First, a compilation of last weekend in four instagrams.
Pretty flowers by the water:
And some fireworks:
Last weekend, my mom’s side of the family had a mini-family reunion at Hamilton Lake, Indiana, where one of my uncles has a lake house. The weekend wasn’t terribly eventful, but was a relaxing mix of eating and drinking a lot, swimming in the lake, getting a terrible sunburn from the aforementioned swim (that part wasn’t so relaxing), reminiscing around the dinner table with family members, reading outdoors by the water, and watching one surprisingly potent fireworks display put on by my cousin.
Throughout the weekend, and now thinking back on it, I felt such a powerful sense of nostalgia. Watching the little kids play endless hours of capture the flag and other games of their own invention, I felt nostalgia for my own childhood. I thought of our trips up north when I was a kid – feeding the ducks, water balloon fights instigated by my grandma, spending countless hours swimming, roasting marshmallows for s’mores by the fire, building sandcastles – and felt a powerful notion of wanting to go back, back to a time when I had no responsibilities and relatively few worries.
And as we sat around the dinner table on Saturday night, and I listened to my mother and her brothers tell stories about their own childhoods, I felt an even more powerful pang of nostalgia – that is, if you can call it nostalgia when you feel sentimental about a time and a place and a childhood that wasn’t even your own. Listening to them reminisce, I couldn’t help but construct a version of the neighborhood they grew up in as an idyllic place – where everyone had a bunch of kids, and all those kids played together, forming a motley, close-knit tribe that spanned several blocks, where the kids ran wild outside, hopping on their bikes and riding to wherever something exciting was going on, and where one half of my family got their start and so, in a way, I got mine too.