There are certain streets that we frequently drive that cause my husband to say, almost automatically, “Just like the old country.” Now when you consider that he has lived the last fifty five years of his long life in the United States, you have to wonder about the durability and the crispness of this memory. What is the deeply-embedded image these streets call up? They all have one, shared characteristic; they are all tree lined with graceful branches shading the streets. He can’t tell me where the inner call lies, so solidly a part of him it is.
Playful boyhood....
Perhaps it harkens back to a time of playful boyhood in Romania before Europe exploded into WWII and safe boundaries were eradicated. Perhaps it was the place of safety that was never supposed to change. I know the onset of the war tore his life apart. He speaks of it easily but is never morbid about it. In fact he loves his adopted country, even as it continues to be a work in progress. To him the United States is still an unruly adolescent while the many centuries of civilization in the European hemisphere give it art and literature but also encrusted ways and long-standing hatreds.
A place of innocence...
Some of us were lucky enough to grow up in a place of innocence, where we were watched over and secured, where love was the norm and abuses had no part. Perhaps the overarching trees along sun-dappled streets reel my loved one back to this brief, innocent time in his life, something long gone but still cherished. Many of us have an “old country” memory of sorts in us, a time that was never supposed to change but did eventually change forever. We grew up; we grew older; we earned gains and also losses, but the preciousness of that shining time remains deep within us, surfacing sometimes at the most unlooked-for moments. These may not appear as tree-lined streets, but they may be an old song, a favorite food, or a beloved ritual. Past and present are fused briefly during these times, and they remind us of how complex we really are.
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It reminded me of my mom and I making a trip to the Azores Islands where her parents came from. We had heard my grandparents stories about the island they grew up on and its lovely features that we felt like we had been there before. We had a wonderful time. Met cousins we didn't know we had who shared wonderful stories from the past they remembered. There came a sense of oneness with the past and present.
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