The Taste of Regret

The following story does not promote or condone eating nachos.

In 2019 there was a family reunion. My mom, dad and I drove from Verona, Wisconsin to Big Sky, Montana to spend a week reintroducing ourselves to my dad’s family; most of whom we see every other presidential election cycle or when somebody dies. It was the most time I’d spent in a car with my parents in many years. I had forgotten about how my mother is prone to comment on everything in sight.

If something is seen, she will say something about it. For instance, one of the 13 million signs from Minnesota to Wall, South Dakota reads something about Wall Drug.

Enter mom, from the back seat.

“30 miles to Wall Drug. I remember when I was a little girl, my uncle Roger took me and your aunt Tootie to Wall Drug. I bought a bag of toffee and a turquoise necklace.”

Colleen was also nostalgic about everything and forgot nothing. She stored her life’s memories in a gigantic old china hutch in her mind — just like the one her great grandmother owned in 1967.

Dad chimed in and recalled his own trip to Wall Drug.

“Yeah, we used to stop there on our way out to some mountain range or other and mom and dad would get coffee for a nickel. A nickel! You can’t buy a screw for a nickel these days.” My dad, Tom, was a big commentator on “these days” VS. “those days.”