Random Nostalgic Ramblings

The other night I was driving through my old neighborhood when I had a very strong, sudden urge to walk my dog Pablo in my old neighborhood. It was so urgent. I felt like we both needed to do it the next day before he dies and before my family leaves Oxford. I used to walk Pablo alone all the time to this one stop sign when I was growing up. It was my time to think and unwind, something that I've found I need more and more of as I grow older. And Pablo was my silent companion, my trusted friend who bounced happily along beside me. I would glance down at him and he'd stare back up and me and smile. For those of you who say dogs can't smile, you're severely mistaken.

So I took the walk the next day, and relived the past one step at a time.

It was odd looking at my old house and the basketball hoop I used to practice on. And looking at the divide between Emmy and Bill’s and our yard where we found Pablo in the compost pile once. Pablo seemed to remember the neighborhood. There was a youthful bounce in his step reminiscent of puppyhood. Of course he had to poop and pee everywhere, that is to be expected.

It was a much slower walk than before. Pablo is old now and his stamina is deteriorating. To me, the walk seemed much shorter. My legs are longer now. To Pablo, the walk seemed much longer, because he is older and moving is much harder for him than it was in his youth.

My old neighbor Max had a corgi named Hannah. It was a running joke in my family that Pablo was in love with her. The gate was left open to Hannah and Max’s house which I took to symbolically mean that we were always welcome even though both of them have died. Pablo still barked at a guy on a bike like he always does. Some things never change. He got two compliments on how beautiful he is from two people I passed. He could use the self-esteem boost since he's gained a lot of weight in his old age.

When we reached the stop sign that had so often been our turnaround spot I felt odd. I couldn't place the feeling and I still can't. I'd like to say I felt closure, but I didn't. I didn't really feel anything that I could describe accurately with words. I thought to myself that maybe I needed to touch the stop sign, to feel the tangible metal on the tip of my finger. So, even though there was a car there and I looked weird I caressed the stop sign pole. It felt rusty and cold. Still nothing. Then I looked down at Pablo. He was peeing on the stop sign. Then I realized, this was our territory. His urine marked it as surely as urine could. I didn't have to feel like I was leaving my childhood behind, or any sense of closure because our lives were still continuing on and our past was just as alive as our present and our future. 

When I was in the fourth grade I was riding the bus home and passing by a railroad and I told myself, "I'm going to remember this moment for the rest of my life." And I have. It's like I just wanted to remember how peaceful I was at that moment and how even when I'm old I will still have that moment I remember where nothing particularly special was happening. I think we all need something to hold on to from the past that wasn't a big, important moment. Like sure, I remember winning a Volleyball tournament, or singing a solo, or my first kiss. But I wanted something that didn't have all of that importance behind it, because really most days are just normal, just ordinary. But maybe that is what is more important, not the big events, but the small, meaningless moments that sometimes just pass away unnoticed. So there I was, just sitting alone on the bus. Other kids were talking to each other loudly and all of the sudden I just felt like I was so much older than all of them. I looked out the window at this bank and then I just became extremely determined to remember. I was having an odd moment in my nine year old self where I saw myself as an old woman. I didn't want to forget my childhood so I tucked away that small moment in my mind so I wouldn't lose that part of myself.