December 4, 2006
Is it appropriate to label the circumstance irony? That three years ago I directed a stage version of It's A Wonderful Life… and determined somewhere in the middle of rehearsals that I wanted to flee small town New England as soon as possible and avoid a George Bailey life in my own version of Bedford Falls? Has it only been three years?
Tis the season… for remembering that story, that play, as well as the popular theme of revisiting one's past, present, and future. I went back to my Bedford Falls this weekend and found the floodgates of memory smash open with the avalanche of nostalgia.
I visited with old friends from the varied compartments of my Worcester/Barre life, proving to myself that they were in fact still flesh and blood - not just images on myspace. Those were definitely pleasant outings, reminding me of what I left behind, invoking a sigh or two over happy memories (finally confirming it was Sir Brian - thank you, Neil). There is of course that ego boost of going back and talking about my very cool job, my recent theater activity, and the infamous subject that turns my face pink with little provocation. But, more pleasantly, there was a chance to see old friends, check in with them about their triumphs and sorrows… and just know that they are still friends in spite of the passage of time and that suspicious barrier of 128. I really enjoyed the smiles and laughter… and hope that there isn't a gap of as much time before the next collision of our companies.
My mind was already swimming with memories before these visits, having also made use of my westward excursion to begin the daunting task of sorting (and mostly trashing) the massive collection of crap still stored in my parents' soon to be former home. I spent the hours going through dusty papers from when I could first hold a crayon to… well, I think I only made it to the beginning of high school. But, wow. Things I didn't realize were still in my brain awakened with a small glance of yellow-lined paper… getting 'bonus' points on my math quizzes in 8th grade for my encyclopedic memory of rock n roll trivia, writing notes to my friends on lunch bags, writing fairy tales to my friends about all our crushes in 'veiled' form, art projects made from tracing my hand or foot or sneaker, a note of encouragement from my recently disgraced 6th grade teacher, report cards, initials scribbled on book covers (why the hell did I save my book covers?), slam books, and more stories. Always writing… something… but… the child was so much simpler, able to convey honesty in few words, without all this careful choreography of clever vocabulary… yes, I think there were some comments from Mr. Beschta about word economy somewhere in there as well… Oy. Pack rat, absolutely… but what a trip down memory lane…
And yet, I am glad it was a visit. I didn't feel any sudden epiphany that life in a small town is just where I'm supposed to be. Maybe if Clarence or Marley stopped in during the night I would have felt differently… but I don't think so…
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