My husband wanted to take his 1945 Ford for a Saturday afternoon ride. We call the truck The Camper. For one, it was what John’s father called it because he’d been driving since the early 60’s. He was the one who put the camper in the bed of the truck when my husband was just a few years old. That little boy is 56 now.
Every time I get in, I think about how my husband slept many nights and went many, many miles in it. He recalls many good memories as a boy riding and sleeping in the camper on the weekends with his family.
I’m sure you have the same kind of memories, too.
But if you don’t, you and I are in the same boat, but it’s okay now. I’ve learned to be content with my growing up days.
Everywhere we go in the camper people will wave to us, or give us a thumbs up, or want to talk to us about it. Why? Because its nostalgic and it matters to us human beings. Memories. Particularly GOOD ones. Or, I should say, exclusively good ones.
Most of us can look through our things at home and hold something in our hands that’s precious to us and feel really good about holding it. You probably smile, too, as I do. Not because of the item but because of the memory. Looking at it isn’t enough, either. We need to hold it, touch it, and feel it-to feel its energy pulse through our skin and up to our heart.
I’d stop right here and say, if you have anything that does the opposite, throw it out. Life’s too short to hang on to bad memories, right? In fact, I just did that last month.
But now I’m thinking…nostalgia means to me the 70’s era of women’s styles. If I had the body to pull it off, I think I’d wear a pair of jean hip-hugging, bell bottoms, with a wide belt, and a cute pink knitted turtleneck top. Then I’d go dine Friday night at Café Alley, strutting in my Go-Go boots, and a long Peace necklace laced around my neck. I’d go with my hair going all kinds of ways like I’m carefree and living in my Volkswagen van.
Yeah, that’d be fun and worth some good laughs, too.