Posts Tagged ‘Memories’
Nostalgia Happens
Nostalgia. I can’t help it. Against my own wishes to deny the inevitable chronological orientation of my being, which fits precisely in the place where nostalgia begins to dominate ones attention, I am powerless. For years and years I enjoyed living in defiance of marketers who flooded the airwaves with attempts to bait and hook the primary buying demographic.
My tastes and interests were usually out of sync with the times or just far enough from center to be of little consequence to the purveyors of must-have products and services. My hobbies and interests leaned toward the years of my older siblings more than they matched what was aimed at me and my peers while we were coming into our prime.
Or so I like to think. In reality, there is every likelihood that the cunning advertisers of the products that I did fall for were deftly plying their trade to make me think I was forging my own bold path on the journey of maturation. I blindly wandered directly into the cross-hairs of their financial machine which worked its grips for brand loyalty deep into my unconscious.
With each passing year I have to work harder to deny that my value as a consumer is fading fast from the ever-changing entertainment industry and flying headlong for the entry gates of the AARP and pharmaceutical marketers.
During this wonderful NCAA basketball tournament month, my primary radio station for music has decided to run their own playoff bracket pitting match-ups of record albums from the 1990s. Yawn. How come I don’t care about any of these artists? I get the hint. I’m getting old, thank you very much.
In the same week that I was going through that realization, Cyndie turned on the television in our bedroom to see what was on and landed on a mesmerizing review of my home state, Minnesota in the ’70s. Produced with the Minnesota Historical Society Press and inspired by authors Dave Kenney and Thomas Saylor, the incredibly familiar scenes dredged up completely neglected memories of the world I experienced as a teenager.
I couldn’t look away for fear of missing something. I wanted to soak in every last morsel of what was appearing on the screen.
Did these images trigger my latest re-fascination with long-lost music memories or is the timing incidental? Again, just last week, I was pulling out old vinyl albums that weren’t to be found anywhere in digital form, hoping to feed the hunger to listen to songs from my collection that I haven’t heard in decades.
There was an old Loggins & Messina album in the bunch that I realized was totally available for download, and after giving it a spin on the turntable, I went right to the iTunes store and bought it. That should definitely be in rotation on my iPod.
The advertising genius of showing other similar albums at the bottom of my screen found me powerless to its allure. I hadn’t thought about Seals & Crofts for so long that I’d forgotten they existed! I bought that, too. Jim Seals and Dash Crofts’ voices together are a spectacular combination.
Since I hadn’t listened to that harmony for what feels like forever, it sounded good as new to me again.
It also makes me feel like I might be getting a little old.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Powerful Thoughts
Remembering things that have long ago faded from view is an art to be cherished. It does many things for us, but most significantly, it keeps alive those who are no longer physically here. Our mental processing happens the same for information arriving through our open eyes as it does for conjured memories. When we think about those who are not with us, it turns out that they actually are.
Arriving yesterday afternoon for a funeral service, Cyndie and I could feel the love and the grief before we saw it on the faces and in the hugs. Love and emotion radiates from the intensity of powerful thoughts.
Last night my dreams were as real as ever and traveled to one of my childhood homes, accompanied by faces and personalities of my present day. This morning the aroma of wood smoke from the warm flames in our fireplace reaches deep into my being and magically mixes the present moment with hundreds of equally pleasant fires of my past.
Most powerful of all, I get to choose where I will direct my thoughts to go. Shall I nurture the angst I feel over disturbing news reports and harrowing unethical prospects of late, or will I focus the power of my imagination on virtually hugging the globe and all its inhabitants in an embrace of love and compassion?
Yesterday, while editing an article Cyndie wrote, I was reminded of how much impact our mental energies have on outcomes. She described her journey of transformation in defiance of a particular diagnosis of permanent disability, choosing to purposefully embrace the power of possibility, in lieu of passively accepting untested limitations.
