Round Trip

The sun ever-sparkles and the season never fades.  Still dreaming of California - - I see a final sip, dried foliage, an emptied hotel room.

Where I live the seasons noticeably shift as we cycle along in tandem.  Things end only to begin anew.

Two Peter Pans

 

In my last post I claimed a disinterest in associating nostalgia with objects.  This does not hold true for me when it comes to photographs.

I discovered a younger version of our family recently when going through an old photo album.  I paused at a Polaroid of my son in preschool holding three teddy bears.  I was reminded of a time when he openly expressed affection for stuffed animals and didn't want to leave my side.

The stuffed animals are piled in a corner now, starved for attention.  I know their pain.

Someday I will look back at this photograph and it will become a substitute for the memory - -  a reminder of my boys dazed at a hot summer day's end, their two bodies at rest on my bed.  A wistful trip to Neverland when I was Tinker Bell, sprinkling digital ephemera for fairy dust.

Let Go

My footwear prevented me from walking much beyond the deck of my cousins' yard.  Although they do not live deep in the woods my cousins hunt and gather.  They have spent years combing through yard sales and flea markets happening upon the perfect metal serving tray or antique board game.  They have been trying to pare down to sell their home.  No one wants to buy a house with the personal effects included, so the majority will be have to be jettisoned or placed into storage, I suppose.

Objects can have symbolic and sometimes sacred value.  Through them, we long affectionately for the remote places we once occupied.  Many people find comfort in objects for this reason, but I do not.  So I clean and clear, getting rid of things that lack resonance and cause me distraction.  I do not wish to be held hostage emotionally by nostalgia.  I choose grit over sentimentality.  I let go.

Yellow Greens of Summer

We sit on lawn chairs by the pool, eating too many chips and calling it lunch.  Hooked up to the AM radio, my son tunes in and tunes out all at once.  Although Kodak no longer manufactures it's famed KODACHROME transparency film I keep singing that song, ever hopeful.  The grass turns yellow underfoot.  I am waiting, still.

Fast Forward

Gone are the long afternoons spent floating on my back in my parent's pool.  I would gaze up at the blue sky til it turned silver.  This summer has yet to slow down.  While my boys are enjoying it all I can't seem to refill their water bottles fast enough.  I am breathing, barely.

The issue is that this summer is all about next summer.  My oldest son is ready for a change.  I investigate sleep-away camps in an effort to find the right place for him.  I make phone calls, my stomach turns, I hold back tears.

I have seen my son leap into newness without worry.  Sometimes his confidence level exceeds his abilities.  But no matter, I admire his moxie.  Anxiety is my business.  In a dream I am fearless, flying alongside him.