Sunday Scribblings: "The Good Old Days"

Fiji. Oceans ago. The river and laundry and enormous rocks. Chasing my mother, baskets tucked under her arms. My bangles, so many. The red scooter, wooden and worn. Coconut milk in the early morning. Warm rain, lizards slithering in the riches hues, teensy-weensy frogs. The earth, always an olive green. Chutney and pickle, onion and pepper. My kaleidoscopic world. Nani and the ghee; my grandmother and the melting butter. My mother, taller than trees, willowy and wise. Her scent was a fusion of clove, cardamom, and camphor. Her hair, onyx. Endless. Her eyes, tired and stone...
Sweet sixteen. An ocean away from home. Sloshed and stoned. Goodbye Daddy. Alone. California summers, the valley, and heat. Stale and sugar plump. Bittersweet. Friendship and solace. Midnight movies on the Old Sac lawn. Mushrooms and ice-cream and voices. Lip gloss and glow sticks. A sodden song. A river so long. Trips, talks, and a decade to treasure. Water, a wave, and the wash...
Adult. Acceptance, trial, renewal. A new shore. North Beach. More enormous rocks.