Recollection

The college campus was deserted yesterday. I took my usual lunch hour walk there. Gone were the hordes of students. Home or elsewhere for the Thanksgiving holiday. Anywhere but on that lovely, tree-filled campus with the 200-year-old buildings, shaded walks, and other-worldly ambience.

I stumble into a walkway smack into a huge casia shrub, loaded with intensely bright, yellow flowers, so brilliant the sun seems to reside in them and illuminate the petals with some kind of golden afterglow. I look closely at this autumn flower, blooming all over the old city now along fences, alleys, in back yards and within cloistered and walled-off gardens in the historic district.

I continue to be amazed at how empty this usually bustling place is. As if I should be surprised or something.

I walk to my favorite spot in the garden in back of the student center. I am the only one present as I sit down next to the goldfish pond waterfall that sounds exactly like a little stream over rocks and boulders in the mountains. A pleasant illusion, and so yet so real, too.

The sky above me is intensely blue. A mockingbird quietly perches on a nearby branch. No song fluttters forth. It is still in the middle of the city. Deserted and quiet.

I pull a dessert croissant out of a bag and eat it while jotting down snippets of notes on a pad of paper. It’s cool at last after a warmth of mid-November days.

My thoughts drift here and there, focusing on a college course I took almost 30 years ago. A young man of 20 at that time, studying 19th century British literature, I would likely have been found in just such a deserted place, lost in my thoughts on the banks of the little bayou near campus. The sun warming my face. An airplane droning by overhead. A book lying opened but unread beside me as I lay in the grass. Alone but unhappy in a deep-down place from which I was trying to emerge into some metaphorical light of day.

Many years later I wonder who that person has become, and I realize don’t know him anymore. I just remember him.

How wonderful…yellow flowers all over the old city! Your description here is like a painting, I can see it all! I am happy with the yellow and golden trees in my backyard. When I sit on my desk, in front of the window it is as if I look at a beautiful Atumn painting. It enlightens my day, but I would love to have some yellow flowers around in the yard and in the city. Happy Thanksgiving! [Edel

Places that are usually bustling and crowded seem almost surreal when deserted don’t they? Happy Thanksgiving my friend.

I well remember the young girl…I feel her presence occassionally – when she peeks through my eyes. She wonders how she managed to make it this far.

And now I must find the pictures of those beautiful flowers and hope and pray and cross the strands of my hair into a braid, holding my breath to see if I have a clear photo of those petals of sunshine…What images you bring up here from my memory of moments long ago, wandering the walkways of UCLA…xxoo,

Bramble

November 22, 2001

I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving Oswego!

The same, hoping you have a Happy Thanksgiving.

A beautiful prtrait painted with your words. Evoking memories and thoughts. I never tire of your beautiful work. Happy Thanksgivng my friend!!

We all wonder how we came to this point in our lives, my dear friend. Like you, I only remember who I was once but I think I like myself better now than I did 20 years ago! Happy Thanksgiving, Oswego, to you and yours!

I’d like to thank that young man for allowing you to become the lovely human being you are today. Have a beautiful Thanksgiving, Oswego.

Great for you to enjoy a moment of tranquility in such a normally hectic place … I wonder sometimes, if we really change over the years, or it’s only our perspective that changes through experience. Either way, I hope you enjoy your day of thankfullness!

Beautiful, peaceful days. Can we ask for anymore?Just heard Sinatra sing “bewitched, bothered and bewildered”. Listening to old foogies’ staion and I know all the songs.I guess I got old while I wasn’t paying attention.Happy Thanksgiving.

An interesting thought and a beautiful piece of writing, Oswego. I’d say more if I could articulate the thoughts, but they are still mulling around and haven’t decided where to settle.

Losing yourselves, so to speak.

Looking up

Your recollection piece aroused a few of my own. While visiting my Air Force son in England we toured some historic sites. Cambridge campus was a true step back in time. I felt like the curtains of history parted, and now was then. We strolled the courtyards and I felt the spirit of Professors of the past,lingering near their home.

Yes, dear Oswego, I find myself wondering aboutthe 23 yr old me.I thought I could find a life any minute, just around the corner. I will write soon. Cait

without a doubt, another power and amazing entry my the great OSWEGO! i cant wait to be in your shoes in 30 years, and re-describe myself and look at myself in a way that i never thought possible. what will i say? where will i be? where will he be? have a GREAT TURKEY DAY! *gobble gobble!*

it is interesting to go down paths we once walked as youths and find ourselves still there. What would the book have been? It is also interesting having the college student out of her environment and back in mine!

This loneliness, the unknowingness! Without it, we might stop searching, but one can’t say that would be good. Gypsy Song

A college campus is a beautiful place, dear to my heart–these places dedicated to thought and learning.

I’m usually found in the secluded spots as well

We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving here. But hope you had a nice celebration, my friend. You don’t know the young boy you have been? You must have changes a lot..

Willy & Wilma

November 25, 2001

WebWoman

November 26, 2001

Sent here by Forever in Motion, I remember that you dropped me my first ever note on OD.