167. Holiday nostalgia hits you in delay

Holiday nostalgia hits you in delay.

The first day after that fantastic fortnight, you are surprised by the ease by which you re-accustom yourself with the mundane boredom you call your life.

In the week that follows your mind still sporadically wanders, though it feels like some distant, half-forgotten memory already when you dish up that semi-funny anecdote to one of your buddies.

And as the weeks progress you kind of not think of the good times anymore at all, amid the deadlines and the dates and the dishes and the whatnot.

Yet when you least expect it, the nostalgia will hit. It will seem insignificant at first, but in no time its ripples will expand in colourful detail and back will come flooding the sights, the sounds, the smells. You will vividly remember how that ti-punch of Neisson rum tasted on the terrace of L’Empératrice after the cloud-burst had emptied the streets. Instantly feel the cool splash of the waterfall on your overheated body once more. You will recall the sun and the fun and kissing the undressed girl on the shore.

And you will thank your lucky stars that these fond memories have hit you in delay.

For had you not been reminded you’d almost forgotten them, you would not have been able to cherish them to the fullest.

 

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149. I invariably picked the back row

I invariably picked the back row, especially in the smaller theatres, the old ones with the red plush seats, tucked away in a has-been nook of town, where they still had a projector that fed on celluloid. That is where the magic happened.

When the beam of light pushed through the hovering dust and hit that big screen, there was nothing finer than the rattle of the dinky machine to keep you company for an hour or two; the soothing sound of film looping its way towards that flickering beam, one frame at a time.

To me, that is what the movies are all about. Not the screen. Not the beam. But the rattle.

And now they’ve all but taken that away from me. The celluloid trade is dead. And with it that dinky machine and its creaky sprockets. Replaced by hard-drives humming to the silent beat of zeroes and ones. A century of tradition wiped out. And those red plush seats with it.

I still go to the cinema. Still pick the back row.

But though the screens have gotten bigger, to me the pictures have gotten small.

 

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123. Swing for the fence

Swing for the fence.

Todd eyed the cross-weaved wire and, ten yard beyond it, the rusty car amid the wieldy knee-high grass. He had tried for months to hit it, but so far had not succeeded. And with summer drawing to a close his window of opportunity was shrinking rapidly.

“Ready?” his friend Jesse asked.

Todd gave a nod. Jesse promptly stepped onto the hill and threw a fastball. It barely grazed the swinging bat and hobbled a couple of feet across the pitch before coming to a disappointing rest.

“Want another go?” Jesse asked.

They were already late for supper so Todd was in for a whooping from his dad come what may.

“Hit it in the same spot,” he told Jesse. “Just a little bit faster.”

“I’ll try,” his friend replied as he made his way back to the hill.

This time the fastball collided with the bat right on the sweet-spot.  Todd let go of the bat and followed the ball in the air, walking after it, then running, as it headed towards the fence.

“Come on!” Todd yelled. “Make it. Make it!”

The ball started dropping. It was certain to clear the fence. Bit would it hit the car? Jesse, who was also running after the ball by now, exchanged glances with Todd. They were both sporting elated smiles.

Years on they’d forget the brand of the car, its colour, even how old they were when it happened.

But they never forgot the sound of that ball denting the hood.

 

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77. With a zoomph

With a zoomph the canister landed in the invoice box. That was curious. The pneumatic post office had for decades been the most used communication tool but nowadays was rendered obsolete by more modern means. In fact, Griffin – the postmaster general – would probably have been made redundant long ago had anyone known he still existed.

 

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