A Nostalgic Now (A Personal & Ponderable Narrative)

As I walked through the doorway I spotted it immediately: her eggshell, cashmere sweater with pearl buttons, lying perfectly folded across the corner of the bed. Three years later and it was still there. My uncle’s bedroom was frozen in 2010.

The rest of the house had a similar feeling. Seasons had come and gone, holidays were celebrated and then packed back away into plastic containers and stored in the garage. Still, the picture frames were dusty, unmoved. The music playing throughout the house (Mozart) provided a welcomed return after my two-year absence. The only apparent change was my great-aunt’s portrait (or portraits) adorning the round, oversized cocktail table in the living room. My uncle, whose life had centered on his wife for 57 years, still kept Gerda the nucleus of his world.

And yet, the scenery offered small deviations from the past. Specks of dirt on the snow-white carpet, a film of dust on every surface, a sink stained with years of bitter black coffee being poured down the drain. My aunt would have been driven crazy by these imperfections in her once spotless home. In her physical absence, cleaning has fallen to the wayside as her husband prefers to remember his wife for her beauty and company, rather than carry on her routines of daily scrubbings and sweeping.

Further shock (and thought) hit me as my mother, brother and I were each offered a cup of coffee. This was typical. Instead of homemade cake or pie, however, there were gray, stale crackers with cream cheese spread. You can imagine my further surprise when it was announced that dinner would not be goulash with a side of red cabbage, salmon over a bed of spinach, or königsberger klopse (German meatballs), but PIZZA! And no, we would not be sitting at a table with traditional place settings, floral napkin rings and a dessertspoon that rested above the charger plate. No, we would go to the pizzeria and enjoy our round pie with pepperoni!

As I drove west on Interstate 84 on my way home tonight, I could not help thinking about the French proverb, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” In my uncle’s case, so much has changed for him in the past three years since my aunt passed away. He has formed new routines, new eating habits, and had new experiences. Yet he still thrives for the way things used to be. He does not dare to move the furniture (even to clean) for fear of disturbing the life he used to know. Perhaps at 88 years old, it is the continuity that keeps him going. Is it possible that we all search for some permanence in life to keep us moving forward, into the inevitable changes of the future that await us?