You know, it’s is very likely that I am much too nostalgic than is healthy at 32. I’ve been spending the last year or so thinking and dreaming about the things from my youth from books, magazines, games, and foods. Sort of sad when I think about it but re-discovering some it has given me a chance to get to know myself better and has brought Management and I even closer. Third life crises can do that. Anyway, Management treated me to a retro day complete with all my favorite places and activities from childhood.

In the morning we swung by the Hosmer Mountain Soda Shack to drop off our empties and pick up more. Its true, we are complete addicts for their soda. Top favorites being Ginger Beer and Pineapple but Strawberry and Orange certainly hold high honors. When we got there this morning there was barely enough room to turn around with new buyers milling about slowly carefully selecting one bottle at a time for their solitary case. Like a military operation we stormed the shack, grabbing cases and loading them by instinct. Being a regular pays off as the guy behind the counter slipped us his last eight bottles of Pineapple knowing that Management simple loves needs the stuff.

All in all we had check our empties, loaded another four cases, paid, and loaded the car before the first of the shuffling customers made it to the front with one case. It’s the little things that matter, like how fast you can buy soda. If you are ever in the area look them up, guaranteed you will not be disappointed.

Next stop was Tacorral, a restaurant that holds such an exalted place in my memories. It is where my father used to take me when my mother was out of town. We would go their for lunch and then over to the short lived arcade next door to pump quarters into Battlezone or to pick up takeout to eat while working through a James Bond marathon–Connery of course, accept no substitutes. It closed during the mid Nineties after struggling valiantly against a declining economy in that section of Manchester.

During the nine years that Management and I have been together I have never failed to mention Tacorral at least once a month: “Damn, I could go for a cactus cooler!”, “You know what would make these tamales better? Herb Alpert, stucco walls, and a piñata hanging from the ceiling.” I missed Tacorral like you miss a good friend, the kind that made you laugh and never confronted you with anything too deep, just one that you could count on for being consistent and always there. Lucky for me, they re-opened a couple of months ago.

Waddling from one to many tamales and tanked up on cactus coolers topped off the day by book shopping. In the past I would have suggested we head over to a place like Books & Birds and mill about the dusty shelves and just soak in the smell of old paper. Unfortunately, the doors closed on the old wool mill some two years ago so we did the best we could and made our way over to an outlet store in the same plaza as Tacorral. Oddly enough, they actually have a decent selection of remaindered books. Go figure.

Here’s the moment that I knew I married the right woman. When Management and I were first dating she tolerated my eccentricity for books but slowly grew into the madness like I did and now finds herself getting lightheaded at the prospect of library sales that feature “$5 dollars, one grocery bag” sales. She has become quite a professional at maximizing the number of books she can fit into a bag. So when we were in the shop after our Mexican feast she dove into the stacks, snapping up titles left and right, optimizing paper versus hardback, scanning fiercely up and down, left to right, finally settling an hour or so later on her selections. All I could do was stand back, smile , and think how much I love her. Eventually, I snapped out of it and pulled a couple from the shelves for myself.

In a couple of hours we crammed in all the best part of my childhood, locally made soda, cheap and good Mexican food, and an afternoon spent browsing for books. Simple pleasures satisfy so much. Maybe we’ll end up making this a monthly tradition.