This morning I realized that there is something comforting about returning to the Familiar. I discovered this in an unexpected place: looking for a recipe in an old cookbook that belonged to my mother. As I searched the index for a very basic recipe, I found myself re-living memories that had been forgotten, and as I did, I felt my blood pressure dropping and the feeling of slipping into a comfortable spot coming over me. I found myself attracted to the recipes which began with the words “old-fashioned,” such as “Old- fashioned Boiled Custard” and “Old-fashioned Peach Cobbler.”
It was the same feeling that came to me when I visited the house where I grew up, referred to in Southern vernacular as the “old home place.” Going inside the house provided me with a therapy that I didn’t know I needed. It was like discovering that some things were right where I’d left them. Yes, the house did look somewhat different. The old kitchen had become the new laundry room, and the long enclosed porch is the now the kitchen/keeping room, complete with modern appliances and a comfortable sitting area. (Why didn’t my parents think of that?). But the atmosphere was the same peaceful one that had always been there. Somehow knowing that some cosmetic work and a facelift had not destroyed the personality of the house, just made it more appealing, gave me a sense of comfort as I left. I smiled to myself as I drove away because I could hear my mother’s words ringing in my memory, “Hold on tight when you come down the stairs.” I remembered how I had been annoyed growing up because it made me feel like a child. Today, I could face the fact: I was a child at that time…and a very happy and secure one.
It also made me realize how deeply engrained childhood memories are. What a wonderful thing when those memories are good; what a tragedy when they are not. The young couple in the house now has a new baby girl. I pray she has the same sense of love and safety that I had. I thought about my own children, who are now grown men. I know they have good memories. I also know there are probably some bad ones that I might never hear about. Hopefully those have been resolved if necessary, and the feeling they get as they drive back to their “home place” evokes good emotions. Everybody needs to experience a place of peace and security and unconditional love.
There are a lot of things that lend themselves to “do-overs.” Houses, yes; manuscripts, yes; sometimes even faces. But childhood doesn’t allow repeats. As Thornton Wilder so eloquently demonstrated through Emily, the main character in his wonderful play, Our Town, we can’t go back. Knowing that challenged me as a mother when our sons were growing up, and maybe motivated me to make good choices at times when I was on the verge of making bad ones.
I might have some “do-overs” at times, but it won’t be my family. Thankfully I don’t feel the need.
