I didn't recall any of the people my mother was sure I did remember! "Oh surely you remember so-&-so! They went to school with you" She must have said that - or something quite similar to that - a dozen times at least this weekend! And the truth of the matter is that I don't ... remember that is... No matter how hard I try.
But, what I did remember were places from my childhood days. The names and faces of people have faded from my memory long ago but some of the places are etched in my memory forever. Even as I drove into town on Friday evening I knew that I was "sort of lost but not really" -- I say that because I wasn't sure how to get from where I was to my parents' house (which is not the home I grew up in). But, I did know that I knew where I was. The intersections looked the same. The storefronts have changed ownership but I recognized them as being a 5-&-dime store or a bakery or the old post office... all places that live large in my memory.
Even though it is no longer an operational bakery, as I drove over the bridge beside the old red brick building, I could smell the essence of freshly baking bread. And more than that, without even closing my eyes, I could see a younger version of myself walking across that bridge with a younger version of my mother. You see, my Gramm lived above the old post office (also no longer operational) just around the corner from the bakery. I could have walked that route with my eyes closed even now, after all these years.
Driving down the main street of the town I called home as a child, I was amazed to see just how many places still look the same. Some are in various states of disrepair while others have taken on new personalities to fit their new owners. But there were more than a few that allowed me to take a mental stroll back in time. Childhood laughter and carefree days live along those sidewalks whose cracks boast the fact that they've been there a very long time. If only in the memory of those who, like me, return not often enough to still feel at home and yet often enough to always feel as if we have come home.
Nothing conjured up memories as much as the drive my parents and I took on Saturday afternoon. Driving into the New Cumberland Borough Park was a profoundly moving experience. If I closed my eyes tight enough perhaps we'd be driving in the old black Ford sedan instead of the sleek new Impala Daddy now drives. And, in closing my eyes, maybe I'd be joined there in the back seat by three other kids who each knew that the one next to them had crossed the imaginary lines that helped to create the seating pattern of four to a seat.
Daddy was going to just drive around the park to show me the improvements that have been made to the place. But, it only took one request from me and he parked the car and we got out.
Standing next to the old dam that I feared so terribly as a child, I was awestruck at the wonders of Mother Nature. As a child, I only saw the river and its dam as a place of foreboding and danger. As an adult, I saw a river partially frozen - intricate ice patterns occasionally broken up by narrow trickles of water.
In the quiet of the afternoon, I expected to hear the water's roar as it plunged over the side of the dam. But, instead, there was a delicate sound of falling water. At first I wasn't sure why the water seemed so much more gentle than it had as a child. Perhaps, I thought it was all in the perception of things. But, when I got to the dam's edge, I realized why the sound was not nearly as powerful as I had remembered: Three quarters of the dam was covered in a thick blanket of ice -- gallons and gallons of water that had attempted to come rushing over the falls had, instead, become frozen in time. At the far opposite end of the dam there was a small portion of the river that still flowed over the dam and out into the larger Susquehanna River. But there in the Borough Park, most of the dam offered me an exquisite site - one too beautiful for words (too beautiful and impressive for pictures. But I did find it necessary to try to capture the image). 
As I stood by that dam and its frozen waterfall, I realized that I could, indeed go home again...I could have some new experiences. I could relive some childhood memories. I could bask in the warmth of family love. And I could find new fodder for my writing -- new from the old... new from the amazing influence 'place' has on us.
Yes, I can go home again. But, I also can leave with a renewed appreciation for what once was, what is and what can be - both in my hometown and in my writings from the heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment