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d39ed44
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"Alecto, have you noticed how downhill this little island is becoming?" Mandy questioned sadly. "All these organic food stores and yoga studios and cellular phone towers... Cape Breton was one of the only places left where it still had that nostalgic small town atmosphere but now... I've only been away for a year, how could things have changed so quickly? I mean, how can the world accept it?" "C'est la vie," said Alecto, looking extremely tired as he stared out the window at the late November maple keys fluttering down from vibrantly red trees lining the streets on either side of the windshield."
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cape-breton
car
cell-phone
change
digital
drive
environmental
life
modernity
nostalgia
nova-scotia
organic
street
technology
tower
windshield
yoga
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Rebecca McNutt |
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068ac97
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The print was an old one made from a negative taken in the 1960's of her parents in Sydney Mines, dancing with thrilled, excited expressions on their faces, in front of a classic car that had been a wedding gift at the time. Her mother's hair, red back then, was held back by a blue handkerchief, and she was dressed in a billowing skirt and white blouse. Her father's denim jeans and faded t-shirt were streaked with coal dust as he held her hands and spun her around in the front yard of their old clapboard house, yellow grass under their feet and a cobalt-blue sky with white clouds drifting above. Mandy could almost feel the late summer breeze as she gazed deeply into the print, watching the flamboyant colors come to life. She hung it up to dry on two wooden clothespins hanging from a string above her.
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arents
canada
coal
coal-mine
dancing
darkroom
kodachrome
memory
nostalgia
photography
poverty
print
retro
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Rebecca McNutt |
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dd125cc
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"Nelle notti d'inverno, mentre faceva cuocere la minestra nel camino, soffriva la nostalgia del caldo del suo retrobottega, il ronzio del sole nei mandorli polverosi, il fischio del treno nel sopore della siesta, proprio come a Macondo soffriva la nostalgia della minestra invernale nel camino, del richiamo del venditore di caffe e delle lodole fugaci della primavera. Stordito da due nostalgie opposte come due specchi, perse il suo meraviglioso senso della irrealta, e alla fine raccomando a tutti che se ne andassero da Macondo, che dimenticassero tutto quello che lui gli aveva insegnato del mondo e del cuore umano, che se ne fottessero di Orazio, e che in qualsiasi luogo si fossero trovati si ricordassero sempre che il passato era menzogna,
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nostalgia
ricordi
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Gabriel García Márquez |
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b70f533
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Walk with me, memory to memory, the shared path, the mutual view. Walk with me. The past lies in wait. It is not behind. It seems to be in front. How else could it trip me as I start to run?
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loss
love
memories
nostalgia
past
reminisce
trip
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Jeanette Winterson |
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1d12a8d
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I am forty. [...] I know who I am. The treachery of possibilities that threaten to swamp a young guy -- I negotiated them. I'm on the other side. The safe side. Why then do I remember the perilous moments with such fond affection?
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identity
memory
nostalgia
youth
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Gregory Maguire |
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61abac3
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I talked yesterday about caring, I care about these moldy old riding gloves. I smile at them flying through the breeze beside me because they have been there for so many years and are so old and so tired and so rotten there is something kind of humorous about them. They have become filled with oil and sweat and dirt and spattered bugs and now when I set them down flat on a table, even when they are not cold, they won't stay flat. They've got a memory of their own. They cost only three dollars and have been restitched so many times it is getting impossible to repair them, yet I take a lot of time and pains to do it anyway because I can't imagine any new pair taking their place. That is impractical, but practicality isn't the whole thing with gloves or with anything else.
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motorcycles
nostalgia
riding
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Robert M. Pirsig |