Sunday, April 06, 2003
Wind Sparked Memories
Wind and Memory
What is it about the wind, that sparks and ignites the memory in such quizzical spontaneity, and transports us instantly back into times' grasp? It happens most often, about this time of year, the wind will arrange and array herself in such a sway and stance, that the good only, that rode upon yesterdays now spent, return instantly, as the wind caresses and tickles the memory of my very soul
I find it odd yet grand, that she incites only good memories of past, for the other type and kind, seem readily available daily, at the mere drop of a hat! Yes, the wind, she sweeps me gently into my youth resting against the backdrop of sunny Southern California, where I was born and raised.
Ah yes, Upland, California! The town sits nestled in grace, at the feet of Mount Baldy, where the San Antonio Mountain range stretches itself out in sprawling unmatched glory, to be viewed by all daily. In those days of old when the smog had not yet risen in such pronounced measure, our living room bay window pointed north, affording us a spectacle of eye daily.
Ah yes, thirty-five miles from LA, if one delighted in dining as well as the stir of the city, then in the fifties, it was a treat to drive in and catch a movie premiere, and as well one would often catch glimpses of the then termed 'movie stars' that littered and glittered the streets, yes then, they walked freely among us, before 'the press' had their final way.
Oh yes, the beach rested due south about thirty-two miles or so, Corona, Laguna, Newport, and La Jolla as well. As a kid it remained my favorite place indeed. We would go as a family when young, and I remember being stapled in awe each time watching my hero and Father, who stood six foot tall, and two hundred and sixty pounds in frame and carriage, race to the first wave and dive into the ocean in such boldness, I just knew he was going to split and divide the Pacific in Moses type fashion and form!
Yes, to this day, I still enter the mouth of the grand Pacific in the same fashion and form, dripping in macho and manly display! Yes, I mused so often on these occasions, as I observed the timid men about, dabbling in hesitance as they gingerly stuck one little paw in at a time as do girls! Not my Dad! And not me either! No, we run to her as a lover of old, and dive in racing form into her heart of good and wet.
Well, I should say I, since he no longer dwells upon the earth, his friend. Still to this day, when the Pacific seduces me, and I fall victim to her beauty and demure allure, I run to her as a child once more, and as a tribute to Daddy, I meet her in like form as he taught me when young. And each time I fling myself into the heart of her essence, I picture my mountain of a man Dad, breaking and splitting the Pacific in two!
Ah, the wind, she is such a faithful lover is she not? Coming often, in order to dispense her magical charm, sparking only memories of good, for it remains her very essence.
The desert so rare, lay thirty miles east of us from Upland, oh yes, not deemed grand by all, but my paradise indeed! I make it proudly now my home, though the region differs somewhat, but desert is still desert, be it California, Arizona or New Mexico, my home now. She remains not the favorite of most, which is how she became my home and very own.
The wind, she only takes us back to good times in recalled excellence, how odd it remains, often the scent of her touch, creates a portrait of a good times, yet the exact picture I recall not always, but the scent yes, is imbued in warm glow good! How mysterious her touch upon those who inhale the mystery and enchantment she provides.
All who know the region of which I do now speak, referring to my birthplace Upland California, are all familiar with the grand and epic Santa Ana winds! Oh how I adore these powerful displays of purging power. As a child I had a scooter with four wheels, I on these special days of wind explosion, would put the harness on my small dog Taffy, my heart companion of youth, and she would serve as my team of horses, as she pulled my transformed scooter chariot into blazed glory and remembrance. I would unzip my jacket, creating a magnificent sail, while easing her load, and we would fly like the wind becoming one, with the grand Santa Ana winds at our backs prompting us on.
The wind, such a rare treat so few seem to enjoy, being encumbered with such bright vanity dictating and deeming it an enemy and assault on their hair freshly just done, but as children we cared not for such things as these, that only held adults as prisoners indeed. Yes, retrained from the beauty that blows strong and free, aesthetics the ruler and supreme dictator here.
Alas, all share not my zeal nor fervor for such things I fear, as the wind raking its power about one - all at once! Whilst displaying her magic untold, yet I shall always be grateful for the memories she holds, she carries them with her as presents in hand, and when she appears and caresses you in her magic sprinkles of wind, she ignites those memories she carries totes and stores, upon us who stand in the face of her power and might.
Alas, those days of young, when a young lad stood tall, and the wind mixed it's very might and essence within him, as he stood racing with her as one, his magnificent dog, Taffy and he.
Rodney Evan Bohen
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