Nostalgia Redux; Again.
The image above sums up today’s effort nicely.
If you may not recall, the dingus, a.k.a. the black bird, is the pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow for all of the characters in Dashiell Hammett’s novel, “The Maltese Falcon”. A jewel encrusted icon of allegiance, sent to a high ruler in tribute. Only to go astray before reaching it’s intended destination, and in the process, becoming a much sought after collectible.
I’m a victim of nostalgia, just as many of you, loyal readers, also are. It is not terminal, although at times we tend to wonder if such is not the case. Nostalgia wears many names and faces for us. Be it the passion for a sport, a place, a time, a culture, a story, or the taste of something. And like many of you, such admiration for these can cross over into obsessions of varying degrees.
Here’s the conundrum:
When do we stop, take a look around and realize that the way ahead isn’t back?
As an example, let me step into the world of Tiki, for a brief moment. I, much as my mother and father before me, look fondly upon a meal and or a beverage at the Trader Vic’s mothership in Emeryville, California. And while I only visited the legendary San Francisco Cosmo Alley location once, it was and remains a wonderful memory of an evening with family and friends, with my share of classic cocktails and great food to match. The same can be said of many evenings and events at the mothership, from my parents 50th wedding anniversary dinner to cocktail workshops to birthdays to retirements to just plain good times. I honestly can’t recall when I first visited but I find myself coming back again and again.
Yet, no matter how good each one of those memories was and remains to this day, the pity is that no matter how many visits I may make, none is the same as any of those previous. Trader Vic’s is not what it was on the previous occasions. From the staff to the dining menu to ingredients in a favored beverage not being served any more; things change. And in many cases, those family members and friends, have changed, or may even no longer be with us.
The truth is that we change as well. As hard as it may be for us to admit it, the passage of time plays its own cruel little games on us all. While we would like to capture lightning in a bottle or a moment in amber, to be the same forever, it just isn’t possible for it to be so.
You shouldn’t devalue those memories of moments, however. There lies treasure, irreplaceable. Special times worth recall. Some even worthy of capture in a photograph or a video, recording all of what made that moment at that place with all of the elements captured just so special and worthy of commemoration.
The best advice I can offer is this.
Do not stop there.
Go out and make more memorable moments. Make them for yourself and for the others you have to share them with you. When time allows and you (or they) look back upon those moments, and whatever made them special does come back, however briefly, it will all be worthy of remembrance. You can’t live in those times or places, but the fond recall of such memories?
They are indeed, “The stuff that dreams are made of…”