No Regrets
When I was a kid in Hamilton, Massachusetts we were pretty much allowed to run wild. The area was safe as houses and the forests and fields surrounding the cottage my father built for my mother held an amazing infrastructure of bridal paths that we were able to use. We could move very effectively all over town, virtually unseen. This was pure paradise for we four brave and adventuresome children. I remember that our mum would sometimes tie a note on the dog's collar and put him out to find us. As long as he had no particular agenda of his own, he'd good-naturedly seek us out for company and we would in turn find our message from Mum. One of the places we discovered out adventuring was a glade with an gigantic rock in the middle. The rock was quite personable, as rocks go, so we named it 'Elephant Rock'. It was extremely iconic. I mean, no other rock could ever be mistaken for our Elephant Rock. The glade was lovely as well. We would climb the rock and bask in dappled sunlight and listen to the wind in the trees. Plans would be hatched and stories told. It was a lovely spot overall. I have some of the sweetest memories of my life set in Hamilton area.
When we lived there, it was before my mum stopped singing. In those years, we sang all the time. We sang in the car as a matter of course. It wasn't 'would we sing' but rather 'what would we sing'. We sang when it was just we four out on adventures, and we sang when we helped our mum clean house. The singing years were the best years. Sadly, in the summer between my third and fourth grade school years, the family moved from Hamilton to Pembroke and the singing stopped. My parents both had fairly long commutes and my mother started feeling unwell. Long story.
Fast forward to the present here in Ann Arbor, Michigan where the great forests trend downwards toward the prairie. I suspect that the glacier activity in this area in prehistoric times was quite a bit different than what was going on in New England. One doesn't see great boulders dropped in the melting moraine here. Yet still. Just the other day I was walking in the woods not far from my house. I absent-mindedly chose a frequently traveled path. . . and wandered along for bit. I took a right turn (down a bit of path that I'd never walked prior) in the forest and saw what looked to be a mirror twin of Elephant Rock! Standing quite still then, and looking out a the image that had come to symbolize all that was warm and right and good from that time in my life, I had the strangest and strongest reaction. I got very, very angry. Anyone watching this particular performance would have had something to bring home to the family. I stood staring and I started to shout.
"I HATE YOU", I screamed, shaking. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" I ranted and actually stamped my feet. It was pretty funny in retrospect. The squirrels were able to take in the theatre of this grown woman pitching a four-alarm temper tantrum in the middle of nowhere at a *rock*. They no doubt disapproved. But I had to ask myself later - what the heck was I so angry about? My memories of Elephant rock were so, so nice - where did the anger come from? Well, I think it's because it's gone now you see. The place, the feeling, the rock. If the rock hasn't been blasted or otherwise removed, then it must by now reside in a suburban yard, which would be worse than a zoo. We moved away from the woods and fields. My mother got terribly sick and died. The singing stopped. I mean, I certainly have no regrets about having had the happier bits of my life, but still. While I sometimes feel sadness looking at old images of my childhood, I sometimes just plain get angry. What can I say. Many things and many feelings can all be true at the same time. I once had a friend who claimed that it's always okay to acknowledge your feelings. I think he was right.
When we lived there, it was before my mum stopped singing. In those years, we sang all the time. We sang in the car as a matter of course. It wasn't 'would we sing' but rather 'what would we sing'. We sang when it was just we four out on adventures, and we sang when we helped our mum clean house. The singing years were the best years. Sadly, in the summer between my third and fourth grade school years, the family moved from Hamilton to Pembroke and the singing stopped. My parents both had fairly long commutes and my mother started feeling unwell. Long story.
Fast forward to the present here in Ann Arbor, Michigan where the great forests trend downwards toward the prairie. I suspect that the glacier activity in this area in prehistoric times was quite a bit different than what was going on in New England. One doesn't see great boulders dropped in the melting moraine here. Yet still. Just the other day I was walking in the woods not far from my house. I absent-mindedly chose a frequently traveled path. . . and wandered along for bit. I took a right turn (down a bit of path that I'd never walked prior) in the forest and saw what looked to be a mirror twin of Elephant Rock! Standing quite still then, and looking out a the image that had come to symbolize all that was warm and right and good from that time in my life, I had the strangest and strongest reaction. I got very, very angry. Anyone watching this particular performance would have had something to bring home to the family. I stood staring and I started to shout.
"I HATE YOU", I screamed, shaking. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" I ranted and actually stamped my feet. It was pretty funny in retrospect. The squirrels were able to take in the theatre of this grown woman pitching a four-alarm temper tantrum in the middle of nowhere at a *rock*. They no doubt disapproved. But I had to ask myself later - what the heck was I so angry about? My memories of Elephant rock were so, so nice - where did the anger come from? Well, I think it's because it's gone now you see. The place, the feeling, the rock. If the rock hasn't been blasted or otherwise removed, then it must by now reside in a suburban yard, which would be worse than a zoo. We moved away from the woods and fields. My mother got terribly sick and died. The singing stopped. I mean, I certainly have no regrets about having had the happier bits of my life, but still. While I sometimes feel sadness looking at old images of my childhood, I sometimes just plain get angry. What can I say. Many things and many feelings can all be true at the same time. I once had a friend who claimed that it's always okay to acknowledge your feelings. I think he was right.