My mind would be far less able and aware if it wasn’t for Cyndie’s influence. I’m embarrassed for the number of years I dragged my less-enlightened self, kicking and screaming in resistance, behind her bold explorations of potential for better possibilities.
“I dwell in possibility,” she would always tell me.
“Yeah, it’s possible this could all go wrong,” would be my natural reaction.
Proof lies in the pudding, and I’ve seen enough results now to recognize the beauty of her powerful thinking.
I’m going to send my love today to those who just lost a precious relation, while also renewing the lives of members of my own family by fondly remembering them in the same way my mind did when they were here.
An amazing power, thought.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Loving
.
.
What if someone was already me and I didn’t know it
he or she could be wandering around the planet
doing what I was about to do
already being the person
I was expecting to become
someday when my demons were done
and everything I thought I thought up
was thought up some time before
in some place totally unknown
and I remained oblivious
What if no one knew they had been loved by me
because I never told
of all the years I marveled their countenance
memorizing memories of previous proximities
long after we’d both moved on
and we never would meet again
could I successfully send
my mental dancing vision to each and every soul
in such a spectacular way
it would consciously imbue
a knowing nod that it had come from who
had held their presence through
days that led to years
sometimes bringing tears
mostly filled with joy of having seen
potential as a passing time
What if we never had to decide whether something was actually true
and holier than thou wasn’t something we knew
hate, fear, and shame deserted the planet in threes
a currency of love the only legal tender in use
one that gained value and exponentially grew
when distributed freely and widely
instead of being stored in large vaults
and hoarded with other faults
those whose hearts flowed gracefully
with honest love glowing weightlessly
could heal wounds with the richness of a glance
a knowing look that says those three precious words
describing a feeling that knows no bounds
poverty would become a basic fail
to practice a universal art others hail
of truly loving everyone with our own inherent free will
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Far Away
This feels so far away from home. Breakfast on the lanai by the pool in shorts and a t-shirt is so mind-bogglingly different from my normal routine that I feel like this is a dream. Well, it is a dream, actually. We are living the dream.
Besides power-lounging the day away, the most work I did involved figuring out how to connect Fred and Marie’s smart TV to the internet so they could watch shows on Amazon Prime, and then helping Fred put air in his bike tires.
He hadn’t ridden the bike for about 2 years, but Marie told him other visitors have been using the bikes every year. He wanted to take a little ride, so we just added some air and off he went.
When we next saw him again an hour or so later, he reported he had gone for a short bike ride followed by a long walk. His front tire had blown out. First, he reported noticing a ticking sound as the wheel turned round and round. Then it POPPED!
Forensic analysis revealed a failure in the sidewall of the tire. The inner tube had ballooned out and was rubbing the brake with each revolution, until the rubber tube burst.
Turned out to be a pretty impressive level of activity for the guy turning 80 this weekend.
Otherwise, the afternoon became a blur of card games, napping, and floating in the pool. Cyndie served Barry and Carlos drinks by the pool.
Around dinner time, the surprises for Fred continued as Cyndie’s brother, Steve arrived. Then, after dessert had been served, her last brother, Ben appeared with his wife, Sara. The last secret had been revealed and the kids were all present.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
We sat around the table sharing life stories and lost our breath in laughter multiple times. Fred shared a memory of his 60th birthday when the kids all showed up for a surprise gathering on a ski vacation in the mountains out west. That year, they left spouses at home.
Cyndie and I have been married for 35 years and had dated off and on for 7 years before that, so I recognized plenty of the tales that were being recollected. Reliving the many stories reveals a weird combination of my being part of the family, but not being one of the family. I’m here, but I’m not as here here as they are, if that makes any sense.
One thing that is clear, we are noticeably far away from our home in Wisconsin right now.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Morning Night
Yesterday I woke up in the morning surrounded by crunchy snow and went to sleep last night among palm trees.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
In a very hush, hush operation, Cyndie and I flew to Florida to surprise her father for the weekend to celebrate the occasion of his 80th birthday. I texted Elysa when we arrived last night to let her know we were gone from home. I told very few people about it in order to avoid leaking the secret and spoiling the surprise.
