A great dish deposits unforgettable taste in your mouth.
A great meal deploys glowing looks on faces, gratified sensation in bellies. As great days produce emotion, memory from experiences – and, like feasting on scrumptious meals, leaves memories of taste, and being filled.
A good story should read that way, like some great day filled with fantastic meals and adept company – including who you cooked with, or for who attended, but not for those who left early.
There is deep feeling in silence, as untold stories on every blank page – like newspaper advertisements. White space tells story too. Empty space between words offers pause. Punctuation, fulcrum of thought shifts – like sorbet between courses, palate cleanse, making way for the next distinct morsel.
Whet your appetite – appetizers for your belly, your ears, your mind. So your thoughts can wander into that area of the brain where delicious memories reside. The pleasure spots. The measurement places. Now hold on.
Can we measure our pleasure, and if we can what does that tell?
Heavy lifting matters, and it yields pleasure.
Sitting quietly, yields pleasure too.
Do we enjoy the day, or the memory more than when something actually happened?
I’ve been recalling unforgettable meals – times, places, food, and faces – deep imprints on my memory. I remember what was happening, who was there, and why. Can’t erase that. Some are recent memories, some from long ago – so many faces long gone.
More recent ones – including ones I’ve not had yet.