While driving to a former college friend’s apartment after work yesterday (the college is former, not the friend) I went passed my elder brother’s old apartment complex and as I drove by I realized just how incredibly nostalgic that area is for me. Looking around I was filled with a warm, happy feeling and I came to the conclusion that this area represented the only period in my life that I honestly would like to go back and revisit.
It was only between two and three years ago that he lived here alone, in a one bed room apartment. I lived then, as I do now, about and hour’s drive north. For an entire year, maybe year and a half, I would drive down at least twice a month and we would simply hang out at his place watching movies, playing video games, eating pizza, discussing literature, all of the things we so often do. It was the first time in my life that I had a real sense of independence (no need to ruin that feeling with the reality that my parents were still paying for my rent at the time, though come to think of it I certainly felt more independent then than I do now, even though I really am independent now. Go figure). I imagine that it was that feeling combined with the general lack of real responsibility that made it such a pleasant time.
As I drove passed I saw the grassy area we would walk through in the middle of the night to pick up a pizza from the nearby Hungry Howie’s (the same grassy area that had a statistically improbable number of golf balls in it every time we went through. On one trip alone we could expect to pick up at least one to two dozen of them), the Bennigan’s across the street that had all of those cute waitresses, and the Meijer where we would pick up more Mt. Dew at 3 in the morning.
I am almost worried that I am planning on moving to that same area, perhaps even the same complex, by the end of the year. I chose the area because it is the most convenient for my job as well as still being near what could ostensibly be called a city. Now I am worried that by living there on my own I could very well taint that nostalgic feeling, but then it might be nice to live somewhere where I have this sort of connection.
So, do you have actual specific locations that are nostalgic for you? If so why?
When I go back to DC I often feel very nostalgic the whole time. It’s where I went out of college; first real job, first apartment. The building I lived in was a shithole and has since been condemned and boarded up but the memories (not good ones) are fresh. My friends there are wonderful and I am reminded of the years we have enjoyed each other’s company at various places throughout DC.
I haven’t been back to my hometown for half my life but I can’t imagine the level of nostalgia I would feel there!
And any basement that smells like my childhood one sends me into a reverie. Musty turpentine, mmmm!
From childhood through my 20s, my grandparents owned a small vacation cottage in south central Wisconsin. It was on a small piece of land on the shore of a small lake where we could swim, canoe, and fish. It was near the small towns of Lodi and Poynette, and about halfway between Madison and the Dells.
When I was little, we would spend at least a couple of weeks there every summer. Sometimes we’d take the car ferry across the Wisconsin River to Baraboo to go to the Circus World Museum, and sometimes we would go to the Dells and visit Storybook Land, Fort Dells amusement park, and Deer Park petting zoo. We also often visited a state conservation center that had a small zoo with examples of local wildlife in cages (kind of sad), a big statue of Paul Bunyan, and nature trails through the woods.
We would go into Lodi and feed the mallard ducks that lived on the creek under the bridge in the middle of town, and shop in the local dimestore. Mostly, though, we would just hang out at the cottage, in the fresh air and sunshine, which always seemed fresher and sunnier than at home.
Eventually, my mother and her sister, who inherited the place, had to sell it because it cost too much to keep. I haven’t been back in at least 15 years, but that area of Wisconsin will always be one of my favorite places in the world.
None. I completely lack any nostalgia and I’m actually a bit impatient with the whole concept.
I recently went with my Hubby to his childhood hometown. We drove around and looked at his old house, his school, and where his friends lived. I didn’t mind going, but it’s sort of unfathomable to me. I have utterly no interest in seeing locations where I used to live or where I went to school.
My family and I used to vacation there together every year when I was young. This was before the area was really well -known and became the mega-tourist destination that it is now. Just some sleepy beach cottages, huge sandy beaches, and quiet ocean at night. When I go down there now and see a salt-ridden cottage falling into the ocean I know one more part of that place is lost.
Also, my elementary school.
Gosh it seems so long ago, but it was a small school and every kid you went to kindergarden with ended up in your 6th grade class, as well. Strange because now I probably keep in contact with less than 4 people from that time in my life but at the time i knew every single soul in that school. I’ve walked through it recently and the absolute rush of memories that comes back just by standing inside and smelling the hallways and looking up at the tall ceiling in the auditorium (something I did often during boring assemblies) is overpowering. It almost chokes me up as it reminds me of a time when I was so safe and innocent. Things aren’t bad now, but times like that I wish I was back in my little twin bed hugging my Raggedy Ann doll listening to my dad snore in the next room :).
