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Such a weird feeling to be here in a place that was once so familiar and is now so foreign. Just walking outside and smelling the autumn air here can take me back, but in a good way. Well, mostly. So odd to re-inhabit my young self thru all of these memories but to be here in my 56-year-old self (and how the heck did that happen?) My younger self seems more real sometimes, compared to the second half of my life so far. Well, until I think about the angst and suffering over ridiculously juvenile issues compared to now, ok never mind. (Ahhh, I think, if I knew then what I know now dot dot dot. )
Before I took her to the airport, my sister and I visited some of our old haunts, drove thru our middle class suburban neighborhood and looked at our old house. It used to seem so huge. It's not. And we reminisced. Kind of a bitter sweet exercise. All of those echoes of pathos; and laughter and the intensity of young love and everlasting friendships (we thought) and heartache and doubt and, well you get the picture.
George Bernard Shaw said, Ah, the pity youth is wasted on the young.  Love that!