Category Archives: nostalgia

history

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I have a lot of books.
It’s actually a little ridiculous considering what a nomad I am.
I’ve wondered many times over the years why I lug all these boxes of books around with me from city to city and dwelling to dwelling.

Today I was looking for a specific book to loan to a friend. As I riffled through my collection, up and down my many bookcases, pulling books out and having tactile memories, I realized that at least part of the reason I carry these heavy boxes with me is because each book has a memory attached.
They are familiar and comfortable, but more than that; they are part of my history.

Ever since ‘e-book readers’ came out a number of years ago, there have been on-going discussions about their value and usefulness.
I’ve got a few books on my iPad, and I quite like reading them that way – I have a number of books easily (and lightly) accessible no matter where I am.

However, I will never have the comfort or romance with those e-books that I have with my often beat-up, well-worn, creased, bound paper books.
When I touch an often-read book of mine, I am almost transported back to when that book made its impression upon me.
Did I first read it in a bright and rain-protected cafe over a series of nights in Seattle?
Nestled in British Columbia winter, did I read it while curled up next to the iron fireplace?
Was it one of the many classics handed down from my mom?
I read many childhood books while curled up on the floor, in a corner of bookcases at the local public library or
while lying on the couch at home until it was too dark to read by the ambient light.

My books are a part of my memories.
There are my solace and rescue. They have been my friends and escape.
They are resources and go-to idea generators.

Because of these reasons, I will continue to box up my library and carry them with me from city to city, dwelling to dwelling.

alyosha

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I grew up with dogs, but had never trained or had one solely under my care. When I was a kid, Hoka was my close friend and exploring buddy. There was no discipline or off-limits…That was moms to worry about.

Hoka died when I was 13, and we soon adopted a pretty 40lb collie mix. Her name was Honey because of her coloring. She was very sweet, but disappeared not long after we adopted her. Mom figured that Honey got taken down by coyotes.

We didn’t have another dog and I missed having that companion.

I adopted Alyosha doggie from a small run down shelter in southern Illinois when he was just a few months old in the Fall of 1999.

When he was two years old, a friend told me that my Border Collie mutt would probably start to mellow around age four or five. It wasn’t until he was in his double digits that I noticed any sign of him slowing down. He wouldn’t chase a ball all day – just half a day.

He’s getting old now. His eyes are getting cloudy and he has difficulty getting into the car.

He had a small seizure last month and it worried me, but it hasn’t happened again.

The other day he started to limp. It wasn’t a bad limp, but noticeable. I wondered if I should take him to the vet. But the limp seemed to resolve itself by the next morning, so I didn’t take him. That following evening, he started to limp again. And the next morning it was worse, so I called the vet.

Somehow, my 14-year-old dog managed to strain a ligament in his left front shoulder.
I am now tasked with keeping him on “bed rest” for at least two weeks.

Yeah, good luck with that.

I will do my best to keep him mellow.

When he was young, I could say with a decent amount of confidence, “oh, he’ll be fine.” But now, I don’t have that same confidence.

One of these days, and probably not too much longer, I will have to say goodbye to my dog. There is no way to prepare oneself for this eventuality. I can acknowledge it, and understand it, but only when he is gone will I feel the loss of my dear friend.

memories

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Last night I was at a dinner party at a friend’s house who has an amazing view of the Dells and a vast sky. As the sun set and the hills changed from dirty brown to greens and pinks and the stars started to peek out from behind their curtain, I was transported back to my grandparent’s house where I grew up.

The house was built on the top of a hill with a view west across from a few acres of hilly southern Illinois. To the left of the house was forest and to the right after the leaves had fallen from the trees in the late Fall, we could see our neighbors. At the bottom of our sledding hill, which ran down from the backside of the house, and a short hike through a thin birch grove, was the lake. I spent many summers searching its banks for four-leaf clovers and swimming out to the square float in the middle of that muddy lake.
The hills to the west were treed, and in the Fall we were treated to a spectacular show of reds and yellows of the changing leaves. On occasion we could hear the plaintive cries of the peacocks at the farm on the other side of those hills a few acres away.

My grandparents house was a modest two-story ranch, as was popular at the time of the build in the mid-1960’s. They lived in the upstairs, and my mom and I lived in the downstairs. Because the house was built on a hill, the porch was built on the downslope and quite high. The roof came out over the porch and we had adirondack style chairs under that part of the roof.

We spent a lot of time on that back porch. When a thunderstorm would roll in, we would gather under the protection of the roof and watch the light show. The rain would splatter down just a few feet from our seats, we stayed dry but could smell that wonderful summer rain air.

From that porch, the view of the sky was beautiful. At night, we could see the Milky Way and my grandpa and I would often spend the evening hours star-gazing and picking out the constellations and making up our own.

During warmer weather, we would watch whole deer families cross our yard on their way to the forest. My grandma had bird feeders hanging from the eaves, and little Chickadees, and Robins, and Cardinals would come feed until, much to my grandma’s chagrin, they were chased away by my outdoor cats.

When I left home, I told myself that I wouldn’t live in a place where I couldn’t see the stars. Since then, I’ve lived in a number of large cities.

I’m finally living in a town where I can see the stars from my front yard. Every time I come home at night, I gaze upward and say hello to the night sky.