2000-07-06 - 18:50 MDT

July 6, 2000

Will-o-the-wisp

Elusive are the days gone by, the friends once sworn to life long loyalty whose names we can't remember and who can't remember ours. Even more elusive are other things.

The sight, sound and smell of a little brooklet babbling out in the country or up in the mountains, the smell of wet pavement and outdoor facades right after a cool cleansing rain in town. The smell of freshly ground coffee coming out of the door of Spray's Ground Coff, the smell noted when passing the open door of the seed store. The smell of hot coffee and bacon wafting over from a camp site nearby, the people who got up earlier can be heard in muted conversation. The smell and warmth of the bedding when out camping and the wonderful realization that one can nap a bit more before the grown folks get up.

Fourth of July, with all the noise of ladyfinger firecrackers on up to the biggies - - heard here and there, near or far. The skyrockets, roman candles and sparklers with their brilliant display, and the thrill of seeing Dad set off skyrockets from our logistically laid away fireworks. But, the thing that is so elusive is something forever gone, the smell of exploded fireworks permeating all of town. Another thing from my youth that is pretty well gone, except for the excursion entertainments, the smell of hot oil, steam and coal smoke in the rail yards. The whole lower downtown had that smell until behind the Union Station where all the railroads passed, it was almost overpowering. A good smell, a sign of progress, prosperity, activity. The tooting of the train whistles in their arcane code as they passed on their way to the Big Rock Candy Mountains, louder in the cold winter but quite audible in the summer.

Tonight my mind quivers and tries to escape the cruelties of the world, the bigotry, the fundamentalist radical, outlooks of those who feel that if you don't think their way you are worthless and to be treated like something less than dirt. I don't want to think about those things tonight.

Breaktime for Doug. Back to the innocent enjoyment of life, the world and the security of having parents. Cool stream water around my ankles and squishing the mud between my toes, looking down, watching the tadpoles and the "Darning Needles" those iridescent, magic flyers who hovered over the waters and the skaters who could walk and run over the surface of it. Being up on "Lookout Mountain" near Buffalo Bill Cody's grave looking out towards the prairie as night falls and watching the lights come on down in town. The quiet of residential neighborhoods after bedtime. Looking out of a window in my cousin's bedroom at the lights twinkling down hill from his house.

Taste, smell, sight and hearing are dimmer now in actuality - - - but they are vibrantly strong in my memories and I visit there often in the effort to stay sane. Gone, but not forgotten.

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