What topic is one the best expert upon? A base of experience based knowledge that is ingrained what produces reliable information concerning same without really having to conduct research? One’s family and the era of their interaction with same, say a lot about generations that now have recently past that the official publicly broadcast doctrinaire versions pretending complete knowledge of same completely ignore as needlessly inconsequential or not useful to their own ultimate goals. The recent final physical absence of the last of my own parents leaves me ensconced in their last place of residence chock full of their most valued and trivial of artifacts. An environment that has since been emotionally transfigured for me into a family museum by virtue of the gulf of their physical presence. The experience of currently residing here leaving me with some unexpected conclusions that I could have never come to while they were still living. Boxes of buttons, knick-knacks, junk jewelry, and dusty gifts in glass cabinets all speaking in a language that is now exceedingly hard to decipher. Little anecdotes about same that were routinely voiced by them over the years about such and such object and the story about how it came into their possession now in quarantine within my waking consciousness. Yet the fresh look at these same collections from a newly found perch far from their existence now viewed more dispassionately in light of my own present point of view far removed from their daily narrative.
The oozing love songs of strictly sentimental crooners of their eras that were the object of my own immature derision now in context as balm for their own uncertain times. Their world from childhood through young adulthood wrought with loneliness occasioned by the total disruption of their world for the sake of objectionable aims of the destruction of other civilizations. The dubious rationales of national patriotism coming fast after hard years of institutional social indifference driving people inward into a preoccupation with distant loved ones. The emotions behind which never being fully quenched even after their everyday existence was uplifted by the new prosperity come of the nation being preeminently victorious. The topic and translation being, “Love, Love Love”, and of course unashamed loneliness and longing at being far removed from same. Those distant technicolor ‘rainbows’ of old times now spanning the heavens overhead never quite to be believed in as really more than just another hopeful illusion. The lurking void within never quite filled as promised, their emotional baggage still containing an old threadbare suit needing mending.
No day was wasted in their lives when the focus of their time was based upon each other. True love affairs as close as they could run to the Hollywood motion picture model. Those multitudes of endless photographs artlessly posed with each of them hand in hand smiling simply without guile. Maddening to the pampered sentiments of their children who in the absence of any significant struggle within a model childhood of endless plenty had nothing of their own to squawk about. The vacuous lack of identity afforded by a sheltered suburban existence taking away any hope of authenticity in understanding and conveying any awareness of life’s hard pan realities. Thus affording the current ‘spiderweb’-based cults of this current modern to gain a lasting foothold that can only claim to tout the prevalence of adrenalin and emotional despair. The dissolution of the ‘boomers’ now reconciled in the absence of that cocoon of a model childhood that their own children have no possibility of forming an accurate idea of. The immaterial world of close connection with those you love morphed into relationships of self-serving expedience and solipsistic greed. What seemed silly in childhood being in light of my own dwindling era come around to amazingly profound.