As a memoir writer,I love all things having to do with nostalgia,because,really,where would we be without it.Nostalgia is one of those concepts that is going to send me looking for the dictionary as soon as I'm through with this write on demand exercise.Of course I have a good idea as to what it means.Its just the precision of the words meaning that seems to elude me.In my mind,it means to be homesick,not just for a place,but usually for a past time as well.It also carries the connotation of being perhaps overly sentimental and not as realistic about that time or place as you might otherwise be.
I believe it was Thomas Wolf,a writer from North Carolina who once said"you can never go home again",or words to that effect.I always wondered what exactly he meant by that,because,obviously,I could hop on a plane or into my car and arrive at the place where I grew up and called home in a matter of hours.Such a view is,I think,unique to those who are young and foolish and haven't put much thought into the ways of the world.Of course I could go home.The only thing is,home was not the same place and really had only taken very few years to change.I left home for a reason.It had a lot to do with economic reality,but also about the perception that people where I lived were mean spirited and I wanted to be away from them.Through the years I carried around a lot of my own,mostly unreasonable prejudices about Moncton.I suppose I though there was more excitement in the big city too.Most young people do.Then,after a few years,or maybe only months,nostalgia comes to call and I want to go home.To the home I thought I knew that is.But it's so very different.Not so many of the old friends still around.All the old hang outs are occupied by a younger crowd.I got to thinking I could live there again and it seemed like a great idea when I was living far away,but I get home,and it's wonderful for a few weeks,then I'm ready to leave again. I visit all my old friends and they become fewer and fewer all the time,not because they are passing,but because,like the place itself,they've changed,and so have I.I walk across the old covered bridge at Hartland,the worlds longest,stick my feet in that wonderful old stream I used to wade in when I was a pre -schooler and pick up a stone from it's bottom.That stone has worn a hole in my pocket now.That's nostalgia.
Home has changed too much.Maybe that's just the thoughts of an old man.There used to be a road that cut up through the heart of New Brunswick.It was the main road when I was growing up,and we would take it from our home to my grandparents place 200 miles away.You would travel through woods and meadows,up hills and along the river bottom below Fredricton,where huge trees grew in the river.But now that road is gone,replaced by a straight,wide road that cuts in a line from east to west.You can get there in much less time,but you never get to see any of the countryside.It's ruined my home.Nostalgia.
Walking up the street towards the old school,there is a little girl in pigtails.A very ordinary young lady.It makes me think,there really is only one thing in my home town that has not changed very much in all these many years.
I believe it was Thomas Wolf,a writer from North Carolina who once said"you can never go home again",or words to that effect.I always wondered what exactly he meant by that,because,obviously,I could hop on a plane or into my car and arrive at the place where I grew up and called home in a matter of hours.Such a view is,I think,unique to those who are young and foolish and haven't put much thought into the ways of the world.Of course I could go home.The only thing is,home was not the same place and really had only taken very few years to change.I left home for a reason.It had a lot to do with economic reality,but also about the perception that people where I lived were mean spirited and I wanted to be away from them.Through the years I carried around a lot of my own,mostly unreasonable prejudices about Moncton.I suppose I though there was more excitement in the big city too.Most young people do.Then,after a few years,or maybe only months,nostalgia comes to call and I want to go home.To the home I thought I knew that is.But it's so very different.Not so many of the old friends still around.All the old hang outs are occupied by a younger crowd.I got to thinking I could live there again and it seemed like a great idea when I was living far away,but I get home,and it's wonderful for a few weeks,then I'm ready to leave again. I visit all my old friends and they become fewer and fewer all the time,not because they are passing,but because,like the place itself,they've changed,and so have I.I walk across the old covered bridge at Hartland,the worlds longest,stick my feet in that wonderful old stream I used to wade in when I was a pre -schooler and pick up a stone from it's bottom.That stone has worn a hole in my pocket now.That's nostalgia.
Home has changed too much.Maybe that's just the thoughts of an old man.There used to be a road that cut up through the heart of New Brunswick.It was the main road when I was growing up,and we would take it from our home to my grandparents place 200 miles away.You would travel through woods and meadows,up hills and along the river bottom below Fredricton,where huge trees grew in the river.But now that road is gone,replaced by a straight,wide road that cuts in a line from east to west.You can get there in much less time,but you never get to see any of the countryside.It's ruined my home.Nostalgia.
Walking up the street towards the old school,there is a little girl in pigtails.A very ordinary young lady.It makes me think,there really is only one thing in my home town that has not changed very much in all these many years.
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