I was too exhausted yesterday from all of my time traveling to put up a post when I got home last night.
It started within ten minutes of waking up when my nephew called and asked for a ride home from the campground 40 minutes from my house. I finished my breakfast, grabbed a towel, and headed out. First I drove through the little community that took me back six years when my friend and I would walk through Bubblegum Alley (so named after the colourfully decorated shops) and then down to the beach where we observed Mars one dark star-laden night.
Just a tad further down the road and it was more than 20 years ago where my boyfriend used to ride the wooden roller coaster that shot out over the lake. We'd go listen to bands in the crystal palace and I cried when they tore it down.
I barely recovered from that trip when I went back two years earlier when my friend and I, with barely two nickels to rub together between us, would pile in the car and drive to the beach. Singing our lungs out to Bela Lugosi's Dead, (not exactly easy to do), Strange Animall and Somebody . I dove into the Quarry and lost my $300 prescription sunglasses on the second day of owning them. No matter how often we went back, or how deep the guys dove, no one ever found them but somewhere I still have a great sketch of a red fish wearing pink glasses.
I picked the nephew up and asked him if he'd found my sunglasses all of these years later. The story only amuses him because it didn't happen to him. From there we drove twenty minutes towards the river and memories that are only 15 years old.
My apartment was so hot in the summer that I'd pack up a lunch,some water, fruit, the dog and my manuscript. We'd park ourselves along the river for the day. I'd attach the dog's chain to the cable that stuck out of the concrete slab at the water's edge. She'd bite the waves while I wrote. Sadly, both the dog and manuscript are long gone.
No more time traveling until after I dropped off the nephew and headed to my friend's further down the river. Despite the fact that I drive by the house repeatedly throughout the year, as I came up to my great-grandfather's house, I turned into a seven year old child - playing tiddlywinks on the dining room carpet and sucking on a butterscotch candy. The musty smell of the attic invaded my noses as we trudged up into the echoing cavern. We left with an old hatbox that to this day contains manuscripts.
As I drove into the village, time spun away from me. I could picture Grandpa arguing with the Parks employee who was appropriating Grandpa's land. Even though I wasn't even born for any of that, I could hear his firm voice and quiet chuckle when he won that battle and kept his land. Wily old fox.
I drove down into the village past the old general store, past the printer's and the barn where Sir Isaac Brock died. Surrounded by modern conveniences and antiques in my friend's historic home, the past and present merged to give me a headache. Her husband pulled out some treasures he'd recently discovered while metal detecting; buttons, pins and clasps. I marveled at a teacup designed to keep a man's moustache dry. Then time swirled around as I read the document legalizing a Mr. Owen's indenture to a Mr. Lloyd. Written on sheepskin and dated 25, June, 1812, it was in mint condition.
The mind is an interesting thing; the way it works. Because there were times during the day when those memories were stronger than my awareness of my current surroundings. I suppose that's part of what makes good writers; their ability to blur the line between imagination and reality - when characters come alive before your eyes; their thoughts and feelings as real as your own.
Time traveling wasn't on my agenda for yesterday but it was interesting. Even if I have some 80's song lyrics stuck in my head -and absolutely no idea the name of the song or artist. then we danced/shared a little romance/then we ??? You see the pitfalls.
Thanks to Me, I found this video for another 80's classic And we Danced