The holiday season comes every year without fail, and with it brings the memories of a stained tongue and minty breath.

 

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Sunday Nostalgia – Baby Powder

Hopefully, this post will be the start of a weekly trend. I’m hoping to begin what will from now on be dubbed ‘Sunday Nostalgia’ because I don’t know about you, but Sunday is a time where I tend to feel down and out. It’s not that I feel depressed per se, but I just feel a bit lost. My thoughts swell, and I tend to be the laziest on this day.

Memories are closest to the surface on the Sunday’s that are overcast. On Sunday’s, I will share with you small snippets of my past that feel like home to me. This pieces could come in story form, a simple memory, or an explanation. My plan is that since around this time next year I might be moved far away from home I won’t feel quite as lost thanks to these posts. It will be a way to stick close to the heart without there actually being that minimal distance.

You’ll just have to bear with me if it’s utterly ridiculous.


The scent of baby powder always seemed to cloak the air of my parents bathroom. It was like a perfumed cloud that rained down in tiny fluff-flakes of happiness. The blanket of powder allowed me to draw shapes on every surface. Leaving smiles and notes for my parents to find.

A giggle would escape as I worked. The silken coat of dust would cling to my skin and leave residue on every part of me: from hair to clothing. It was always obvious I’d been in there, so I didn’t bother to hide it. It was never mentioned though; both my parents and I kept our lips sealed. Like a game, I often whispered to myself.

I would sneak in when they were occupied somewhere else in the house, and they would find them later in the day.

Sometimes I would wonder if they ever even uncovered my little gifts. But my mother would smile softly at me after exiting the bathroom before running her fingers through the white fluff that still clung to my hair, and I knew. Without anything ever being said, I knew.

To this day the sight of baby powder all over the bathroom doesn’t make me mad. I’m a notorious clean freak about many things, but when my roommate leaves that powder lingering on the counter and floor I can’t bring myself to clean it up. There will always be a place in my heart that warms at the sloppy spillage. I still draw pictures, and, even though my parents no longer see them, I still feel like it’s our little secret.

Maybe when I’m home next time I’ll sneak into the bathroom and leave them a little smile. Just to let them know the memory still stands strong.

A reminder of the past, without any words.

~J. Spade