A few hours from now my dear 85-year-old neighbor Bob and I will step out of my car into a world from 50 years ago. The occasion is the annual Johnny Appleseed Festival in Lisbon, Ohio. We’ll walk past the vendors that line the little town’s streets selling foods and doodads, and arts and crafts. We’ll pose for pictures in front of the murals of Marilyn Monroe and of Fonzie and the Pink Cadillac that are painted on the brick wall next to the old railroad car diner, stopping to chat with the volunteer firemen next door who have their trucks on display.
When we get to the lot that hosts the carnival games and rides, we’ll get tickets for the Ferris Wheel and Bob will tell me about the time he and his wife took their Yorkie with them for a ride and how the dog thought that now he knew what it’s like to be a bird.
We’ll walk toward the old depot, admiring the dogs dressed up for the best costume contest, smiling at the teens in their hairdos and gowns, part of the Festival Queen’s retinue, and the Queen herself. A local band is playing country music on the stage and people are clapping and tapping their feet. At the end of their song, a lady comes up to the mike and says they’ll introduce us to the winners of the dog show.
Afterwards, we’ll get our traditional treat, a warm homemade apple dumpling with cinnamon sauce and a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. We’ll eat at the tables on the lawn of the Methodist church with its lovely gardens, and watch the people walk by. Then Bob will go talk with the ham radio guys and I’ll go look at the photography contest display.
We’ll meet back up, and go see the quilt show and marvel at the tiny stitches and the colorful, imaginative patterns. Then we’ll walk back to the car, watching out for the little train that carries riders around the town. The windows of all the stores have apple and pioneer day displays and taped-up coloring pages from the kids at the area grade school. The lawns and old houses, when we get to the edge of the town where we parked, are well-kept and boast the last of their gardens.
I savor the memories, thinking of it. I savor the anticipation of living it once again. It’s a good thing, savoring, a sure-fire sign that you’ve slipped into some delicious pool of joy. It’s such a versatile, thing,too. I really like that about it. You can savor an event from the past, or one that you’re looking forward to, or even this very moment right now. You just kind of sink into it, into its sounds and fragrances and textures and all, and let it live in your mind.
As you go through the coming week, pull some off the shelf and have a long, smooth taste of it. It’s good for whatever ails you. And if you’re lucky, it just might taste like apples.
Enjoy!
Warmly,
Susan
Image by lumix2004 from Pixabay