I was mentally exhausted, lying on the tatami. Vegging. Resting my mind after vigorously exercising and stretching it.
Aukje came by and tossed a little something into our cute little wastepaper bucket, and I noticed that I could read one of the Kanji (Chinese character) on it. My mind went back into action and I peered at the rest of what was on the label. I queried Aukje about some of the other Kanji. "What is this? Does that mean Kono? Does the romaji mean the same as the Kanji. What is that? Is this from Kobe"?
After subjecting Aukje to this barrage, she quieted me down by letting me know that I "sounded just like a two year old".
And I momentarily felt like a kid in my Dad's garage. I can clearly recall asking question after question of my Dad (as only an inquisitive child can) while he was fixing or building something at his workbench.
It is a memory that was buried deeply in my long term memory, until this moment, until the repeated experience brought it out.
It is curious how the noodle works.