memories Archives - Listen to Lena

Last night I came across a piece of history – a relic, if you will – a jar of glitter gel from the ol’ clubbing days. It was the cheap kind that I’m fairly certain I scooped up from the “4 for $5.00” tray at Claire’s. My BFF and I would liberally spread the grape-scented glitter on our cheeks, clavicles and arms in an attempt to sparkle under the club’s strobe lights.

(It wasn’t hard. Trust me, we showed A LOT of skin.)

The once shimmery gel has since hardened into a gluey, funky-smelling substance – although the jar doesn’t explicitly list an expiry date, I’m thinking they didn’t have 14 years crammed into an old makeup bag in mind. But it’s not so much the ancient artifact that has me nostalgic; rather, it’s the memories of what Fridays used to be like.

Hushed conversations on the phone at work.
Deciding what to wear; discussing in detail the case for black pants vs. little black dress.
Wondering if I had enough time to re-paint my toe nails.
Popping in a house music CD to get the blood pumping and my head bobbing.
Looping giant velcro rollers into my hair.
Doing sit-ups on the bedroom floor at 8:00pm.
Calling for last minute wardrobe checks.*

*This one makes me long for the days of yore more than anything else; it was the knowledge that I knew every single article of clothing in a friend’s wardrobe. If she said, “I’m wearing my orange tank top which make my boobs look great”, I instantly knew the tank top she was referring to. Because we hung out in casual clothes, went clubbing in dressy clothes and spent copious amounts of time shopping together; hence, all new purchases were mentally categorized as well. Today, not knowing what a friend will wear means that we don’t spend nearly enough time together. Le sigh.

Speaking of today, this is what my Friday looks like.

Checking online grocery flyers, looking for cheese on sale.
Sorting laundry into darks, lights and towels.
Wondering where to take the kids this weekend – animal farm or indoor playground?
Pulling on yet another pair of yoga pants. I don’t do yoga.
Making a mental note to gather all my tax info.
Nagging my husband to clean out the garage tomorrow.
Chatting with my BFF and asking what she’s up to for the weekend, but not really hearing her.

Sheesh. Perhaps I’ll run out and grab a new jar of glitter. What’s sexier than a sparkly mama pulling tots in a wagon?

My favourite throwback to the good ol’ days: Waiting for Tonight by Jennifer Lopez. Should I be pissed that she’s still living the same life as 1999? Um… probably not.

Ah… blogging just to blog. After an obligatory run of giveaways (more to come) it feels nice to just unwind with a chillin’ post. Which brings me to the title: The Sights, Sounds and Smells of Summer.

Last week, the whole family went out for a late afternoon stroll. Pulling the little guys in their wagon, we traipsed through the neighbourhood, basking in the warm summer day. As we turned on to a parallel street, I heard the faint sound of ethnic music drifting through an open window. Immediately, I was filled with nostalgia… but couldn’t nail down the exact memory.

We continued down the block, and within moments I felt yet another throwback to my youth: the pungent scent of Middle Eastern food wafting through a screen door.

And then it hit me: air conditioning killed the sights, sounds and smells of summer.

I began thinking back to my childhood; of my neighbours, who always had every window open and a constant stream of Portuguese folk songs bellowing a happy tune. Of the college kid around the corner who spent all summer in his open garage, working on his motorcycle (I may have had a tiny crush). I remembered the elderly lady across the street, who unfailingly greeted Saturday morning with a spicy curry you could smell for miles. And of people – friends, strangers, children of all ages – lounging on their balconies or the front porch. Kids circling the driveway on bicycles, skipping with one end of the rope tied to a railing. And all just to catch a hint of cool breeze… because the thought of staying in a sticky, hot, sweltering house was just not an option.

But that day, walking down that street… you’d think every single home was unoccupied. Doors and windows closed tight, not allowing one inch of precious bought-air to escape. The eerie quiet of citizens locked inside, with only the hum of air conditioners heard every few paces. The sun beating down on the back of my neck was the only factor that tied my childhood to the present.

How I miss the sights, sounds and smells of summer. Almost as much as I miss that green, polka dot romper.