I’ve been suffering from nostalgia as of late.
And I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the end of summer—a summer I barely knew. Maybe it’s because back to school pics make me sentimental about my own kids and those crammed packed days that nearly choked the living daylights out of me, yet drifted by in the puff of a dream. Maybe the pain meds I’m taking make me all mushy, inside and out. Really and truly, I think it started with Glen Campbell. When I heard he died, I felt such loss. Glen Campbell was not only a great talent, but he represented another lifetime, a lifetime that seems as distant as common sense and kindness these days.
Daddy was a fan of Willie and Waylon and Linda Ronstadt. But he also liked Glen Campbell. At least I think he did. Or, maybe he was simply relieved that for a short time during the Tate Summer Road Trip of 1975, my sister and I were stuck on a song not being crooned by Tony Orlando and Dawn. Regardless, he humored us by turning up the volume every time Rhinestone Cowboy came on the radio.
He was from Arkansas, you know. And every station from Memphis to McAllen played his song on repeat.
It was the summer we drove to Old Mexico. Not to be confused with New Mexico.
Truth be told, for a farmer, Daddy had a little rhinestone cowboy in him.
Otter Pop Nostalgia~
I was also slammed with nostalgia at Megaphone 17 (Arkansas Women Bloggers’ annual conference) when one of our sponsors, JuBe, gave away boxes of Otter Pops. I dare say most of the bloggers there didn’t grow up with this particular summer treat (because many of the bloggers there weren’t alive in the 1970s). So yes, I snagged a box and convinced everyone at my table to do the same. It’s funny how something so simple—a smell, a song, a sweet Louie Bloo Raspberry Otter Pop—can take you back to those days before everyone was offended by everything.
Another reason I’m suffering from nostalgia~
My sister recently spent a few days with me guiding me through the surgery I just had. She lives in Plano, Texas. I live in Fayetteville, Arkansas. We don’t spend nearly enough time together. But there was a time when we existed within inches of one another. We grew up entertaining each other, sharing a tiny bedroom, dressing alike (because Momma saw to it). We spent countless hours playing with Barbies, racing our Matchbox cars in the field beside our house, singing Rhinestone Cowboy in the backseat of Momma’s car.
And for a few days this week, it was back to the way it was in the beginning. The Tate girls. Watching television. Laughing. Talking. Eating Otter Pops. It’s comforting to know some things haven’t changed.
Something that has drastically changed~
I watch the news, and I don’t recognize the hatefulness in our country. Maybe it’s always been beneath the surface of everything, and now people feel empowered to fling it sea to shining sea. I won’t pretend to understand any of it, but I believe it to be rooted in fear and ignorance.
This too makes me nostalgic. Nostalgic for peace and kindness and the days when my biggest worry was how to get clear reception on the transistor radio without having to walk halfway to Cottonwood Corner.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
P.S. If you’d like to know more about the Tate Road Trip of 1975, it will be the subject of my next Delta Child article in Front Porch Magazine for Arkansas Farm Bureau (Fall 2017). Read my last Delta Child article online ==> HERE.
Disclosure: This post is not an ad for anything other than nostalgia of the most positive sort. I’m not endorsing “The Wall”, Mexico tourism, high fructose corn syrup, rhinestones, Matchbox Cars, Farm Bureau, Tony Orlando, Visit Plano, pain meds, fill-in-the-blank.😉
Glen Campbell, Rhinestone Cowboy