Fish Crackers

It’s funny how sometimes a certain food can drum up a vivid memory.  I was feeling a bit under the weather this morning, and the only thing that sounded appetizing to me were the Pepperidge Farm Goldfish Crackers I had in my cupboard.  I popped a couple in my mouth and was suddenly flooded with the image of lying in a hotel bed in Taxco, Guerrero, the silver mining capital of both Mexico and the world, in 1989.  

I had gotten motion sick after traversing across the Sierra Madre mountain range in a tour bus for hours earlier that day.  I was 17-years-old and on a class trip.  My Spanish teacher, Señora Sayers, who was also a mentor, friend and second mother to me, sat by my bedside in my hotel while the rest of the class and teachers were attending a party.  I felt simply nauseated, but Señora’s presence was a comfort to me.  In addition to her loving concern, she offered me Goldfish Crackers.  After 3 days of strange food in a strange land, they were a welcome luxury.  I nibbled on them while we chatted.  I don’t remember what we talked about, but our conversations were also interesting and inspiring to me.  She was an immigrant from Cyprus who learned Spanish and English as second languages upon coming to the U.S. as a teenager.  Her Spanish was superb, and she quickly became a role model for my burgeoning linguistic skills.  She was an attractive, petite woman with sharp dark eyes and a raspy voice.  She always had a smile on her face and time for her students.

Señora Sayers passed away several years ago after a decade-long battle with breast cancer.  My very last opportunity to see her was neglected in favor of work.  I will always regret that.  She meant so much to me.  I think of her often and lovingly.  Some people will visit your life for a season but will leave an imprint on your heart forever.  She was one of those people for me.