Sandy Memories

Me: Can you explain the burying the ball in the sand thing?

Nell: Context, please.

Me: Harriet loves chasing her ball into the sea but then she brings it back and rolls it in the sand.

Nell: Of course she does.

Me: Why? It must be dreadfully sandy.

Nell: That’s the whole idea of a Beach Experience.

Me: A Beach Experience?

Nell: Sea and Sand. I would say Sun but we live in the UK so that can never be guaranteed.

Me: You don’t need the sand in your mouth.

Nell: Don’t you?

Me: No.

Nell: Isn’t one of your favourite childhood memories enjoying your mother’s tomato sandwiches all squished and warm and sandy on a Devon beach?

Me: It is.

Nell: Substitute a tennis ball for the sandwich and you’ll understand.

Me: It’s not quite the same.

Nell: It’s near enough. Aren’t those famous chefs you love watching always telling you to add texture?

Me: Yes, but not sand.

Nell: Ever heard of chocolate soil?

Me: Of course I have.

Nell: Harriet adds Devon sand.

Me: That sort of makes sense.

Nell; And don’t you always say finding sand in your shoes takes you straight back to a memory of the beach?

Me: Yes, I do.

Nell: It’s the same for us with a ball.

Me: So Harriet is making memories?

Nell: Yes. We all are. Every day.

Me: I see.

Nell: Memories are like jewels. We take them out and treasure them when we are in need of comfort.

Me: I’m not all that fussed about jewels. Give me one of my mother’s sandy tomato sandwiches any day.

Nell: Which is exactly what I mean and you know it.

Me: How did you get to be so wise, Nell?

Nell: Years of looking after you.

Me: Yes. Sorry.

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