Mon., July 19, 1999
"The past
isn't dead. It's not even the past."
- William
Faulkner
I was in the mood to visit an antique store today. So my wife and
I traveled 30 minutes by car to reach the one we consider the best in our
area. It's in the old train depot in Delphos, Ohio, and - I can now
say with absolute certainty - it happens to be open every day of the week
except Monday.
So. Instead of visiting an antique store as I'd planned, I ended
up remembering the one I visited on Saturday. Somehow that seemed
even better.
A visit with a past twice removed....
I'd gone to the antique store on Saturday (the antique store in the old
armory in Spencerville, Ohio) looking for old expressions and catch phrases.
I found some I liked, too. A crisp "See you in the funny papers!"
A charming little "You tell 'em, brother - I stutter!" A slightly
moldy "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle!" that had been misplaced in a box
full of yellowed "You're the cat's pajamas!" The only one I bought,
though, was a small but all-purpose "Well, I'll be jiggered!" It's
been a long time since I've been jiggered. I figure I'm about due
and I want to be ready. Last time I was jiggered, I could only stand
there with a dumb expression on my face. I really hate that.
But now that I'm adequately prepared, let the jiggering begin!
The armory wasn't air conditioned. Almost every Ohio community of
any size has an old armory that was built 60-100 years ago when fear of
labor unrest gripped the powers that be. Since the soldiers who would
be called upon to actually use these armories to reign in the organized
masses weren't themselves unionized, it was easy to deny them air conditioning.
Anyway, it has been a long time since I was in a store that wasn't air-conditioned
and the fact added greatly to the overall atmosphere of going back in time.
Even in my youth, most stores were air-conditioned. The libraries
weren't, though, so a summer trip to them invariably offered me the opportunity
to inhale the scent of fresh-baked books. Just the thought of that
scent can make my mind water.
The armory antique store had a lot of books....
We ended up buying about $50 worth and still left with our curiosities
dangling from our heads....
My favorite purchase: "Nuts and Bolts of the Past: A History of American
Technology, 1776-1860" written by David Freeman Hawke in 1988.
So: I am now remembering a 2-day-old trip to an antique store in a 70-year-old
armory where I bought an 11-year-old book about 150-year-old technology.
Pretty daring behavior for one who can become dizzy with time sickness
just from glancing at a calendar too fast....
As my wife drove us home I stared out my window and daydreamed as I usually
do. It's a habit I picked up from riding the buses of Toledo for
too many years. I'm sure it's ruined me as a driver forever.
So be it. My daydreams have taken me to far more interesting places
than any vehicle ever has.
About halfway home, I noticed a pretty little scene intruding into my dreams,
though. Perfect summer-green trees set against a perfect puffy cloud.
The trees were old. The cloud was one of those huge ones that might
soon build into a distant thunderhead capable of killing people with its
lightning but just then looked like it might have fallen harmlessly out
of a book of fairy tales.
A perfect little scene, made all the sweeter by the ephemerality imposed
upon it by my being in a speeding car.
And yet, try as I might, I couldn't concentrate on it. I couldn't
really see it. That was partly the result of my poor eyesight, of
course, but more than that, it was the result of the scene's activating
or resonating with countless memories of other, similar scenes I've seen.
Whatever the exact cause may have been, the fact remained that
I simply couldn't see the scene as it was.
It was a slightly scary realization. No matter how hard I looked,
the images became ensnarled in old feelings and associations as fast as
they entered my eyes.
The result was that I was living in a solipsistic world and not THE world,
and I knew it.
That is to say, I was living in my head more than in that particular time
and place, and I couldn't escape.
And if you don't think that's spooky, squeeze yourself inside my skull
and try it sometime.
Thinking back on it all later, I compared my mind to an old audio tape
that was recording new sounds without all of the old sounds being erased
as it went along. I think as a child I started off with a genuinely
blank tape which picked up on things the way fresh masking tape can pick
up lint. Now the tape is clogged and dull instead of eager and "attentive."
Ack!
On the plus side: I can recall feeling terribly trapped in the present
moment instead of the past when I was a child. If the moment was
empty or bad, I was stuck in a special little kind of hell. Now I
can simply live happily alone in my mind until a better moment comes along.
If the lint of new sights and sounds doesn't stick to my mind the way it
used to, well, that's all to the good if those new sights and sounds are
bad.
Still....
We know where this is leading. This is leading to the day when nothing
new can penetrate my mind - when it's lost all of its stickiness - when
the buzz of the past completely drowns out the sweetest songs of the present.
It is leading to the day when everything about the year 2025 reminds me
of something I saw or heard in 1975, even though I vowed in 1975 never
to be like those old people for whom everything in my world reminded them
of 1925.
At least I won't be compelled to tell everyone within earshot exactly how
and why 2025 is like 1975.
If I do - well, I'll REALLY be jiggered!
Guess I better go put that expression in a safe place right now.....
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