Tag: Summer of '72
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Tempus Fugit: or, Longing for All My Yesterdays in the Summer of ’22
Time’s Relentless March “It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.” ― Ally Condie, Matched As August 2022 reaches the two-thirds of the month mark and meteorological fall waits in the seasonal wings, my thoughts turn once again to the past, especially to the…
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Tempus Fugit – August of 1972 Edition: The End of Summer Vacation is Nigh & Back-to-School Angst
Tempus Fugit “I blinked my eyes and in an instant, decades had passed.” ― John Mark Green, Taste the Wild Wonder: Poems Fifty years ago this month, my mom, my older half-sister Vicky (who had recently rejoined us after a brief but disastrous attempt to live with our maternal grandaunt Gabriela and stay in Bogota),…
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Tempus Fugit – 1972 Edition, or: Musings on the Ephemeral, Imperfect, and Malleable Nature of Memory
“Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.” ― Guy de Maupassant As the Dog Days of Summer 2022 near their finale – they began on Sunday, July 3, and will end on Thursday – I am struck by the concepts of memory, how…
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Tempus Fugit, Summer of 1972 Edition: Living in the ‘Here and Now’ in Sunny, Humid South Florida
“Time doesn’t really ‘march on’. It tends to tip-toe. There’s no parade. No stomping of boots to alert you to its passing. One day, you turn around and it is gone.” ― Heather Babcock This summer – this stiflingly hot, oft sad and depressing, and quite insane Summer of ’22 – is both my 59th…
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Tempus Fugit: July 1972, or: More Fragmented Memories from 50 Summers Ago
“Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.”― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones 50 summers ago, I was almost nine-and-a-half years old and getting accustomed to living in the hot, humid, and often rainy conditions in Miami after living for six years in the colder climate of Bogota, Colombia, a huge metropolis…
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Tempus Fugit: July of 1972, or: Things I Remember from Midsummer of ’72
Tempus Fugit. It’s hard to believe, but 50 Julys ago, I was a nine-year-old boy, living in South Florida with my widowed mother in a small apartment in Sweetwater far removed from the lifestyle – and the family we left behind – we had enjoyed in Bogota, Colombia. Four months earlier, less than a week…
A Certain Point of View, Too 