Well you can be thankful you can't hear me singing the song. Barbra Streisand I am not. But I do love the words (and the melody) to that song. I guess the older we (I) get the more our memories mean to us. They take us back to the carefree days of childhood, youth, young love, and the way we were.
Saturday night my husband and I went to the annual reunion of our community school, Antioch School. The huge three story school with an auditorium and amphitheater was built in 1914 and torn down in 1953 to be replaced by a generic brick elementary school. Curtis' dad Roy graduated from Antioch as did his eight brothers and sisters. Curtis went there until it closed and his mother taught there. She also was the girls basketball coach, yearbook sponsor, Junior/Senior Prom Sponsor and Senior Trip Sponsor; oh, and did I mention she taught all the Math subjects from seventh grade thru twelfth. (And we modern day teachers complain about too many preps.)
I love hearing about The Glory Days of Antioch High, when boys were boys and girls were girls (no homosexuality) and all the children above average (no children left behind) :) May Poles, Cake Walks, Womanless Weddings, Halloween Carnivals, playing marbles, canning vegetables, fixing tractors, woodshop, they did it all. At the reunion the former students relive all of the above and more. (The times they got in trouble...so minor compared to today's Columbine type violence and mayhem.)
Everyday Curtis and I watch the Waltons instead of the news. I think this might mean we are living in the past; but, hey, what is wrong with that? The past is a lovely place. My children were little with little problems. My Mom and Dad and Rose were alive, we were young and hot to trot....
Memories, like the corners of my mind, misty watercolor memories, of the way we were.