What does your grandma’s house taste like? What does your favorite food feel like? I’m not suggesting that you eat your grandma’s house, just use that statement to spark your journaling. Pick two things that wouldn’t normally “match” and explain how they do:
Sam’s choice raspberry-cranberry juice tastes like Sunday. It was on sale on an end cap at Walmart a couple months ago, and now I’m hooked. Every time I drink a cup, I am transported back to my childhood on Sunday evening. Back to the day when going to church on Sunday meant Sunday School in the morning, home for a BIG Sunday Dinner, naps and visiting Grandma Pitcher, milking the cows, and a quick supper before heading back to Sacrament Meeting. Our quick supper was grilled cheese or tuna sandwiches and either rice pudding or canned fruit. During the summer my mother canned peaches and raspberries and all year round we ate them on Sunday evenings. I didn’t much care for the peaches, but I LOVED the raspberries—even though they were squishy. But my favorite part was drinking the juice. It tasted just like the raspberry-cranberry juice I savor now.
What’s your story?
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