When we think about which of our
senses bring back memories of our youth, we generally think of smells or
tastes. That’s probably because much of our early years are spent in the
kitchens and dining rooms of the homes we grew up in. Of course, our sense of sight
also comes to mind, especially when we’re looking at photo albums (paper or
electronic).
I particularly remember the smell
of lilacs and honeysuckle, which grew behind our house. My bedroom window faced
our backyard and it was almost always open on summer nights. And of course, I think of the
smell of a freshly cut evergreen when we brought the Christmas tree into the
house. That’s what I miss most now that I’ve done the previously unthinkable
and gone artificial. Just one more capitulation brought about by an aging body.
When we reflect on our past, most
of us rarely think of the sounds of distant memories. But they can be just as
powerful as sights and smells and tastes. When I was watering the plants on our
deck this summer, a sound caught my attention. We had several small Amercian
flags attached to the posts on the deck railings. What I heard was the flags
gently snapping in the breeze. A wave of nostalgia washed over me. It took a
minute to understand what was happening.
I was remembering warm summer days
on the lake where I grew up. On weekends, I’d take my board boat out to a quiet
area along the rocky shore, drop the sail and lie in the sun. The wind on the
lake was highly changeable. On the trip to my chosen spot, it often shifted
direction with little warning, setting the sail to flapping with a sound much
like the flags were making. That small snippet of sound brought back such
wonderful memories, ones that seldom bubble up to the surface. Memories of
other boats I owned, other places I sailed years ago.
We also have a wind chime out on
the deck. The tinkling sound it makes is soothing. It, too, brings back
memories, though I’m still trying to figure out where they are taking me. I know
it’s somewhere I loved to be. Perhaps it was the first house I owned with my former
significant other. My sister gave us a Woodstock chime when we moved in. After
we went our separate ways and I had a house on my own, I hung wind chimes as a
welcoming gesture to myself. I often give these as house-warming or wedding presents
to friends. It’s impossible to feel stressed when you hear a wind chime.
Some sounds send a slight chill up
my spine, a frisson of pleasure remembered. One in particular that does that is
the whining sound of motorcycle gears shifting in the distance. Then the sound
of the machine accelerating, heading farther away from me. It reminds me of
summer nights during my college years. Several young men I dated had bikes. I’d
sit behind them, arms around their chests, as we headed off on some adventure.
That sound is somehow melancholy, especially at night. I think it’s because it’s
what I’d hear after the adventure was over, when the young man was heading
home. These days I’m sad because I’m not on the back of the bike that I’m
hearing.
Some sounds trigger bittersweet
memories. That happens when I hear metal scraping on asphalt. My best friend
died of lung cancer when she was just sixty. She’d never smoked a day in her
life. She’s been gone eleven years now and I still cry when I think about our
lost friendship. We met when I lived in New Jersey and we both worked at a
large corporation in Manhattan. For a short period of time before she moved
back to Rhode Island where her husband lived, she stayed with me.
The first week she was there, I was
startled one night by sound of a metal trash barrel being dragged from behind
the house, down the driveway to the street. It turned out that in Rhode Island,
folks put their barrels on the curb on trash day. Not so where I lived in New
Jersey; the men came around the house to get them. We were both laughing as we
dragged those cans back up the driveway, making that distinctive sound again. Often
when I hear that now, memories of my funny, smart and loyal friend come back to
me. I cry a little; I smile a lot. And I’m grateful for all those sounds of distant
memories.
Copyright 2019 Business Theatre Unlimited
