I’m going to confess up front that I’m riding a wave of nostalgia right now. It’s sharp, it’s somewhat piercing, and the memories are sometimes so sweet that they make me ache.
I created a Facebook group last night to spur conversation for my graduating high school class’ upcoming 20th year reunion next summer, so my mind is, for the most part, awhirl with memories of life in and around the small town of Hanover, Indiana. This morning on the hour-long ferry commute into Seattle, I pulled out the latest issue of MaryJanesFarm magazine, which is almost a spiritual text to me in its place of importance in my life, and discovered that this particular issue is all about chickens and eggs, with adorable ducks making a few appearances because Mary Jane is, obviously, a genius.
Chickens and ducks – namely the waddling waterfowl – send me right back into my spiral of whimsy.
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Superman had Kryptonite; I have nostalgia and whimsy to bring me to my knees. And it strikes in the oddest of ways. I can’t predict when I’m going to be caught in the headwinds of fanciful dreaming – it just happens and sometimes it lasts for days on end. I woke up this morning feeling moody and exhausted, but once I got to work, I settled into my new, much more private and quiet office (which I just moved into on Monday), popped in my earbuds, turned on my iPod, and called up the playlist of some old friends. Okay, so I don’t actually know Jim and Marian Jordan, who played Fibber McGee and Molly on a radio show of the same name from the 30s-50s, but I feel like I know them. Honestly, I’ve been listening to the 800+ episodes I have for so many years now that their voices are comforting to me. When I can’t sleep at night, I listen to a few of their shows and they lull me to sleep. When I’m stressed to my very limits, their voices help ease me into a quiet calmness. They make me nostalgic for a time I never lived through and for things that I couldn’t possibly experience during my lifetime.
Today was one such day where, after listening to Fibber and Molly for most of the day (in between an endless stream of needy employees parading in and out of my office), that sentimental feeling stuck with me. I came home, fixed supper, and then Tim and I got Roxie ready for her walk. We went down my favorite little stretch of road in our neighborhood. Lined with trees and horse pastures, it reminds me of the solitude that my country-girl soul misses since we live within the city limits. I began telling Tim about my hopes to someday own and restore a vintage travel trailer to use as a writing office. I want to plop it right in the middle of a field, maybe near a big old oak tree. We actually owned one a few years ago but it was just too far damaged to be restored without costing us an arm and a leg, so we sold her (a 1971 New Paris Traveler that I named Gracie) to someone who could restore her. Even though Gracie is gone, my dream for a travel trailer isn’t gone. I can practically hear the plunking of the raindrops on the metal roof as I sit inside, sipping on tea and tapping away at my laptop. This strong desire to get a travel trailer right this very nanosecond led me to tincantourists.com, where the classifieds, filled with pages and pages of adorable travel trailers for sale, invoke such strong stabs of whimsy and longing inside me that it almost hurts. I mean, here are just a few samples from what is currently for sale on that site.
HOW CAN YOU NOT WANT ONE, TOO???
Anyway, as my Friday night wanes into a 3-day holiday weekend that’s supposed to be filled with rain and relaxation, I hope these gushy, dreamy-eyed notions continue. They usually lead to creativity and a feeling of lightheartedness – both of which I need right now.