a memory

As I was sitting on my porch doing nothing for 45 minutes, which I talk about in my last post, “nostalgia”, I recalled a special memory.

It goes like this:

Most of the windows in the house are open. It’s late afternoon in midsummer on Winterberry Circle, just about suppertime. It’s that time of the day where the sun shines through any crevice in the house it can find, which are many. This makes the sunlight dance and reflect off everything, and that always makes me happy.

I can hear lawn mowers and trimmers in the distance, cars getting home from work, and the faint yelling and laughter of some kids playing outside. It’s not as loud as usual, though, because most families are inside for supper.

Everyone is at home. My siblings are somewhere in the house with me, probably the living room. My dad is most likely outside working on something – the garden, the pool, the lawn, but will be coming in soon for supper. My mom might be out there too, but she could still be by the pool. She loves the pool.

I can smell the fresh air lightly seeping through the windows, mixed with the scent of recently cut grass. Out the back window I can hear the pool filter running, working hard after a day of being heavily used. Every once in a while, I get a whiff of chlorine.

This is my favorite part of the day. There has always been something hopeful to me about late afternoon. There is still so much life to be lived in this last part of the day, with so much wonder about what could happen. We have yet to eat, probably something from the grill. And then we will go out to play with our friends for at least three more hours, maybe more. Until the stars send us in. Sometimes that won’t even do it.

I’ve never loved nighttime. I love being alive and living and experiencing. Nighttime means I need to go to bed and say goodbye to the marvelous day that I’ve just had. I always wished it just kept going.

Nostalgia for these memories are kind of like a trap. You can’t go back there in real life. And no matter how many times you try or wish to recreate these things, I can assure you it will not be exactly the same.

That’s also the beauty of nostalgia for memories like these. They will always be just as you remember them, in your mind. No one can take away or change your memories.

So, sometimes, when I am feeling down or missing these places, I allow myself to travel back to these places in my mind, and it feels like I am really there again.

Just don’t forget that one day, the place you will go to in your mind, are the moments you are living right now.

love always, caitlin