COPYRIGHT 2008-2009 by Jamie Dedes. All rights reserved. This same copyright applies to Musing By Moonlight.
EDITORS: For permissions contact Jamie Dedes at midnightwriter@ymail.com
Thank you for visiting Brooklyn Memories Still Green.
No matter which home town is yours, if you haven’t been home for over thirty-years and you never wanted to leave in the first place, then your memories have all the combined intensity of childhood fascination and adult longing. Home is then almost all about mythology. And what is wrong with that?
Thomas Wolfe has told us, “You can’t go home again.” That’s not true: Home, just the way I knew it, lives on in my mind and heart. When my son was young, I was conscious of the need to create memories for him on which to draw for strength as an adult, a place to go to during the inevitable dark times. I don’t know if I succeeded or not. I don’t know if my own mother consciously set about doing the same thing for me. I do know that my memories of life in Brooklyn strengthen me and make me smile. Life wasn’t perfect. The times weren’t perfect. As a family, we weren’t perfect. But Brooklyn was perfect, even more so because of it’s juxtaposition to Manhattan. As a child, it always seemed to me that leaving Brooklyn for a trip to “the city” was like leaving Eden for Oz, leaving behind mythology and embracing magic. Going home for me encompasses both Eden and Oz.
Brooklyn, In Memory Still Green is total self-indulgence, pure re-creation. I come attached to visible means of life support and, while it would not be impossible to visit Brooklyn, it’s improbabe that I will be able to do so. With the help of my laptop, I indulge in whimsical visits from the comfort and convenience of my room in Menlo Park, California, 3,000 miles from that little bit of heaven I still call home. If the site resonates for a few visitors and they come back and back again for the pleasure of it, that would be wonderful. If not, this is the winter of my life to paraphrase William Blake, a time for me to enjoy.
And so it is . . . And so I am . . .
Jamie Dedes
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