Dear sweet girl —
There we were, walking down the hall to our apartment, your feet moving slower than usual, your hand tightly gripping my own.
Normally the journey to our front door after school involves you dancing and twirling so that your hands are in the air instead of wrapped up in mine. Normally you are chattering away, singing a silly song, happily laughing as your smile casts extra light into the fading day.
Yet there you were, quiet and close beside me, doing none of these things.
I tell myself you are tired, but I know better: because I can read between your lines—the ones that I’ve grown to know over the past six years—I know something else is going on.
I stop walking, and your stride stops, too. I kneel down in front of you, and when we’re face to face, our eyes meet, and I look at you, open and waiting.
Because I know that’s all it ever takes, that simple acknowledgement that I’m here, ready to listen, and, just like I expected, you finally speak. Continue reading “Week 48: Be Brave, Little One—And I’ll Promise To Do the Same | Everyday Nostalgia”
I’ve been feeling awfully introspective lately, and a little bit sentimental, too.
Perhaps it’s this time of year, where we are perched precariously between seasons: in a few short weeks, the last of the leaves will fall, leaving us with the gray, barren branches of winter, the ones that always, for some inexplicable reason, make me think of my childhood.
I spent my grade school years growing up in a quintessential, suburban Colonial house in South Carolina. Aside from being adorned with pink heart wallpaper and furnished with my mom’s girlhood 1960’s Dixie White and Gold dresser and desk, my second-floor bedroom was equipped with a large window that looked out over our sprawling front yard.
In that yard, a tall, strong tree stood, one that waved us away to school in the morning and welcomed us home in the afternoon with outstretched branches mimicking a massive set of open arms. My dad helped me move my desk in front of the window so I could sit at it and look out at that tree as I read and colored and drew and wrote in my little turquoise diary with its tiny, plastic, silver lock. Continue reading “Week 44: The Magic Between the Past and the Future | Everyday Nostalgia”
It feels like just yesterday that my fingers started furiously tapping on a keyboard, writing the very first stories that would become the very first posts here at The Nostalgia Diaries.
But it wasn’t yesterday. It was a year ago.
Continue reading “Looking Back, Looking Forward: Celebrating One Year of Blogging”
I’m wrapped up in a moment, but it is not one I want to be in.
In an attempt to steady myself, I reach down and plant my hand on the closest thing next to me. The cool, smooth wood my palm finds provides a brief respite, but after only a few seconds, I feel my arm slowly start to shake.
I quickly take stock of the situation and realize my only way out is through a door—a door that is, at the moment, blocked by someone else. So I stand here, trapped, forced to listen to the words that are being thrown my way.
The words—words that tumble out in a sharp, stinging staccato—are biting and harsh. My mind races, trying to figure out what I’ve done to warrant this barrage, but I fail to come up with an answer. I lift my hand back up and cross my arms as I take a small step back, hopeful the extra space I’ve just created will prevent these locutions from hurting me any more than they already have. Continue reading “Week 40: Mark My Words: My ‘Will Not’ Manifesto | Everyday Nostalgia”
It’s 5 o’clock on a Wednesday, and this early evening hour finds me standing in a schoolyard. Between the bright, white grids of newly-painted foursquare and hopscotch courts staring up at me and the smell of freshly-scattered wood chips tickling my nose, it’s no wonder I’ve just been momentarily transported back to my childhood. Although no one is here other than me, I can picture how this playground looked and sounded just a few hours earlier: The streak of red, green, and navy uniform-clad children filled with happy smiles, the squeak of bare skin against the slide, the metal clang of high-flying swings, and the loud peals of unfiltered, easy laughter.
A few freshly-fallen leaves dance around my feet, and although the breeze that lifts them is warm, there is a slight crispness to it—a good reminder that the official start of fall is just around the corner. Continue reading “Week 36: A Renewed Excitement for Tomorrow | Everyday Nostalgia”