Today, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I ate a red plum.

When I bit into it, the juice squirted everywhere, running down my chin.  And the taste and the texture and the smell all came rushing back to me.  I used to love plums.  My grandmother had a plum tree in her yard.  It made tiny plums, but they were sweet and juicy.  I imagine that my mom had to scrub more than a few of my shirts to try and get the stains out.  (Sorry about that, Mama.)

Even though I still see that same plum tree often, I had forgotten about those tasty little plums it made.  I forgot about climbing up in that tree with my brother and my cousins.  I forgot about smooshing the rotten ones between my toes.  (Very theraputic, actually.  Maye I should start that as a spa trend.  It’s better than this idea.)

So that’s my tasty memory.  I know I’m not the only one.  What nectarous nostalgia do you have?