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It’s a Nagging Longing

It’s a distant feeling that sometime, somewhere, somehow, things were better. It’s that feeling they must have gotten many years ago, sipping tea on the starboard side of the titanic; totally oblivious to the impending iceberg but yet somehow possibly knowing, a gut feel swelling from within. Maybe it’s a longing for a better day, a better place, a harbor in the face of a tempest, that sort of thing. Lately I’ve been fostering a longing, restless feeling and it’s been somewhat naggingly everpresent.

Today my thoughts seem to have drifted to the ocean. I can almost envision the blue swells of water crashing onto the sandy shore. When I was a child, I lived near the ocean. On a windy day, you could smell the salt; it’s that brackish scent that has embedded itself into my consciousness. I used to sit by the ocean, watch the waves tumble into the sea, and wonder about points afar. It’s been many years since I’ve seen the ocean, but it’s still clear in my memory. In the late nineteen sixties, the Beatles were popular. I can remember sitting by the coast wondering what England was like, envisioning some far away place where everybody had mop top hairdos, go-go boots, and sung songs about holding hands. With small black taxis, it’s own financial district, and red “tele” booths littered about the place, I thought it would be quite strange to one day stroll down Bond Street. When it finally happened, it felt like a dream, like some out of body experience. Now it seems it’s been years since I’ve been. The memory is vivid, both of the longing, the ocean, and my thoughts, and less so the actualization of the enactment. Bond Street, like so many other foolish notions, was rather anticlimactic.

When I grow old, I imagine sitting in a rocking chair and conversing. When asked, “where have you been?” my response will be, “I have been many places. I have traveled the world from the confines of my own imagination. That and, I went to NY once. It’s never cool to go to NY, but they have many cold drinks there.” Indeed, many cold drinks. I have born witness to the ice chests and the street vendors, who too walk along the ocean, possibly wondering; thoughts drifting to the other side and points afar. It’s something I hope they never have to see.

Until next time, this is Carol, the Carol in “Carol’s Little World” signing off.


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