I ate the mint

My grandfather was a mint farmer in Idaho and one of my favourite people on the planet. I would follow him everywhere and ride on the tractor with him as he worked his fields. He would distill the mint and extract the oil to sell to gum and candy companies. I have fond childhood memories of sitting in the recliner with him in the evenings, watching Johnny Cash and sucking on the football-shaped little mints his oil went into. They were just the right size and shape to fit on your tongue, the peppermint was sinus-clearing, and if you sucked on them long enough they turned into sharp shards that would cut your tongue, but they were amazing.

After Grandpa died, those mints became a tangible link to him and to my childhood. My mom found an outlet that still sells them, and every Christmas she sends a little bag of them, which I hoard and ration out carefully to make them last as long as possible. They no longer contain Grandpa's oil, of course, but the feel and taste of them in my mouth bring me such happiness. They say taste and scent are powerful triggers of memory, and I know for myself this is true. I made sure each of my grandchildren had one and told them the significance of them, and I gave one to my son's girlfriend as a way of welcoming her to the family. So much meaning imbued into one little candy! 

The latest bag of mints was eaten, carefully shared out if someone had a sore throat or a bad day, like medicine (you really had to earn one!), until only one mint remained. I tenderly set this aside, reluctant to consume it, wanting to draw out the joy as long as possible. But watching what's going on in Eastern Europe right now, knowing that at any moment life as we know it could all come crashing down...well, I decided it would be a shame if the world ended and I hadn't eaten that last remaining mint. There's enough to regret in life without that. So yesterday, with some ceremony, alone in the kitchen, I ate it. 

Seize the day! Soak up every bit of joy life offers you, while you can.