Nostalgia

I know that nostalgia can be my worst enemy, that it keeps me from living in the moment, from reality, from what really matters. As a young adult I was terribly sentimental. It never got me anywhere. I have pretty much kicked the habit. When I get around to making a scrap book page, it is to remember my childrens' favorite moments (for them), but it is just as much about playing with different art mediums - an excuse to use stamps and paint, cool papers and pens. I no longer revisit movies, moments or music from my past in order to rehash the feeling, sentimentally.

That said, every once in a while, a smell or some other sense will bring me back to the past, and I don't just see it and then move on - every once in a while I want to hang out there for a while.

Today it was a memory of a Fourth of July. My brother, mother, Jody and I were on the roof of our apt. building on Marlborough Street, in Back Bay, in Boston. We were up there to listen to the Boston Pops, led by Arthur Fiedler, play their annual concert in the half shell on the Charles River. We ate lobster! We got sun (could have been dirt) from lying on towels on our private tar beach. And at the end of the night we watched amazing fireworks while listening to the "1812 Overture" ring out from our radio as well as from the river. I loved it. It was one of many spectacular events that were choreographed by my mother (with help from having chosen to bring us up in Boston). I had a moment today when I really wished I could just fly home and meet her up on the roof. I wanted to be the daughter.

Making dinner, changing sheets and a walk with my dog pretty quickly shook me out of my nostalgia for Boston and my mom. I have moments to choreograph with and for my children now. And it doesn't have to happen on a holiday. You can't recreate the past for your kids anyway. I gave mine lobster on Block Island and they were not very impressed. And fireworks still scare Jesse. So we choreograph ( or just receive) our events and our every days - together. Until the next smell whisks me back, I lovingly, and with so much gratitude, kiss the past and my mother goodbye.