I just completed my mid-term for American Literature. My right hand aches. I'm not used to scrawling in pencil for an hour and a half straight. Make that scrawling with a pencil that has a dull and ever-diminishing graphite tip. I think I did okay... the question/answer section was fine; it's the essay that might "do me in" though. We'll see if my frantic ramblings will amount to anything...
Last night, when I should have been studying for the test, I decided to look up my old high school's website. To my joy, I discovered an option that allowed me to see photos of my former teachers. I smiled widely as I glimpsed at my old newspaper/journalism teacher of three years. He also owned one of the only espresso cafes in town (there were three cafes, not including the multiple drive-through stands), and just before I left for college he commissioned me to paint a mural in his store. I'm not sure if the mural is still there or not... perhaps they've decorated over it since.
But that was back in the day when a mocha was bi-monthly treat. When I didn't even know what a cafe au lait was, or an Americano. Back then, a capuccino was much, much too strong, and a latte was about as dangerous as I got. Long before debit cards, I'd scrape up my change and perhaps swipe a dime or two from my dad's fantastic change collection--his "retirement fund"--which I wasn't allowed to touch. And I'd drive to "downtown" Coos Bay with a friend. I'd stare at the menu, and entertain thoughts of trying something new (Blueberries and Cream always sounded alluring), only to meet the annoyed gaze of the waiting barista, and blurt out the tried and true "Vanilla latte."
Whoa! That was sure a tangent! I was originally planning to write about how much I've changed since high school, and how much the small town of my upbringing has deteriorated. Was it always like that? Or have I just had one too many cafe au laits, double espressos, English toffee lattes with soy...? Perhaps my Eddie Bauer, LL Bean attire and my frequent trips to Trader Joes have numbered me with the "city folk."
A few years ago I watched a video that was produced and focused on my graduating class, the class of 2001. One fellow, a nice kid who was an acquaintance, appeared on screen. With eyes averted, and a poorly ennunciated mumble through thick and ever-present braces, he gave one word of advice: "Never forget where you're from."
I don't think he realized how poignant he sounded in those few, short words. And I'm left, a little confused, wondering whether my hometown is really mine to embrace anymore. My parents moved to Portland, so I don't really have any tangible, family connection to good ol' North Bend (and truth be told, I'm okay with that). These past four years have been ones of significant transformation, and I'm left to wonder if there is any "going back"?
6 comments:
My dad has a change collection too! He actually has two... American change and Greek change (which actually might be worth something someday since Greece now uses the Euro). My dad has a massive penny collection (he just keeps filling jars and jars... it kind of bothers my mom... all the jars of pennies that he won't cash in).
I guess the reason that we have memories is because we can't go back. I'm born and bred in Portland, OR and I have the same reflections that you do regarding my time in high school, college, grad school, work life, church life, and, now, mommy life. I guess we just keep building up those memories... i know i'm rambling:)
Christina,
Ramblings are ALWAYS welcome! As you can see, I enjoy a ramble quite often :)
Yeah, we certainly go through these distinct chapters in life. And no two are alike, that's for sure! I could be sad, but when I consider the alternative, I realize that's even scarier! :)
That's so funny that your dad has TWO change collections!!! hahaha. He cracks me up!
:D Thanks for your comment, and thanks for reading!
We used to tell our children before they went anywhere, "Don't forget to Whom you belong." And the, "Don't forget where you're from." meaning the family and the values we hold. Funny, it seems to have stuck because just recently my daughter said, "You know Mom, I was doing something the other day and thought about what you used to say to us and I remembered I'm an [insert our last name]. It made me feel good."
Well, my maiden name is sort of Italian sounding (people always asked me if I was Italian). And the Venetians did rule over the island that my dad is from for many, many years... who knows:)
I know the feeling, Katie. While all of our old high school friends regularly visit (every holiday)and even spend the summer there in some cases...I haven't been there in over a year! I think my mom moved to Eugene a year after your family moved...I concur about feeling like life is just constantly changing and sometimes its easy to forget where we even started and who we originally were! Maybe if life spares us a weekend we can make a trip down to good ole NB.
-The Amy Lumsden formally known in North Bend as Flexie
Philippa, Thanks for your comment. I certainly am thankful for my own family, and how my parents raised me with such love and support.
Christina, I think my mom might be on to something about our dads being related.... hehehe. Even though we Italians are just "Greek hillbillies" :D haha.
Amy Lumsden, the former Flexie of North Bend! hahaha...
Hey there! Yes, I think we're in the same boat. Neither of us "live" in NB anymore, and we've both settled up here. Makes it tough to know where to call "home." But I agree, one of these days we'll have to take a day trip to our old stomping grounds :D
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