Nostalgia.

[David]

Originally Posted by amber

Everything was easy, and all I had to do was run around outside constantly and play, play, play. In real life I had to do our grocery shopping almost every day, but otherwise constant play. I was like a little ant, running everywhere all the time. Climbing trees, jumping rope, hide and seek, tag, stickball, bikes, tree forts, rubber balls, skating, climbing on roofs, gymnastics, eating plums from the trees - that was my life.
The summer I heard Stand Back was the best. Coincidentally, but still. And summer in general - playing outside from 8am to 9pm, till dark. Then sleeping outside. Running around barefoot, sucking water from any random faucet you could find, not wanting to stop playing to eat...so picking plums and figs off the trees. Just being like a filthy awesome wild animal. I was always so upset if I had to play inside for any reason. I would just read.

I was so strong and free and sassy, I was good at everything, and my responsibilities, though a lot for my age, were easy. And most life pain was in the future, or just beginning. The personality was still a possibility then, still forming, I could still be anything, and dream about how wonderful everything might be.

Nostalgic? yeah, just a little.

Wow. This is the best piece of prose poetry I've ever read on this forum. The quickening & the wistfulness & the passion make your average Stevie Nicks song look like waffle batter.

It reminds me of Agee's "Knoxville: Summer 1915"

And yes I remember drinking water in the summer from every spigot in the neighborhood, & the water had that "pipe" taste that nonetheless was so refreshing!

[estranged4life]

I am nostalgic for the gasoline prices that were at the pump during my high school years, under $1.00 a gallon

[DrummerDeanna]

Originally Posted by David

And yes I remember drinking water in the summer from every spigot in the neighborhood, & the water had that "pipe" taste that nonetheless was so refreshing!

I LOVED the taste of hose water!!!!

The apartment I was living in in Rochester - once in a while I'd get a glass of water from the faucet -and it tasted like hose water (worrisome, yes - but I enjoyed it)

My granmda had a pool - so we were flush in water - but it was funny because I remember the sprinklers would come on and we'd jump out of the pool to run through the sprinklers I loved summer back then.

[amber]

Originally Posted by David

Wow. This is the best piece of prose poetry I've ever read on this forum. The quickening & the wistfulness & the passion make your average Stevie Nicks song look like waffle batter.

It reminds me of Agee's "Knoxville: Summer 1915"

And yes I remember drinking water in the summer from every spigot in the neighborhood, & the water had that "pipe" taste that nonetheless was so refreshing!

Really? You're teasing, probably. That's okay. You know, my favorite poem is Fern Hill. Anyhoo. That pipe taste is awesome. In one of our houses, and various playgrounds, we would suck water off those flat lawn spigots? You know, they're just little round disks that barely stick up out of the ground and spray water at intervals?

Originally Posted by Stew

Well, not to get all heavy, but when I was 8, I was awkward and shy and was already getting told that "boys don't like Wonder Woman and Charlie's Angels -- boys like sports" or that "boys don't dance around like that" or "boys don't run like that."

Now, I can be myself and I can be into whatever the hell I want to be into, without worrying what anyone else thinks of me or whether or not I fit in somewhere.
So, for me, "now" is waaay better than "then."

Oh, that makes sense. That sucks. I wasn't teased because I didn't play with dolls, and did like sports - and played them like a boy.
Doesn't seem fair, does it? Course, I was pretty aggressive as a child - whoever teased me was calling for a quick fight. I do remember arguing with boys all the time, though, for positions and that.

[David]

Originally Posted by amber

Really? You're teasing, probably. That's okay. You know, my favorite poem is Fern Hill.

No I am NOT teasing. Nor do I know what in tarnation Fern Hill is. But here is a portion of Agee's text:
_____________________________________________________
It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds' hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. A horse, drawing a buggy, breaking his hollow iron music on the asphalt; a loud auto; a quiet auto; people in pairs, not in a hurry, scuffling, switching their weight of aestival body, talking casually, the taste hovering over them of vanilla, strawberry, pasteboard and starched milk, the image upon them of lovers and horsemen, squared with clowns in hueless amber.

A streetcar raising its iron moan; stopping, belling and starting; stertorous; rousing and raising again its iron increasing moan and swimming its gold windows and straw seats on past and past and past, the bleak spark crackling and cursing above it like a small malignant spirit set to dog its tracks; the iron whine rises on rising speed; still risen, faints; halts; the faint stinging bell; rises again, still fainter, fainting, lifting, lifts, faints foregone: forgotten. Now is the night one blue dew.

Now is the night one blue dew, my father has drained, he has coiled the hose.

Low on the length of lawns, a frailing of fire who breathes.

Parents on porches: rock and rock. From damp strings morning glories hang their ancient faces.

The dry and exalted noise of the locusts from all the air at once enchants my eardrums.

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine, with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of the night. May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour of their taking away.

[amber]

^^^^
Oh, I see what you mean. That is a lovely little piece, too, I'm glad you posted it.

