But You Can Never Go Back There Again

One of the best parts of my work-at-home job is the chance I get to go back to the old stomping ground of New Hampshire three or four times a year.  Last week was one of those visits and it was no coincidence that my trip was right in the middle of the fall foliage. I figure if I have to go to New Hampshire in mid-January, I have earned a visit in peak tourism time. And an autumn trip to New England is prime blog fodder. So with my new iPhone camera in hand, I thought I'd capture a few New England scenes for my blog.  I will point out that I DID work a ton on this trip, I just neglected to take photographs of me preparing PowerPoint presentations while discussing patent portfolios of plasma processing power products - and I assure you your lives are all the more meaningful for the absence of these photos.

So where would my manners be if I didn't first show some foliage. This is the Quechee Gorge in Vermont. My family crossed over the gorge many times without ever dropping a child over the edge. Many great memories.

Over the gorge I landed in Woodstock, Vermont which is one of the most quintessential New England towns you can find. A couple of my ancestors were married and lived here back in the 1830s. The store below F. H. Gillingham and Sons is a neat little store where the owner's cats and dogs that roam about always catch you off-guard  – on my first visit I thought the dog was a tacky statue until it moved.  

And what would a trip to Woodstock be without kicking back by the enormous fire at the Woodstock Inn.  You can burn a whole which in this fireplace or enough books to make any Nazi's heart feel warm - assuming they do in fact have hearts.  I figured I would sit back for a moment and enjoy the warmth.  Strangely, I blinked and the moment turned to 30 minutes. I hope I wasn't drooling too bad.

Here are a couple more pictures of my beloved Woodstock.

I also dropped by my old house to make sure it was still standing and took a few minutes to pick some apples at the orchard across the street that I used to take my kids to every autumn. I figure I'd stash a bag away in my suitcase and make my kids Dad's famous Dutch apple pie when I returned – which I made tonight.  I think that the nostalgia of the source of the apples was better than the pie itself, but if you added ice cream on top of the pie, then pie was then better than the nostalgia or at least very close.

Needless to say I was beginning to feel a bit nostalgic at this point. Unfortunately, being alone on this trip there was no one to share this with other than my camera.  This is about the time the sentimental and philosophical Brett forces through the Mr. Spock-ish analytical exterior.  As I walked around alone taking pictures, a line from a Billy Joel song started playing in my head (which is always nice because it drowns out all the voices that are in there too).  The line from Scenes From An Italian Restaurant goes:

Then the king and the queen went
Back to the green

But you can never go back

There again.

That lyric struck me as profound.  It seemed to capture what I was feeling. I was back in New Hampshire by myself and try to experience so many places and event all alone that I originally shared with people that I loved. I'm not sure memories are meant to be relived that way. When you're with someone, memories are a fun story or antidote. When you're alone, they are a shadow of a cross-section of your life where a portion of it still exists, but the people, circumstances, time, and newness (i.e., the best part) are utterly missing. I've often felt this way when visiting where I grew up. The houses are there. But the people who made those houses so fun to visit are grown and gone. I just can't walk into the old Jolley house without ringing the doorbell, plop on the couch, and turn on SNL know friend will be there soon - more likely the police would be there soon.

This nostalgia is not rooted in sadness or regret. "Life is made of meetings and partings and that is the way of it."  Since you can't go back and relive the moment – barring invention of the flux capacitor – it tells me to make the most of each new moment of each day. I may never be able to "go back there again," but I can make a new memories all my life. I've often wondered if that is what makes bitter old men bitter old men. Forever spending each day looking back at what "was" through ever fading memories and not looking in front of them to see what lays before them. "Cuz the good old days weren't always good and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems." (I'm beginning to think Billy Joel was on to something here – that is from Keeping the Faith).

So while I know I will never have a Thanksgiving again with all of my New Hampshire church friends, all of whom managed to cook their turkeys upside down that year.  We can recollect with fondness on those days gone by while still building new memories each and every day.  To make sure that time and, more importantly our very lives, do not pass away "like as if it were unto us a dream."

... And if you don't know where to start building memories for today, might I suggest you start with ice cream.  Works every time!