I’ve had a lot of time to think about the past lately.
Some of it has to do with my recent surgery and these weeks of recovery with “no strenuous activity”.
Some of it is due to this extended period of pandemic mandated isolation.
Some of it is because the sights, sounds and smells of spring in Raleigh bring back memories of good times.
I am taken back to our spring and fall when we first lived in Raleigh. Ellen and I would put Snickers in the back seat of my car, drive to the woods nearby and meander down the leaf covered paths for our evening walk. Afterward, we’d drive to a neighborhood restaurant where we could sit on the patio while eating dinner. Ellen would get baby back ribs and I’d eat a big Cobb salad.
I remember the summer of 1989, when we’d pack a picnic lunch then drive to a different state park every weekend. We’d visited every state park within a 4 hour drive that had a place to swim or boat. One time, we were stuck in a major traffic jam that had cars in a standstill cars for miles. We pulled the “emergency” frisbee out of my trunk and played catch with a bunch of other stranded motorists until traffic started moving.
I think about our Mother’s Day tradition of buying flowers and soil for the garden.. After we’d get home, I’d swear under my breathe while muttering how much I hate doing slave labor as I unloaded yards of dirt, peat moss and mulch. As soon as I finished the heavy lifting, I’d disappear to shower off the mud and sweat while Ellen would disappear into the garden for the next week. Each night, after work I’d come home to see what she planted. Within a month, the empty beds would have transformed into a magical English garden of with burgeoning flowers, butterflies and bees. Coming home after work was like entering an oasis.
I remember that baked feeling, the smell of coconut sunblock and the sweat pouring off me as we lounged on the beach reading novels while soaking up the summer sun in the sauna like heat. Following this, we’d walk upstairs holding hands before plopping down onto the sofa enveloped in the immediate cool relief of the icy air conditioning.
I remember fooling around in the back of Ellen’s Pontiac station wagon in the back corner of a dimly lit parking lot before straightening our clothes and heading into the ShowCase Cinemas to gorge on popcorn and candy while watching the latest flick.
I think about grinding up the long hill of Beechwood Boulevard on my bike in the early winter mornings when the cold was so bitter only two lunatics were outside- me and the hardcore lady runner – both of us undeterred by any weather conditions.
I could go on with stories like this forever.
When I’m walking my dog (which is about 6 times a day now that I have no other approved means of exercising), half the time, I’m wrapped up in my head reliving these memories. A sight, a smell or even a sound can bring up some time in my life that I hadn’t thought of in years.
These little moments are what makes my life itself.
The big milestones I thought would be most important – sex, marriage, graduation, relocation, new jobs, new girlfriends were all important at the time.
But it is the small, day to day moments that truly made for a good life.
I realized this when my wife was dying. We had only small moments left when things were good. When she lifted her face in the sun the last time I took her to the park. When we laughed and laughed together telling Zack stories. When she lie in the bed, unconscious from the drugs and I sat alone in the kitchen, missing the times we’d eat dinner together watching TV.
Everyday I am making new moments that continue to make a good life. I frequently catch myself in the moment now and recognize how great they are.