Parts of Baltimore can make me feel kind of nostalgic, as can downtown Annapolis. I spent way too much time in various bars in those towns in my 20s. One Baltimore bar in particular is a huge nostalgia place for me: I haven’t been to it in years, but I just know that whenever I walk through the door again I’ll immediately feel at home.
Philly makes me nostalgic for my college days, and of course so does the school’s suburban campus and its surrounding little towns (no matter where I live, every now and then I’ll hear someone mention King of Prussia … it always makes me go “aww!” inside).
North Jersey makes me think of visiting my maternal grandparents when I was a kid. My family moved a lot, but those grandparents lived in the same house from when my mom was little until a few years ago, when Grandpa had to go to a retirement home (Grandma died a few years before that). So their house was the constant while I was growing up. I still have cousins in Jersey (but way up north, near the NY state line), and whenever I visit I always take a detour off Rt. 17 to drive through the town where my grandparents lived.
I have never been a nostalgic person myself. I own exactly two photographs, do not retain a single non-practical gift ever given to me, and I generally feel absolutely no nostalgia towards any places from my childhood. I suppose that is why I found it to be so oddly notable that I actually felt nostalgic about this specific location.
I think that people who are nostalgic and people who are not nostalgic are the source of all of the conflicts and wars through the ages.
I think these two kinds of people are as different as people can be at their cores.
I am nostalgic for my father’s grocery, feed and seed store in a small town in the South. It was downtown on Main Street for thirty-six years. On Saturdaynights in the forties and early fifties, I would go to the movie with my sister and then walk back up to the store.
When I was very little, I would go to sleep on top of the bread rack until closing time. Farmers would gather around a stove in the back and sometimes I would sit with them. Sometimes I had to make the dark trip downstair to the bathroom. My mother would go with me, but I was still afraid that the Nazis would get me.
Back upstairs in the light, I could smell the freshly spliced bologna and know that someone was having a sandwich. But my favorite snacks were over by the door on the “Tom’s” shelves. They held not only the advertised peanuts and chips, but also nickle and dime candy bars and Double Bubble. With Daddy’s permission, I could take my pick and then sit in the front window by the coffee grinder and watch my very safe and sure world go by.
The building is still there among the others of the town, but like most of the others, it’s been closed for a long time.
Cohasset, Massachusetts, where my sisters and I used to go every summer when we were children to stay with our paternal grandparents, who lived in a really lovely house overlooking an inlet called Little Harbor. Great days - all we had to do was show up and be showered with attention. Regrettably, the house has passed out of family ownership. Perhaps it’s just as well, as I understand that the view over Little Harbor now includes a number of Mcmansions.
In Spanish there are two words for nostalgia. “Nostalgia” and “morriña” (which comes from Galego). When i was staying in Ireland, age 15, we had a revelation: “nostalgia” is when Gramps starts saying that everything was better Way Back When (you mean, everything like losing your sister when she was 12 or your daughter at age 3, both to infections that are “no sweat” nowadays?), whereas “morriña” is what you get when you miss you mother’s cooking or some treat you can only get back home.
The Way Back When is irreal and incapturable; Mom’s Cooking is real as long as she’s alive and well.
I don’t miss any “old times” a lot, not much of a nostalgic person - but BBQ used to be impossible to get in Spain. I’m so happy I found a takeout place that does decentish BBQ! Not the best I’ve ever had but it helps drive my Southern Morriña away
I’m not in full-tilt nostalgic mode, but there are some memories that put me in a happy place. I dread the day my dad dies and I have to deal with the possibility of my childhood home going on the market. I’m hoping my sister will keep it, since she was born there and will never be able to afford a house on her own.
When my brother and I were growing up, my family would take a vacation every year. Usually about a week. We spent many years at Buckhorn Lake State Park. The drive wasn’t bad, it wasn’t expensive and there was plenty to do so we went there by default for many many years. IME, it’s one of the most beautiful places on earth. In any event, it got so the park people who worked there remembered us year after year - they knew when to expect the *** family and they’d have special treats for my brother and I waiting. I’ts a wonderful memory.
When my parents went away to Phoenix for Thanksgiving one year (it was the very first Thanksgiving I would not have spent with my parents so I was freaked) I drove all night long to go back there - got myself a room and spent Thanksgiving with the people at the lodge. They even remembered my family when I reminded them of the name. It was kinda like coming home…
