Every Year I Want to Go Back

1958

Some wild-haired child in front of my grandparents’ house, 1958.

EVERY YEAR it happens. The school bus stops appearing at the corner at 7 AM and kids are in the neighborhood all day long.

And every year I dream of going back to my Gram’s for a week like I did as a child.

So I reposted the links to posts about that on Twitter. Rereading them was a lot like going back. Maybe even better, for as Wordsworth wrote,

“…nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower…”*

My senior English teacher commented, “We all dream of going back and reliving a particular time, but everyone who’s had that chance knows, it isn’t the same as your memory has preserved it.” She talked to us like grown-ups and so we behaved as such, and thought and spoke as grown-ups within the four walls of her classroom. She had a real gift for teaching, or how else would I have recalled that all these years later?

Now, rereading my own memories, I smile and I do not do what I did as a child, droop sideways on the porch glider, bored, wondering when we’d eat next and what it might be.

Last night at the levee, I caught a whiff of pipe tobacco – briefly, faintly – and this alone was enough to carry me back. I do not wish to be that age again, but I do enjoy remembering.

Write a fond memory today! Maybe share it with someone. 🙂

* * *

*from “Ode: Intimations of Immortality,” by William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

Pat and Mike

Secret Ingredient

About Marilyn

Reading, thinking, listening, writing and talking about faith, creativity, ESL for refugees, grief and finding the story in a story. Student of Spanish. Foe of procrastination. Cheez-it fan. People person with hermit tendencies or vice-versa. Thank you so much for reading.
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