On Nostalgia


I’m feeling really nostalgic today.   I found myself listening to Lawrence Welk and Percy Faith….songs like Calcutta,  A Summer Place and Moon River.   I just had to sing along when Petula Clark showed up singing Down Town and Dionne Warwick was singing Say a Little Prayer.   This is the sound track of my childhood.   As I wind down these last few weeks with my #4 still home I am reliving those days when I was still home with my mom and listening to all those songs while making beds or making my very own little loaf of bread in a cleaned out tuna can.   There was no prouder feeling than having dad eat the bread that I made at dinner.   I was a happy little home maker back then.   I can still hear my mom singing along to Up Up and Away in My Beautiful Balloon.

As I grew older I think I forgot (for a little while) how great those songs were.   I remember walking into the kitchen of my best friends mom and smelling  her  baking and her little kitchen radio spewing out some Burt Bacharach song.    Her radio was always on the “Easy Listening” station and there was something comforting about that.

The hard part about those songs and nostalgia in general is that it is all tinged with little sadness but something draws me to it.   My dad and my friend’s mom have been gone now for 5 years and my friend moved away about 13 years ago.  I still see her from time to time and we talk on the phone all the time but I miss her all the same.   We sing silly songs to each other when we have to part again after an all too brief visit.   Yesterday’s song (after seeing her for a bit) was “I’ll see you in December”   I know the right word is September but she is coming back in December (lucky us it fit right in)  We both love the old sad songs.   We laugh but somewhere inside we get how tender and sweet and sad songs like” Come Saturday Morning”  are.   The songs of my childhood continue to serve me well.   Thanks for letting me share a little with you.


2 responses »

  1. To this day, I still see Mrs. Blackstock vacuuming or dusting (and dancing, of course) every time I hear Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass!

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