Tuesday Scribblings

The September 12th edition of thoughts & commentary on seemingly random things

In case you missed last week, I started Tuesday Scribblings: thoughts & commentary on the personal, regional, and global events and stories that are rattling around in my brain. Beginning this week, I’ll have a special, paid-subscribers-only section at the end featuring more personal stories.

I read this interview with illustrator Roz Chast and what she wrote about moving out of the city and into the suburbs was funny, but my city living experiences and that of someone who lived in New York City are quite different. Living in downtown Sacramento was amazing in many ways, because I could walk to at least 4 different coffee shops, tons of great restaurants and shopping districts, and the Capitol Rose Garden, which was stunning to walk through when the roses were in bloom. When I lived in West Baltimore, I could walk across the street to Druid Hill Park, one of the largest landscaped city parks, but I had to dodge traffic to get there, and accessibility to the grocery store or restaurants was limited. Where I live now is very car-centric, but if the weather is decent I can walk to Main Street, which is the most fun when there’s a festival going on.

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Nothing hits the reset button for me quite like traveling, so I’m glad to finally be heading out of town for a few days. That moment when I walk back into my home after time away is always one where I see things differently: I’m ready to re-organize my workspace, I realize it’s time to replace a piece of equipment that’s served its purpose, or I feel inclined to revisit a project I’ve been avoiding.

I’ve packed my resistance bands and loop so that I can get in some strength training while I’m away. Since starting a regular exercise habit in spring 2020, I’m more inclined to exercise when I’m not at home. Where I’ll be staying is not conducive to long walks for exercise, so I’ll work on strength training instead—which is good for women of a certain age, or so I keep reading.

Yellow and brown leaves on concrete. Photo by Leeloo Thefirst.

Something about the final days of summer leading into fall stir up all sorts of memories for me. Maybe it’s seeing a singular leaf fall onto the sidewalk in front of me as I’m walking, or catching a brief whiff of that earthy, smoky-musty scent I associate with autumn (if there’s a word for that, like how petrichor describes the smell of rainfall after a dry spell, I’d love to know it). It’s easier to slip into what writer Aimée Lutkin calls a nostalgia loop:

What is a nostalgia loop? Adjacent to the sensation of déjà vu, the nostalgia loop is a series of events that make you realize your life doesn’t always progress forwards. Sometimes, the same themes and characters and experiences are happening to you again and again, like a personal Groundhog’s Day set years apart.

My late summer/early autumn nostalgia loop includes scenes of going back to school, walking around the neighborhood with Deena, sitting on the quad listening to my Walkman between classes at GWU, and Momcat’s final 30 days. As I listen to the New Order album that was on repeat during my college years, I think about what Lutkin says about this, too.

Sometimes when things have changed irrevocably, you cosplay the past; when you were young, when the people you loved were alive, when the world still seemed like a place where safety and sense were possible. 

Over the last few weeks, I’ve gotten caught in a new nostalgia loop: the taste of my coffee or the scent of a homecooked meal calls me back to a moment that I cannot quite remember, but it reminds me of the feeling of falling in love with someone for the first time.