Multiple times, it’s happened. In the present, I remember something from my past. Suddenly, I’m in overdrive trying to find that memory in this modern-day world. Wishing. Hoping. Desiring. Searching. eBay? Amazon? Craigslist? Sure. Wherever and from whoever, let’s find it!
Let’s see. Red Rubber Knife. James Bond car with the ejector seat! BB Gun. Specific series of books from a community library. Song, sung by a specific artist, and I can’t remember anything but a smidgen of the melody. An old TV show about war. (Combat!) Even a person, childhood friend, schoolmate, best friend, leader, or pastor.
Some will call it nostalgia. Longing for the good ol’ days. The desire for perhaps simpler times. If you have never looked through your old high-school annual, why are they so important to own while you are in school? Why do we even create them?
There are hosts of reasons why we connect with our past.
It gives a deep meaning to the present that connects across the decades to the past.
In my mind, I am riding with mom and dad down Navigation Boulevard to visit The Salvage, a store that sold salvaged goods from the shipping docks blocks away. You never knew what you might find. That Police Tri-wheeled motorcycle! Yes! Equally, it’s the smell of that coffee brewery just down the street that made that journey so memorable.
The smells of that day, place, and time linger.
Memory Lane
In this present world, my bride and I enjoy going into stores that focus on nostalgia. Antiquities. We dig through cabinet drawers and are drawn to the photos and trinkets of yesteryear. Ooh and aah over things we remember our grandparents once owned—Marvel at the sturdiness and beauty of a bye-gone era.
Though we love these memories, and we will perhaps buy them, too often, they end up as dust collectors in our homes. Relics from a past that those in the future may never enjoy. Though we treasure them, they may someday become part of an estate sale or trash bin.
I know too many that never want to look backward. The future is daunting enough. When I take those comfort items from my past into my future, well, I feel a deeper connection with my journey. After all, I do write often; it’s about the journey and not necessarily the destination!
You may not be enamored with stories from the “Westward Ho!” movement or the Dust Bowl of the 1920s, but treasures were often tossed to the side as items not necessary to survival. The heartache of leaving behind the treasure tromps through our future, and we dream of the loss.
It was a combined birthday party with my brother. Kids from school and church were invited to participate. Mom had us in teams playing scavenger hunts, opening presents, and sharing in the cake and punch. So many gifts! But a treasure I’ve had these near 60 years was the dominoes given by one of the astronaut kids—red marble-like. Most of them lost in Alaska decades ago, but two remain. Treasures of a memory.
When I’m Gone
When I’m gone, my memories and trinkets must be validated and handled by someone. Some call for a bonfire. The state will demand an estate sale. But for those things that are uniquely mine, and if no one enjoys them as I do, then I invite you to put them in the ground with me.
This is why I write and share so much. These are not journals that will possibly bring pain to those who read later but are present-day thoughts shared for whoever finds them worthwhile. Or not. They are at least a recording of the things I find important. To me. One thought at a time. Nostalgic. Cathartic. My memory lane.
