Nostalgia

My life increasingly resembles a game of pass the parcel or musical chairs with me wondering whether I'll reach my next birthday before the music stops!
With this state of affairs, nostalgia has become more enjoyable and I note, a more often indulged in, part of my
existence.
Today, my wife confessed that she had never tasted chestnuts, roasted, boiled or raw! This situation must be remedied as soon as possible , using English (British?) chestnuts , as these taste so much better than those huge
Spanish things that appear in the shops each Christmas.
When I was a child, (Here we go!)we would ritually collect bagfuls of chestnuts every autumn and , nursing our badly pricked fingers,would sit , waiting impatiently around the kitchen stove on which stood the large saucepan of boiling nuts. I remember being the envy of my friends because of my huge trouser pockets which could hold
incredible numbers of chestnuts. The trousers were made from a pair which had belonged to an uncle who had perished in the war and my Granny , who so cleverly altered them , kept the adult sized pockets which when full,
made it look as if I were wearing jodhpurs. (I must say how proud I am to have spelt that last word correctly
and I take this opportunity to apologise for any typing mistakes which may occur due to my attempting to use two fingers to write this.)
There now follows a list of things the memory of which cause me to adopt a dreamy expression, my eyes glazing
as an idiotic half smile causes people close to me to shift uneasily and desperately seek to change the subject.
Lumps of cold Christmas pudding pinched from my Gran's larder , making catapults with my Grandpa and paddling in crystal clear streams amidst willow and horsetails with the sun warming my soul.
Life, looking back,was so simple.
Riding my heavy old cycle several miles to be able to sit in a quiet, sunny place with my back resting against a
pine tree and smoke a Will's Wild Woodbine and eat a piece of chocolate.
Memories of my army service often make me wish I could be back there where life was indeed simple , with
' Part one orders' dictating one's daily routine and too little money dictating the pattern of off duty activities.
Cars and motorbikes I have owned are, in the right company, the subject of hours of animated talk with much
laughter at misfortunes, accidents or minor law breaking ,events which, at the time probably caused much swearing and fits of bad temper and even despair!
Nostalgia. Strange. Remembering the good things. I bet that even the old coal miner, coughing his heart out , his reward for lining the pockets of the mine owners, will recall humourous events in his village pub or proudly speak of his physical achievements.
Are we trying to justify our lives? Perhaps saying it wasn't all worry and strife? So much is good in life.
Childhood, love, courtship and marriage and watching children grow, starting their own scrapbooks of memories.