George and Anneliese are running the ranch in Wisconsin while we are gone.
Oddly enough, the weather at home is predicted to be unusually warm while we are down here. Almost defeats the purpose of traveling to Florida. Good thing we came down to be with family, not just to get away from the cold and snow.
You know me. I LOVE snow! That doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the predicted sunshine and 80° while we’re here, though.
Cyndie’s brother, Barry and husband, Carlos, arrived just an hour before us last night. Marie told Fred she needed to go to the store so she could pick us all up at the airport. She pulled off the surprise wonderfully and we made a grand entrance to greet Fred at the house.
Marie served a late meal on the lanai and we sat around the table in the warm (and humid, relative to up north right now) night air reminiscing about many entertaining memories of the properties that Fred and Marie have purchased over the years.
Not a single one of them turned out wrong. They’ve had this place for 16 years now, and it feels natural to be here again. I remember what a surprise it seemed back then, when I first heard they bought the house.
It’s a real honor being here with them all to make the milestone of 80 years a special family event.
No snow pictures for a few days now. Hope you don’t mind.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
October Flowers
It’s All Hallow’s Eve and we have still got some flowers blooming. Who’da thunk it?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Today is the 25th anniversary of a blizzard that hit the Twin Cities in 1991. One of my memories of that event is of our next-door neighbor trying to navigate his car through the mess of deep snow and ice on the road and his not being able to get into his uncleared driveway. There was still a MN Twins flag attached to his car, a remnant of the 2nd World Series championship the team had just accomplished days before.
It seemed so surreal to me. Baseball. Halloween. Blizzard. It was rather odd.
It was actually morning of the next day and I was standing in our driveway, almost finished with shoveling the 2-feet of snow we had received. We mutually agreed he should park his car in our driveway until he got his cleared.
That storm now serves as a benchmark for me to always be aware that winter could arrive all at once, in one big storm that changes from a warm fall afternoon to snow that lasts a season, all in a matter of a few days. And it could happen in October.
Which is similar to the benchmark I now use for spring snowstorms. The first year we lived here, in May of 2013, we received 18 inches of snow. Who’da thunk it?
It could happen.
But it doesn’t look like we will have any worries of snow in October this year. More likely, we’ll have November flowers.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Reluctant Fan
Two nights in a row now, I have stayed up past my bedtime to see evening entertainment. Last night it was the NFL Minnesota Vikings. I call myself a reluctant fan because I don’t like how the league and the games have changed over time.
I grew up in a household where Minnesota sports were always on the TV or radio. We had season tickets to the Vikings games starting back from the time the team arrived to the state.
If I couldn’t go to the games in person, I wanted to watch them on television. That television coverage is part of what killed the game for me. TV networks took over and began to control the timing of the breaks. I lost my love of watching the games in person.
Eventually, I lost interest in watching my team fail. Other things claimed that time slot for me and I figured I had broken the spell. I was free of the game’s allure.
That was before my old home team began to show signs of being successful again. The pull at the beginning of each season is hard to resist, so I tend to check them out, just in case they might perform well.
This year, it was made more dramatic by the loss of our quarterback right before the season was about to start. All the excited anticipation went out the door in a blink and our usual inevitable doom seemed to settle in before we had a chance to get started.
If that wasn’t enough, we lost our star running back in the second game. A smarter me would have bailed on the team right away. But something happened.
We won games. We put up good stats. We started earning respect, reminding me of teams of old, when I was a kid.
Against my better judgement, I slinked my way onto the bandwagon. The coaching staff seem to be leading the team the way winners do, and they are succeeding despite the loss of key players.
They are making me feel young again.
The pessimist in me is wondering how long this is gonna last, but the kid in me is going to just enjoy the ride for as far as it is able to carry me.
Like a fan, only with a little bit of baggage… called reluctance.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Relative Something 