NOSTALGIA or . . .

         Nostalgia has its  origin in a word that means a 'homesickness of the soul'.  At least that is what Professor Mowry
(known by some of his graduate students as 'Uncle George' . . .but never acknowledged to him) told our History Seminar.  For some people it manifests in a desire for 'the good old days'.  It seems to be more in the wind at times when lots of changes are occurring. . . . whether in the external world or the world within.

        Remembering our origins, our 'roots', important people and events can be enriching and stabilizing. [Earlier post "Whose Shoulders do you Stand On?"]  To me, that is not the same matter as 'living in the past'.  Actually, there was much about 'the good old days' that was not so good: Polio was rampant until the mid-1950's; typhoid has not been removed as a public health hazard for until recent times; life expectancy has increased greatly,  etc.

     All this came to mind today when we attended worship service at the United Methodist Church in the little, once-upon-a-time mill village near our home.  My first memories are of living here in the early 1940's.  Many of  my relatives lived out their years in that place and a few still live there. The mill is a distant memory, having closed many years ago; the company houses on the 'mill hill' have long been privatized. We lived in the one that directly faced the mill.

    Prior to going into the church, my wife asked who we might see that I knew.  I answered that it might be many or it might be none.  Actually, within the small congregation (after all, it was 5th Sunday, a virtual holiday from church for many) I recognized several or was recognized by others : A first cousin was there along with his daughter and grand-daughter; a woman called me by name and I was embarrassed not to know her. She said she had known me when I was a boy !  Well, I put my computer memory on 'scan' and within a few minutes I remembered her name and  several of her family.  One of her family there was a man who had been 'Mascot' of my high school Senior class in 1956.  A firm clasp on my arm told me that Charles Ray, the sole surviving member of the town's baseball team, recognized me. Our fathers had been good friends. We had a delightful few minutes reminiscing.

     Perhaps that is something that we in our older years do.  On one level, it is understandable.  As Charles Ray observed, "there are more gone [from the 1940's-1960's] than are still here."  Yet, there was nothing in that comment that  seemed to me to be morose. As much as any single sentiment, I detected a sense of gratitude for having been part of that relationship landscape.

     I was reminded of something  Joan Chittister wrote in The Gift of Years :  "When a lifetime of old relationships disappear or new conditions engulf us . . . the major task of life . . . may simply be not to fear the fear."

     Satchel