Golden days, in the sunshine of a happy youth
Golden days, full of gaiety and full of truth
In our hearts we remember them all else above
Golden days, days of youth and love
How we laughed with the joy that only love can bring
Looking back through memory’s eyes
We will know life has nothing sweeter than its springtime
Golden days, when we’re young
Golden days
— Sigmund Romberg, “The Student Prince”
Before she saw last week’s column, Patty Thurston, nephew Kenny’s wife, wrote, “As I was raking leaves I came upon a very pretty red leaf and my mind wandered back to the years of my childhood. I thought, ‘Oh, that would have been a pretty leaf to take to school.’” I wonder if kids still do that these days.
My nephew, John Jones, is only seven years younger than I and also grew up in Knightstown. Thus, we share many memories. He wrote:
The burning leaves, Halloween pranks, street games, like kick the can, after dark, wiener roasts, hay rides and many more. One thing all of these activities have in common is that they were not solitary endeavors. They all required interaction with others from which the bonds of friendship were forged.
Life is wonderful at times like these. You watch your children or grandchildren experiencing these moments in their lives and all is well with the universe. Unbeknownst to them, they too are filling their mental attic. Hopefully, they too will look back some day with similar memories and emotions.
May our children and grandchildren fill the trunks in their mental attic with the warm quilts of contentment, woven of fond memories. We can only hope their trunks fill to overflowing and that we are a part of a quilt or two.
We are so fortunate to be here to enjoy our fall. Winter approaches, but is not yet here, not yet causing us to shiver with its cold embrace. We shall forestall that and embrace and enjoy now.
My richest memories are stored in the October, November and December sections of my internal spreadsheet. Bill and I were married on October 25th. Then along came Vicki who loved the Irvington Halloween Festival, followed by the grandboys who always came to visit at that time. Looking back through memory’s eyes, even small events become bound up in the warm, fuzzy yarn of memory. The boys got plastic spiders at the Festival, and I’d hear the rascals giggling — “Tee, hee, hee, hee!” — while they hid them in the kitchen cabinets.
I am you, and you are me . . . and we are all everybody! Eric Cox, Publisher of the “Knightstown Banner,” wrote in a recent column:
Aside from Halloween, the change of seasons signals something else: death — and not so much in a literal sense as a figurative one.
The dying of the green — the summer to winter transition — is at its heart. Added to the obvious changes in the landscape, the earth’s tilt gives way to long shadows and shorter days . . . The cold doesn’t help. It goes straight to the heart. But, it drives us to our cozy couches…
Bill does not enjoy autumn—“Everything’s dying, dying,” he moans. Even so, he took me on a leaf-peeping expedition to Maine. Another time we spent a quiet, balmy afternoon on our anniversary at the Shades where the gentle, autumn sunshine gilded the leaves. Last year Vicki and Tom hosted an “elegant, swellegant” Golden Anniversary party for us at the Benton House.
Isn’t it wonderful how our minds preserve serendipitous experiences, satisfying memories and meaningful connectivities in our magical, expandable internal files where nothing is ever lost? I’ve filed away new October memories for future enjoyment. Next week: A pilgrimage to the Old Home Place that my ancestors pioneered and a visit from an old friend. wclarke@comcast.net