Amargue: those days are gone

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, 1983.

I want to live every moment we had together over again. There is a quality that threads through my recollections that I believe is captured in this photograph from a sunny day in Mexico. Some quality of a wish I had when I was very young, when I heard great love songs like "She Loves You", "If I Fell", and "I Should Have Known Better", and I came to believe that someday I might fall in love with a special girl who would love me too. And I wished for it, dreamed of it down deep in my heart, and hoped it would come true. That the music would come true. Who was she, where would we be, what would it actually be like once we found each other? As unsure and difficult as our long relationship was, ours' was the one I wished for. Despite all the trouble, a blessing. This I can see today.

Lost in my memories, a true indulgence. But in my memories are all the boring times, the rejected times, the deceitful times, the ambivalent times, the painful and hurtful times. I cannot be reminded of every aspect in every recollection, but today I can see out over all of it and know the meaningful and endearing times came about because of all the contingent and consequential times that preceded and surrounded them. They support and intertwine each other. Today I can see that it only ever can be that way, always in a context, always subjective, and always observation; always tempered.


Photography is technical. Looking at photographs, listening to recorded voices, holding a keepsake from some special day, some special moment — that's magical. When I see our son running in the backyard, I can feel the cool Easter morning air and recall the warmth of the sweatshirt. I can feel her at the camera. I can remember the night before, her plans for the fun in the morning, her calm confidence in the delight of orchestrating and enjoying these simple, special moments. I can recall her expressions, her demeanor, her unique life-force moving in her style between the kitchen counter and the dining room table. Colorful eggs, a basket with peeps, an open package of peeps on top of the fridge she would pick from when she walked by. She liked them stale and chewy. That's not in the photograph, that's recorded in my heart, my mind, in my soul if there is such a thing.


I can feel her love, standing in the driveway, saying "Let me take your picture". I can feel it in the joy of his eyes. I happened to be in that neighborhood today and drove by our old house. The street is the same but the house has been remodeled beyond recognition. The pink deck is absorbed into the extended living room, the fireplace is gone. The front yard and the sidewalk remain. Those days are gone, the photographs remain. My memories, too, come and go.

The smell of the summer air, I could smell it in the late afternoon sun on the trees and the grass. The creek by the side of the road, the river in the distance. I want to live every moment we've had together over again. Amargue: those days are gone, a bitter taste, a love song played over again.