Deja Vu Times Two in Osaka

The Ancient Mariner and I are leaning against a bike rack on a busy Osaka street corner, digesting okonomiyaki and seared scallops respectively, when the first wave of nostalgia hits.

"What is it about Osaka that makes me miss my children so much? My head is filled with images of Kate and James rolling down an incline in Jackson while my mother looks on happily from a nearby bench.  She's holding Pip and teaching him rhythm by tapping her feet and swaying in time to a Sousa tune."

"No idea," he belches.

"Now I'm envisioning twice as many children rolling down the incline, the music sounds tinny, and my father has replaced my mother on the bench. I think I smell popcorn."

He turns his head from left to right, inhaling lavish amounts of the night air. "I don't smell popcorn but there's a faint trace of melted butter coming from the east. How about a crepe?"

A crepe is tempting but my feet have grown roots. "No thanks.  I'm happy right here.  It might be caramel corn I'm smelling."

He twiddles his thumbs for a few minutes, counts the bikes in the rack to amuse himself, then tries again. "How about a parfait? Or maybe a cream puff?"

He's broken the spell. She pulls her gaze from the building across the street and turns her feet toward Namba.

The next day they are entering the grounds of Osaka Castle when she informs him, "I don't know why I was feeling so homesick last night but I am over it now." Just then a group of Japanese schoolchildren cross their path. "Forget what I just said. Now I'm entertaining fond memories of knee-length navy blue jumpers."