Nostalgia

The other day I bought some Swedish crisp rolls at the local grocery store. I don't often eat them and I might only have bought three packs in total since coming to Canada eleven years ago. However, it is not so much about eating them as a need for having them available. Crisp rolls, or skorpor as they are called in Swedish, reminds me of my childhood, of sitting at my mormors (maternal grandmother's) kitchen table, listening to the big wall clock ticking away, watching morfar sitting by the wood stove puffing away on his pipe. I used to dip the rolls in my glass of strawberry cordial. Sometimes I let it soak for too long and I would loose a big chunk of sogginess into the glass and would have to use a spoon to get it out.


Today I served my seven-year old and her friend a taste of my childhood for an afternoon snack - and guess what? It still tastes as lovely as I remember it. Only the people surrounding me have changed.