I remember mama…I think.
I have kitty memories. Memories of rejection, of being on streets I did not know, of having to find food, fend off other kitties, fight for my survival. But I also have other sweet memories of finding a welcoming dish of tuna, of a soft voice calling, “Kitty, kitty, kitty. Come here little cutie poo, I won’t hurt you.” And that voice remains in my nostalgia bank where I store the sweet memories of my limited little kitty life.
There are those who reject nostalgia as maudlin, as living in the past, as regret for what was or was not instead of joy for the present, but mama read me this morning a wonderful article on why nostalgia is healthy. Good for the soul. Literally warming to the body (when one is being nostalgic, the anthro’s body literally heats up! As does mine, I can tell you.)
And I’m listening with great interest to Dr. Constantine Sedikides, the psychologist who studied nostalgia and found that people who are afraid of intimacy sometimes have trouble handling memories and reminiscing. And when nostalgia becomes neurotic, as when anything one overdoes, it is not that good for you, but for most, he says, it should be “a regular exercise.” (Article by John Tierney-International Herald Tribune) Mama says that she loves meeting friends she knew in the past and going over particular moments that made them both laugh or cry, but she says her friendships are enhanced by exchanging nostalgic views. I certainly think differently now from what I thought as a tiny, squealing kitten! I like looking over the paths I’ve chosen and gleaning information from that nostalgic review.
I love thinking about my past enjoyment of my String Game and my last, delicious dish of Weight-Watcher’s tuna (which mama inadvertently bought for papa’s and her lunch, from which I benefited beyond my dreams), and my sleepy, stretching moments just after I wake up from between mama’s knees and then go over and give her a little nudge with my nose and pull her hair, just a bit, so that we can “hunt” together. I love the nostalgia of those times.
And if you are a writer, mama says, your best tools are memories of how the world looked to you at different moments in your life—the bright, newness of childhood, the growing pains of adolescence and then the limitless choices in adulthood of where you want to go or what you wish to become and how you will find and choose the road you need for this journey.
I am nostalgic at least once a week, maybe more, and sometimes I think of my garden and get a little sad, but just thinking about it being there and that I was in it and will be again takes my sadness away.
When mama and papa go out, they put on classical music from the Auditorium, which is one of the choices on the radio channel of our TV. I hear Dvorak’s New World Symphony and my kitty tears flow and flow and my little body gets warm and lovely and I remember all the wonderful music I have heard in the past (even if I do remember, too, that the anthros are abandoning me again, the s…ts!) but then they come home again and I remember how nice it is when they are snuggling me and opening cans of good things and I remember how nice it will be to take my kitty nap once again. Life is good, and past life can contribute to the richness of the present.
Well, that’s enough philosophy for today.
I smell Weight-Watcher’s and nostalgia has taken over….
