I try to avoid being up late. Staring into the fire can stir up too many memories, and nostalgia comes around stalking me from the roots of my recollections.
Nostalgia is a deadly foe. I know there is a natural shedding of details with older memories. Over time the edges are worn off both the sweet and the sorrowful.
It’s the sort of thing that makes a beautiful salubrious event out of an absolute hell-whacker of a day at sea in the middle of a hurricane. The details of how you “chummed the fishes” – tossed your cookies- are hidden.
But I can live with the sort of nostalgia that sanitizes the merely hellacious. It’s those dread trips down Memory Lane that scare me. The ones where you consider the woman with whom you never quite got together—those border on dangerous. You wind up turning a nasty little peccadillo into a sentimental affair.
The present may have its traps, but they are nothing on the traps set by memory.