One of pleasures of living a considerable span of years, is the sudden remembrance of long lost memories. A smell, an item on a shelf, an overheard comment --- any one of these things can bring a long-forgotten moment rushing back. This happened just recently in an office supply store where I was picking up a very mundane package of copy paper. At the check-out, where every store places a tempting array of forbidden sweets, there was a package of Jordan almonds.
Suddenly I was ten, and dancing with a mustachioed elderly gentleman at a very modest inn somewhere in the south of Italy. My mother, a World War II widow, always had a spirit of wander lust in her makeup. Having finished a Master's degree in international relations at UC Berkeley she had gotten a job with the CIA in Washington, D.C. as an analyst. After two years she had gotten itchy feet, and suddenly our living room was filled with travel brochures. We ended up in Switzerland where I was to learn French at a local school, and my mother would study at the nearby university.
From our pension in Lausanne we explored the country, and during longer school holidays, neighboring countries. One of these trips was over the Alps into Italy where, after seeing Milan, Venice, and Florence, we were staying in a small inn somewhere near the Blue Grotto. Our room was tiny with an equally tiny balcony overlooking a small courtyard paved in stone with pots of bright flowers everywhere. As we sat there on little iron chairs, the courtyard began to fill up. We suddenly realized we were watching a wedding reception with the groom in a severe dark suit and the bride in something I can only remember as being very lacey. As we watched, a small band of fiddlers began to play, and it was then that the gentleman with the sweeping gray mustache noticed us and made a beckoning gesture with great Italian panache. My mother hesitated, but the gentleman continued to gesture until we went down to join the party.
We were instantly swept up and even I danced, sort of, as a ring of friendly faces, not one of which spoke a word of English, clapped and cheered. But the absolute highlight of the evening for that long-ago ten-year-old was the discovery of Jordan almonds which was apparently a staple at Italian weddings. I had never had one before, and I happily watched the joyous proceedings, biting down on the sweet crunchy candy shell to the almond beneath. I ate more than I should have as vigilance was relaxed, but that wedding became linked inextricably to that treat in my memory. Improbably it took a trip to get copy paper to bring it back, a small treasure from the past brought to light again for a few moments in a very unlikely spot.
The author in 1955 at an Italian inn