Isn’t it amazing how a sound, a smell, or a taste can spark a memory from long ago?

Mom was 68 years old when she wrote this poem. Green olives, it seems, didn’t just awaken her taste buds, they ignited a spark that took her thoughts happily back many decades.

Study

Alone with olives
four on a gold plate
I think of sun and trees and comfort
and my Aunt May
who loved them

They make me laugh
touting their red tongues
for teasing tasting
our Harry called them “oss”
when he was one
and climbing the landlord’s stairs
for handouts

~ joan vayo April 27, 1998

Mom adored her aunt May. Good reason, too. May was funny, kind, loving, smart, musical.

And May loved olives.

May passed away nine years before that plate of olives turned Mom’s thoughts to her, and a poem.

Even further back in Mom’s memory was her first-born’s love of olives, or “oss! oss!” as Harry reportedly called out insistently. (Apparently, the doting grandparent-esque landlord enjoyed slipping Harry a few olives now and then, too. The little mooch would take off up the stairs in search of the landlord – and olives.)

If you’ve met my brother, you know he’s a huge Beatles fan. So let me pass along this little-known fact, of which I’m 99% certain: It was he who named their hit “P.S. Olive You.”

“Study” © 1998  Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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