WINTER NOSTALGIA

 

One thing many of us have learned is that even though we live our lives forward, we still can't help thinking about the past.  Nostalgia is bittersweet, yet most of the time it's rewarding.  Nostalgia can make us feel that our lives have roots and continuity. It can make us feel good about ourselves. It provides texture to our lives. After all, the past is just the present a few days, months or years later.  Would we ever want to feel that today won't still be valuable tomorrow?  

What I'm feeling nostalgic about now are winters past.  I bet we all have fond winter memories from our childhood. During the months of November and December as each night grows longer, nostalgia is the perfect antidote to loneliness, boredom or anxiety.  I love to share memories with my brother, and with my cousin.  My husband and I have memories that go back to high school.  Daily we recollect together.  Sharing a memory is twice blessed.   Even the sense of wistfulness and loss that accompanies the past can be enriching.  Winter is a time for nostalgia.

My earliest winter memory is sleigh riding with my father.  My mother must have been pregnant since my brother was born in midwinter, so it was my father who took me out after work in the early darkness to sled down a shallow hill.  I was 4 years old.  What's your first snow memory?  Were you trained as I was trained to love snow?

Later, we neighborhood kids rode our belly-busters down steep icy streets lit by porch-lights and the occasional street light.  We'd come in with frozen hair, mitts clotted with snow, and dump our gear on kitchen heat vents to dry before the next round of sledding.  Friends would hang out together in sock-feet stretched out on the floor while someone's mother made hot chocolate.   

On my husband's and my second date we took our sleds to a nearby golf course and by moonlight sailed down hill after hill until we were soaking  wet and out of breath.  I still remember the shadows the trees cast, holding hands in our thick mittens, and what a fun time we had.  We got carry-out hamburgers and ate them in the car with the engine running. I was 15 and he was 16.  The next morning, roads were impassable.  St. Louis has hard winters. Years later, after marriage, we lived in Cleveland and went bobsledding.  Winters there are even harder.

When our daughter was only three I pulled her up and down the Midwest country road in front of our parsonage in what felt like near-blizzard conditions.  We both just needed to get out.  She wore a red snowsuit and sang "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in her baby voice the whole time.  

When they were grade schoolers, the children would pelt their father with snowballs as soon as he got home.   They'd wait and plot for hours and he always responded with great surprise, "Oh no, you got me!"  Our son's cocker spaniel would  ride on the sled with him down the hill in front of our house and stay out 'till her fur was clumped with ice balls. She was a trooper.  

Now my granddaughter and I take our rudderless sleds and saucers over to the neighbor's hill as soon as the flurries start.  Here in the North Carolina Piedmont we're overjoyed with whatever sticks. She narrates videos of our mishaps.  

Such a good time for memories and reflections, for taking what is good and trying to make it better.  We need to be more generous in winter, to neighbors, friends and strangers.  Even the birds need our help. 

Of course a memory can be depressing.  But for the most part nostalgia brings to mind cherished experiences that remind us we are valued and have had meaningful lives.  Let's let the memories flow this winter.  And feed the memory bank with new things every day.  Something to look forward to.                      Nina Naomi

 

 

 

SUMMER STILLNESS

Summer Blooming Local Crepe Myrtle

If there's any time of year that we might leave our worries and our schedules behind, it would be now--summer.  We rent a cabin, set up a tent, open the summer home or hang out in the back yard, sprinkler spinning.  Whatever our summer traditions are, whether from childhood when grandparents and cousins joined in, or newly born, this is when a memory or a yearning kicks in.  

When I was a child, as a school teacher my mother had the summers off.  She stayed outdoors, laundry drying on the line, reading and studying.  She packed me off to summer school classes for enrichment or to the local pool.  I went to Y camps, Vacation Bible Schools of all denominations, and to my grandparents'.  I read books lying on my bed.  We slept al fresco on our upstairs screened porch.  My brother and I rode our bikes everywhere, though not together, he with his friends, I with mine.  It may not sound like stillness, but in a way it was.  Worry-free is its own stillness. I know that now.  

When my children were toddlers we lived in a country parsonage in Illinois.  We had a backyard wading pool and swing set.  I put a hose at the top of the slide to cool the aluminum and the children slid or tummied-first into the pool where the dog waited for them.  Only the cat stood aloof.  I made Kool-Aid popsicles and we dribbled watermelon down our chins.  If you ran through the sprinkler right before bed you could skip your bath.

When my law practice was full-time summer meant swimming after work or over lunch, fewer meetings, an abbreviated court schedule and judges, lawyers and staff on vacation.  Law is a profession that measures workdays in tenths of an hour. It can be a job, like many, where time is brutal. But not in July and August. For eight weeks no one hurries. The  summer pace of law is a respite for everyone, including the clients. 

Now we spend time with grandchildren.  Today returning to her house with my granddaughter, we saw young parents hanging out across the street.  In-arms or belly-wiggling, a gaggle of babies squirmed and reached, blankets and all kinds of toys spread on the grass, moms and dads chatting but at the ready.  Hard work, I know, but what great neighborhood camaraderie!

If you haven't had the chance to take advantage of summer, there's still time. Slow down.  Leave the clutter, make no-cook meals with all those fresh veggies at the market or in your garden, grill some fish, kick off your shoes as soon as you get home.  Put no demands on anyone, especially yourself.  You know what works best.  

I almost feel nostalgia for last summer when we had so many friends for patio visits, separate chip-and-dip bowls and long conversations, albeit six feet apart. With everything outdoors we could let the inside go. To combat the stress, we were easy on ourselves.

I want to carry over some of that summer stillness to now.  To listen to it--the cicadas at night, the Cardinals at daybreak, your favorite warm-weather music. The sounds of children, of water splashing, of bare feet running in the house . . . .  To feel it--the heat and humidity, yes, but also the fresh breezes and cool rain.  Dewy mornings, sunny afternoons, shaded eyes, air-conditioned cars . . . . To touch it--dragonflies gently perched on your hand, combing wet hair.  What says summer to you?  Maybe the stillness is not so much external, but is in our hearts as we pause and appreciate the season. As my yoga teacher says while we settle, waiting her guidance, "Take a breath . . . ."                           

                                                       Nina Naomi