Old Books, Old Friends

Balladiers seem to enjoy composing works that profess to address realities with which they have no experience.

For example Paul Simon composed these poignant lines:

"Old friends, old friends

Sat on their park bench like bookends

Old friends, memory brushes the same years . . .

Time it was,

And what a time it was

It was . . .

A time of innocence

A time of confidences . . .

How terribly strange to be 70."

-Written at the tender age of 26, with nary an inkling of what it meant to be 70.

James Taylor, who joins me in our 76th year, penned this advice:

"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." 

-Written almost 35 years ago, when he had barely turned his back on his 30s.

One might be tempted to write off these uninformed musings, regarding some fictional seventh decade, as the trivial scribblings of young poets. But as both proved in their later works, there was an inclination to insight in these two writers as they touched on the mystery and the allure of life in maturity.

And, for me, a large part of that mystery and allure lies in the wonder of memory - a statement that will, most likely, reduce both my wife and my sister to gales of hysterical laughter. But let me clarify, I'm not talking about the kind of memory that would allow me to recall "that lovely restaurant in Venice where we had the squid ink pasta." Remember the dish, but the when and where escapes me. 

Nor can I recall specifics of the trip to Disneyland in the mid-1950s, except that they closed the park because it had reached capacity. Sorry ladies, I just draw blanks there. That doesn't mean that the original experience wasn't significant, it's just that the details may be a touch fuzzy.

But, strangely perhaps, I can recall "pretty near" just about every book I have ever read. And more than that, I can fairly clearly recall what was going on in my life when I first read them. So the books serve as some sort of mnemonic aid. I have no explanation for this phenomenon, except perhaps as some existential compensation for my inability to recall the trip to "that restaurant we went to twice last month."

But there is an important aspect to this wrinkle of literary memory. To jump back to the songsters, Gordon Lightfoot penned these two lines in his 1970 song "If You Could Read My Mind":

"And you won't read that book again

Because the ending's just too hard to take."

Well, to stand that notion on its head, I often read old books again, specifically because the ending is joyful, peaceful, comforting. The bad guys get caught, the good guy gets the girl, the world is saved from the evil genius, the dog finds its way home, and the lovers ride off into the sunset. And I can sleep.

So to crib a rhyme from Paul Simon - delightfully now in his 83rd year:

"Old friends, stand on my bookshelf

'Tween bookends.

Stories that lull me to sleep,

Fall from the pages,

And the sages

Of these old friends."