Um...Fern Hill - I thought everyone knew it. It's one of those "obvious" poems everyone has to read in school, by a most obvious poet, Dylan Thomas. It's terribly sad, in a way. Its nostalgia echoes my own. I'm suprised Stevie has not based a song on it; I'll be damned if I don't cry every time I read it. The most sad parts are bolded for your convenience.

Fern Hill

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

[jannieC]

I *stay* nostalgic. It's pathetic how much I tend to live in the past. My 20th HS reunion was a couple of week-ends ago and I was really sad to have missed it. It's not so much that I loved High School (I didn't), it's a lot of other things. My dad was still alive (he died when I was 17), my family was still together- I was innocent of so many things. Of course I felt very angsty and complicated but you know, weren't we all? My rough times were actually in elementary school (the years Amber writes about). I was very shy and umpopular as a little girl. I have virtually no memory of a couple of those years. I really came out of my shell in High School (thankfully). Okay, enough about me...

[amber]

Originally Posted by jannieC

I *stay* nostalgic. It's pathetic how much I tend to live in the past. My 20th HS reunion was a couple of week-ends ago and I was really sad to have missed it. It's not so much that I loved High School (I didn't), it's a lot of other things. My dad was still alive (he died when I was 17), my family was still together- I was innocent of so many things. Of course I felt very angsty and complicated but you know, weren't we all? My rough times were actually in elementary school (the years Amber writes about). I was very shy and umpopular as a little girl. I have virtually no memory of a couple of those years. I really came out of my shell in High School (thankfully). Okay, enough about me...

That is interesting, and not pathetic. I've noticed others here who are very cool say they were shy and/or unpopular in elementary school. I'm glad you came out of your shell.
If I had lost my dad, I would feel exactly the same as you. I'm nostalgic for all the great times me and my dad spent together when I was little, playing basketball, and tennis, and catch, singing in the car, and being stupid and funny - he was so kind and silly.

I always wonder why such young kids are shy - how do they learn that so quickly, so young? Because, you know, self consciousness seemingly shouldn't develop that much until a bit later in life.
But I guess there is probably some basic kinds of personality - some respond to adversity or the unknown by being shy and quiet, some the opposite. I was loud and talkative and aggressive and unpopular. JK - It's the same as now - some liked me, others hated me, there were arguments, etc. I usually had one best friend.
But the point is, I didn't care, I didn't have the level of self awareness to discern that any way I was acting was less than desireable, or that anyone should reject me for it. It was awesome! I feel like maybe little kids who are shy for some reason do learn earlier to care? Or to guage people's reactions to them?
I'm definitely much more shy as an adult. Mainly from people over time being all "you're so weird!" or not getting what I was saying, so then I realized maybe a lot of times people wouldn't get what I was saying, so maybe I should say less things. You know.

[jannieC]

Originally Posted by amber

If I had lost my dad, I would feel exactly the same as you. I'm nostalgic for all the great times me and my dad spent together when I was little, playing basketball, and tennis, and catch, singing in the car, and being stupid and funny - he was so kind and silly.

My dad was very special and here I am, over 20 years later missing him like crazy!

Originally Posted by amber

I feel like maybe little kids who are shy for some reason do learn earlier to care? Or to guage people's reactions to them?

ANd what's so weird is that you can look at kids with siblings who are completely different. You can say that they were raised in the same environment, but I think that regardless of that- children are treated differently by their parents. It is a very interesting thing to think about- why do some kids care so early in in life? Certainly they haven't had any major experiences where someone's reaction to them caused them to censor themselves? (me too-confused)

Thank you for thinking I'm not pathetic.

[amber]

Originally Posted by jannieC

Certainly they haven't had any major experiences where someone's reaction to them caused them to censor themselves? (me too-confused)

Thank you for thinking I'm not pathetic.

Well, I think they have had those experiences in many cases - but so did I, and it just made me talk more when I left the house. That is why I was thinking people may have basic types of personalities - some withdraw more while some are more extroverted.

[sara1998]

What I am sometimes nostalgic about is grade school days. It just seemed like everything was in place then. I had a group of really great friends... we always had so much fun. Then, once I got into Jr. High, I was in the same house, but the districting was different, and I went to a different school then all of my friends. Not only was it a different school, it was the first black high school built in the nation. Not that that's a bad thing, but if you knew the neighborhood it was in... let's just say I went to school in 'da hood. And it was bad. Rough for a little white girl to go through. I would say that school was 90% black. And no one cared about the academic state of that school. I don't think I learned **** there. Then, when I went to HS, I was reunited with my friends, but that school was really bad, too. Same scenerio, different school. But I had a great group of friends, and we all looked out for eachother, when we went. We were the stoners. ha- we went' to McDonalds every day, and never went back. I was a pretty wild child. Am I glad I grew up? Absolutely. I don't have hard feelings for the past, but I don't really miss anything except grade school, either.