Nostalgia

Nostalgia

I was running through our local grocery store for a few necessities and I made a stop in our International aisle this evening. Today at work a friend had told me about “Nice Cookies”…actual product. She briefly described them, including they were British, and tucked in a cute story about wrapping these cookies up as presents with a note that included something along the lines of naughty or…

I scanned the aisle but to no avail. I checked Scandinavian, French, Kosher, and even peeked into the Asian section (as it attaches to the British section) but no. I swung my body back around to face the British section and sighed.

You see, for a short while I had the absolute pleasure of living in Britain. In total about nine months—three months first and then back again for six months. It was literally one of the best times of my life. I loved everything about British life and culture. I adored the mass transportation, the cobblestone streets, the quaint coffee shops and pubs, the beautiful sights, oh, and the accent. I can’t leave out the accent.

And as I stood there tonight in the grocery store I reminisced about those lovely times; my eyes fixated on a bottle of Lucozade. Strange as it might sound but that stuff was always hanging around--in shop windows, on adverts, rolling around the tube stops.

I sighed again for how much I miss that place. If I could swoop up my whole family and resettle us there I would. I don’t care if there are rainy days, long walks with arms full of finger-numbing groceries, and just-missed trains I’ll take them any day.

Maybe if I was happier with where we settled our family I wouldn’t be so nostalgic? I’ve been told I should stop fortune telling and just live in the now. Okay, I’ll just make sure to spend extra time in the International aisle at least once a week.