Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Twelve is the New Eighty


Here's the thing: I have mentioned countless times here that I am hyper nostalgic. It's exhausting. I love the past with a passion, really, too much. I tire out in minutes listening to music on the bus as I'm shuttled through a hundred memories just based on the songs that play - I don't get through more then five seconds of each song just because five seconds is enough to remind me of all these moments. It's overwhelming.

So, I've decided to try and remedy this problem (which I never really thought was a problem until I started thinking about it even more)...enough is enough, the mind has to slow down and take a back seat to the being. I've quit drinking and I meditate twice a day, without fail. It's only been a couple of weeks, and it'll last until Christmas. Christmas day will by my first glass of goodness in months. It's called self discipline, and it's good for ya. I've also migrated over to using products that are the epitome of organic and rate a healthy low score on the Skin Deep Database. Check it out. Saving myself and the planet, one face wash at a time.

Onto another story. I was at my parents place not too long ago for Dad's birthday, and Mom mentioned a place of old: the Ontario Agriculture Museum. This is a place that has lived nostalgically in my mind for.ever.


I think I was perhaps in my early teens when I spent an afternoon there with my parents (when most other teens were smoking behind a barn, I was touring one with a pamphlet in hand) I had a romance with times of old, I wanted nothing more then to reincarnate as a pioneer back in the 1800's (if that's even possible to reincarnate into the past) In fact, I even had big dreams of opening a "resort" that would mean living in a 'pioneer' house in 'pioneer' times, doing your own gardening and lighting your own fire...funny, even my parents didn't believe in that one.


I adored pioneer villages of any kind. I could have found myself at home writing with a quill at a rickety desk in any corner of any log n' mud cabin. In fact, I can safely say that I wanted to move into all of the pioneer villages I've toured in my time (side note: if you think it's odd to tour so many pioneer villages, let me tell you that I've done worse - my family once toured a motel room-true story)



The hilltop "winter / summer" house of the Agriculture museum was where I was going to live one day, I knew it. I would get married in the tiny chapel in front of which my Dad and I posed for a photo in prayer, me in my 'Blossom' hat, choking back laughter.


The enormous barn holding all the old cars, sun streaming in through the slatted roof creating a cavern of dusty light. It was right out of the Thorn Birds. And of course, the gaggle of huge, honking geese we narrowly escaped with our lives. It wasn't until we walked into the dairy barn (this is sounding incredibly more nerdy the more I type, you can thank me for this insight into my rebellious teen years) that I realized that I had been there before. It all came back.


School trip, back around grade two or three, we all piled onto the bus (didn't pass the Christie water tower on that particular occasion) and spent the afternoon as a class at this very Agriculture Museum. We were herded (I know...) into the barn, sat around a TV with a VHS machine, and watched a video showing the birth of a cow. Was I the only one who was uncomfortable, squirming in my seat?

That memory shot back into my mind, as I stood there years later. It is fascinating to find yourself standing in a place you had long forgotten about, and then recalling when you were there as a child. It hits you like a strobe light.


I did tour the Agricultural Museum a few more times in life, as I got a bit older and embraced my love for all things archaic. But wait until I tell you that I was there not only to look at dairy barns, but for quilting shows. I know...why do I write these things publicly? It's called embracing your past. I happen to have a lot of fun at craft sales with my Mom, and I happen to have no problems embarrassing myself.

See now this is healthy nostalgia, I can giggle over it. I think as long as the past makes you happy, enjoy. Remember. Celebrate all those steps that brought you to this moment. But embrace this very moment even more then the past, because it's happening to you right now, and that's pretty awesome.

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