Nostalgia

I was chatting with a good friend of mine yesterday about the etymology of words and mentioned that I thought the etymology of the words nostalgia was interesting.

Nostalgia comes form the Greek words nostos - meaning 'return home' and algos - meaning 'pain'.

I thought it curious that nostalgia would be considered painful because I always think of being nostalgic as remembering the "good ol' days" which, I interpreted as a happy thing but my good friend C pointed out that it was likely that it didn't mean physical pain and was more likely meant remembering with regret or with longing; which, as it turned out, got me feeling rather, well, nostalgic.

Truth be told, I have been feeling nostalgic all week, possibly due to the looming presence of Easter and C's mention of longing and regret really brought it home for me.

My earliest childhood memory is of me, sitting behind my Mum on the back of her white three-speed bike, me securely strapped into a child seat, as we orbited the subdivision, houses always on the left, trees always on the right. I vaguely remember feeling free as we glided, effortlessly (at least for me) round and round. I wonder if I have felt as free since.

I also remember having a red tricycle with a big front wheel, with big black pedals attached to the front wheel and metal mudguard. I used to turn the bike over and crank a pedal with one had and get the big wheel going at a good clip and then with the other hand, I would drop pebbles down between the wheel and the mud guard and watch them go spitting out the front of the bike. I wonder what happened to that tricycle. I wish I remembered more about my childhood and my years growing up; a lot of it is just a blur or is completely absent.

Two of my favourite memories are of excursions I took with friends. The first one took place about 10 years ago when I convinced a then friend of mine who knew how to sail a boat to take me on a 5 day sailing trip around some of the islands near Victoria, B.C. It was a fantastic trip, very relaxing (well for me at least) and such wonderful weather; the water was calm and the sun was bright and sea breeze allowed us to travel under sail, rather than power, for the majority of the trip. My friend was even brave enough to teach me how to steer and let me sail from time to time, what a wonderful adventure - I had never sailed before - and sadly, I have never sailed since.

The second was a camping trip I took with another friend of mine about three years ago. I hadn't camped since I was a kid and I enjoyed every minute of it - except for the 60 minutes I spent one morning trying to light a fire - I'm sure my camping companion was less than impressed when I woke them up to start the fire for me. My absolute favourite part of the trip was when we rented a canoe and set off to paddle to the next lake. Theoretically, the four or five lakes in the area are linked by rivers, so we assumed that we could paddle from one to another. So the intrepid pair that we are, we set off in the general direction of the next lake buoyed up by the belief that we could make it to the other lake and back. As we approached the edge of the lake, it became apparent, that it wasn't a shoreline as much as it was an over abundance of lake grasses and the like, giving the dual illusion: from a distance, a shoreline; closer in, safe passage. We found a narrow channel (probably how the beavers swim about in the aquatic thicket) and bravely pressed on.

After numerous navigational alterations (still following beaver byways) and one or two boggy portages, our calm & serene scenic canoe trip had taken on the feel of a personal vendetta, us versus nature, like the explorers of old; we were determined to find the mouth of the next lake. But after finding myself hip deep in water I expected to be ankle deep, and slowly sinking into the boggy “lake bottom” (I use the term lake rather loosely at this stage in our quest) our steadfast belief that we could navigate to the next lake was beginning to waver. Once our laughter subsided, saner heads prevailed, and we retraced (for the most part) our path back out of the boggy thicket that hid the entrance to the next lake and headed back towards the open water of our lake of origin.

I had a wonderful time on that camping trip and sadly, I haven’t camped since. I hope that I can get out camping this year, if not with my stalwart canoeing companion; then maybe with another friend who will be prepared to have other adventures with me.

Not long after that camping trip, I spent a week in Jasper with my dog, Beau. I rented a small cabin and went hiking. Beau, being a reasonably old dog by then, was not as keen on hiking as he had been in his youth and after about an hour (or less) he didn’t want to walk anymore, so I picked him up and put him in my backpack, his little furry head sticking out over my shoulder and we happily hiked on (he ain’t heavy, he’s my doggie).

I’ve been missing Beau recently, it used to be just seeing Maltese that would get me upset, but now, it seems to be anytime I see a happy dog, I think of Beau and wish my life was not a dogless one.

Ok, I didn’t expect this trip down memory lane to lead to the doghouse. I guess that’s nostalgia for you, sometimes more algos than you’re prepared for.

It’s funny how the more I think about the etymology of nostalgia, the more truth I find in its origin. Even my happiest memories are tinged with longing. I suppose that’s just the way of things.

I look forward to looking back on this part of my life and remembering the friends and adventures that made 2009 a year full of fun, humour and adventure.