Nostalgia Never Changes
I’m having a blast this summer, riding around in my car with
my left elbow hanging out the window, listening to the oldies station and
driving down True’s Brook Road just to drive by the swimming hole of lore, to
remember the line of cars on the side of the road and revisiting old friends. .
And now I am asked about Autumn. The season. “Whoa,” I question, “we’re still
in summer, right?”
Boy, what a good time it was to rewind the odometer on a hot summer day and think again like the person I was 45 years ago, and I’m here to say that the drive on this day wasn’t bad and it wasn’t good.
It wasn’t good because instead of cars lining up bumper to bumper on True’s Brook Road near where we used to all hang out on the rocks amidst the waterfalls, there was tall grass and no sign of the beaten path we once walked barefoot down to that Brook Road Cathedral. But, it was good in that I enjoyed reminiscing as I drove and tried to identify the houses on Brook Road I had driven by a bazillion times when I was a youngster.
And now I am told summer is winding down and to take care of
your fall clothing needs…
So I begin thinking autumn, like I was advised. When I think autumn, I think of listening to The Detroit Tigers of Freehan, Kaline, Lolich, Denny McLain in the World Series on a transistor radio with one ear plug during recess and, if the truth be known, at a desk in the back of the classroom. I think of pumpkins and apple trees and apple cider and high school football games. I also think that autumn is the gateway to winter – and you can’t tell me it isn’t – winter is officially upgraded to “impending” come autumn.
Whatever hybrid season we may be in, I am going to squeeze every last drop out of the waning lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, like I will squeeze every bit out of autumn come winter. I will admit, I haven’t owned a pair of swimming trunks in 30 years, but that’s okay. It may be riding around in my car with my elbow catching rays in the open window listening the oldies station and driving by old haunts listening to the music that defined me, but that’s a lot less work than stompimg a new pathway down to the rocks and the memories of casual days on True’s Brook Road.
And it occurred to me that, unlike the the seasons, nostalgia never changes!