There is something so beautiful to me about garden tools and plaid.
I tend to hide it, but in general I’m an incredibly nostalgic person. It helps when you write poetry and stuff. Because I’m so macho I have a hard time conveying actual feelings, though, but I am trying to get better. So here goes nothing.
The neighbors were probably rolling their eyes at me as I eagerly began taking pictures of my shirt and hoe. (Yes, I know they watch me from their porch – they’ve remarked to my mother that my siblings and I provide endless entertainment in our backyard over the years.)
It reminds me of farming. I’ve been gardening for years now, but January – May of last year I worked in Louisiana on a real, live organic farm, a huge dream of mine ever since I can remember. Flannel and farm tools were prominent images during that time. When I saw my little accidental sculpture, I felt sad. It was a good time that I’ll never have again.
That’s the problem with basically everything about my travel adventures. I’m left with the most beautiful memories of people, places, times, and events, but it’s so hard to realize that no matter what I do, it will never be like that again. If I go back to the place, the same people won’t be there. The same things won’t happen. I won’t have the same feeling, I’ll have a different feeling. There will never be any of that anymore. It happened and that’s it – I’m left wondering if it ever did, and what happened to take me away from those things happening. I’m left longing to hold on to all of it – searching desperately to taste the full moment at least one more time. My memories are so entirely vivid… but so entirely vague.
Dumbledore had his pensive. I’ve seriously always wanted a pensive. I think it was the best part of the whole Harry Potter series. Way better than a time machine.
I have to not think of memories in terms of “dammit, they will never happen again.” No. Memories are gifts. Imagine if God decided it was silly for us to have emotional memories. Yeah, we could remember stuff, but not really remember anything but the basic facts about it. Things like music and smells and sometimes visuals take us right back to specific times in our lives and all the images and feelings come flooding back. But imagine if that never happened. It would be worse than the pain of nostalgia.