I guess I'm pretty slow on the uptake, just now realizing the the blogs apparently missed the lifeboat when the old SS Writing Forum went down. I hadn't posted to mine in ages, thought I might do so today, and can't find it anywhere. Oh well, such is the ultimate ephemeral nature of all things. If my blog still existed I would post this there. I guess this is the closest place I can find. Though, as I realized by the end of my writing, I am not so much unhappy as resigned.
I recently recalled, unbidden so far as I know, an old phrase that my parents sometimes used with me, as a reminder of my youngest days. "From Kalamazoo to Timbuctoo, It's a long way down the track, And from Timbuctoo to Kalamazoo, It's just as far to go back." They said it was from a story they read to me almost incessantly long ago.
So I looked it up (it may be obvious to some people, but I had long ago lost sight of it). It's an old Golden Book boardbook, The Train to Timbuctoo, published in 1951, by famed child's book author Margaret Wise Brown. It would have come out during my earliest days, and dad was from a railroad family, so it all makes sense. I ordered the book from my library, picked it up today, and sat in a nearby coffee shop and read it, disregarding any curious glances from other customers. Didn't take long, of course.
The book ends with "And if you switch the names of the towns in the front of the book, you can get back to Kalamazoo."
I hoped that by reading the book at this end of my life I could maybe switch back the track of time, trigger some deepest memories, and return, however briefly, to those magical innocent days.
Not possible of course. It's a one-way journey. Railroad turntables no longer exist, and trains no longer turn around and go back.
Though I'm still waiting to see what pops up in my dreams.
I raised the vaguest awareness of my dad's voice reading it to me, and the Kalamazoo to Timbuctoo words are powerfully familiar. And I sense those days were there, and he was there, and I was there. And that's as far as I got.
One writer in the Buddhist tradition, Noelle Oxenhandler, has made this observation: "We're told that you can't change the past, but you can change how you frame it. And we're offered a range of different lenses . . . acceptance, forgiveness, gratitude."
Playing with those lenses, I find I'm grateful those days were there, I accept that their concrete existence is gone, and I forgive the universe its stubborn refusal to unbend.