Two Years

On Nostalgia and the Dominos Time Machine

Two years, man. Dad sent me the photo memories, and they came rushing back. The iced over snow crunching as we loaded the twenty six foot truck. It seemed to take up a lane and half. Well, I guess that’s a driver issue, but…

There was the last pizza, official food of family moving day, eating it, sitting without a table. The walls of the living room echoed as if to say “I’m a pretend room right now, and belong to nobody. My paint is fragile, I can’t bear to see you go, so don’t scuff the fresh coat, or I might cry.”

(And they say walls can’t talk.)

I bet if the “new” guy listens late at night, paying particular attention to the corner near where the piano used to be, he could hear an echo of the softest rustle of cardboard, a closing pizza box, and four sets of feet walking out the door.

Monday marked two years since I moved.

Nostalgia is a funny thing. I can’t figure it out. The topic came up last week in Richmond, while doing a writing workshop with some senior friends. Briefly. Like “the sudden breeze to ruffle the surface of a forgotten summer lake”.

Have you ever walked into a big box store in a distant town, and sworn that you’d exit into your neighborhood once you got out if aisle 43? (It’s especially convincing when the floor plan is a mirror image.)

Maybe Dominos Pizza is a time machine, and next time I place an order here in Rustburg, I could add the cheesy bread, the two liter coke, and a spot in the empty living room two years ago. For another $4.99, I could go to any moving meal I’d ever helped with.

I wonder what I’d say. Would I help my six-year old self carry that heavy box of nails, or laugh with a friend I’ve forgotten about for a decade? What would you say if you could go back for an hour?

But…I never buy the cheesy bread and two liter coke option anyway.

The coffee is on, the farmer’s market eggs are boiled, and a stiff wind has blown the rain away. The sun is taking his time to vault the mountain, but the blue sky has an early start. I’m off to put the finishing touches on a talk about astrophysics for the high school kids at their astronomy club today. I also tried to shave my neck with a new electric razor. It’s hard to say if the red welt or the lack of qualifications will be a bigger issue with them, but I suspect it’ll be the unknown third thing that causes the funniest story. What’s Mike say? It’s the punch you don’t see coming…

Before that, it’ll be a lively “parlor discussion” with another group of senior friends at their retirement community about how my flat earth buddies pointed out to me that I was approaching science like a religion (in the bad sense of the word), and how that’s not great.

And like it was planned, two years after the move, I’ll be the emcee at the Dream On Summit here in town this Saturday. They’re bringing in a bunch of cool speakers, and I get to introduce them. PUMPED! If you’re local, check it out here and buy yourself a ticket. (They’ve got some great discounts going on right now.) I bought some new shoes for it last night, and met a dude named Petefish Petefish. The German to English translation gave him the ultimate name should he make a new wave band.

Thanks to him, my shoes match. I’m ready to rock.

What an adventure it’s been. What an adventure it continues to be. I’m glad we get to walk it together.