Golden Days of Goldenrod
I was born in Colorado during a winter snow storm a day before spring. Snow suits and mittens and freezing football games peppered my early years. Halloween costumes were covered up by fluffy down jackets and the little league parks were a home away from home. Yet, when I think of my childhood, I think of a beach in Maine- over two thousand miles away from my day to day, in and out physical address.
As a child, I sat in the sand to build castles only to watch the waves wash them away. When the surf took away my masterpiece, I would cry. When it was suggested I move further back away from the tide line to build, I insisted my spot was the best. As a child I could roam freely from the sand to the water to the playground to the arcade to the candy factory. As a child, salt water, sea air and sand fueled my every move. All of this is true; no matter how limited I may have been in a land locked mile high desert.
It isn’t that I do not remember the days I spent growing and exploring in Colorado, I have plenty of memories to encapsulate upon those days. However, when I recall my childhood or someone asks me about my childhood- the very first thought is always York Beach in Maine where my brothers, my mother and I spent a few summers, clearly during an important part of my development. In the memoir of my everyday, my childhood consisted of body surfing, running up to the window of the candy factory to watch the taffy machine, candlepin/stick bowling, and lobster for lunch and my name being pronounced as if two of its letters traded places. My time was marked by a sailor’s bracelet that I put on the first day there and did not remove until its last braided thread fell off of me.
A week ago I was back at York Beach as an adult, with my mother, one of my brothers and my love. It was a gloomy day and the tide was just easing away from high. My brother took off down the beach in the hopes of finding a sand dollar, Mom, having been in a cast, sat on a bench as my love and I waded in the water. We all were in a strange head space on our way to the beach. We knew that the next day was the funeral of a dear Uncle, which is why we were in New England in the first place. Wrapping one’s head around the reverence makes a revisit to childhood a conundrum.
Eventually we regrouped and walked past the arcade, where thirty years ago I put a nickel in a machine and got a “Spooning License”. By the time we made it to the bowling alley, the sun was attempting to be seen. My love bested us all at a game of Candlestick bowling, though she had not ever seen or heard of it minutes before the game began. As we crossed the street toward Goldenrod, (the candy store/factory) the taffy machine had been fired up and we couldn’t have been giddier. We clamored around the window to watch hot liquid get pulled into a hard fluffy pillow that got stretched into a tube and then fed through a machine to cut the taffy to size and individually wrap it up to be purchased.
Moments later we had salt water taffy in our tummies, the sun was shining, the waves were crashing and the big yellow dog on the boardwalk was lavishing us with kisses. Childhood snuck back in, all was shinier, and we felt safe and adventurous. I dipped into the corner gift shop and found a sailor’s bracelet in my grown up size. Could it be that life had come full circle? Had my childhood found a way to wrap around my adulthood? Could they exist together or was it time to leave my childhood behind?
My head continued to swim with these questions as we drove away from the beach. The questions were present as I said goodbye to my Uncle’s physical body. The questions were there as tears filled my eyes. Here I was in the land of my childhood, regardless of what geography dictated, facing death. I couldn’t help but muse about where the time had gone and if I had used it appropriately. More and more I had begun to regress into thinking that it was too late for me, that I had wasted too much time living in the moment, thinking there will always be tomorrow to do that, to see this, to accomplish more. All of these thoughts are dangerous. It may never be too late, yet that doesn’t mean one may not feel as if it is, and I was there. I was there in a hard, bad, negative way. My logical side was trying to comfort the negativity away with optimism. My emotional side was beginning to panic.
There is nothing like a mirror from your youth to set you into a tail spin. I was getting caught up and it was weighing me down tremendously. I loved being a part of the service to honor my Uncle- the first person who taught me that being a free spirit was a valid path. I loved seeing my Mom and my relatives from her side of the family. I loved sharing so much of my cultural heritage and childhood with my love. It was the feeling of all of this love that finally brought me around.
I may not have gotten to every goal in my life yet, I may not be as successful as others, I may not get to do it all, yet I can turn that mirror around and look into it for reassurance, instead of a ticking time bomb. I can carry into my adulthood the magic of York Beach: the sweetness of salt water taffy, the calming sea air, the action inspiring waves, the “never know what you’ll get” attitude from the arcade, the “looking at things a little differently” reminder from the candlestick bowling, my family- no matter the baggage. And now I have a new image to conjure through that mirror- kissing my love on the beach and sharing the little girl in me with the grown up relationship we share.
My adulthood doesn’t have all the answers. Neither did my childhood. My adulthood still cannot pick a destination to settle into, much like my childhood. However, they both have their place and they both hold promise. If ever I forget this again, or simply need a gentle reminder, there is a sailor’s bracelet in my jewelry box that holds the truth.