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Whit's Whittlin` Part 10by Whit Cromwell,
Between Times March 2007 page 4
Donated by Awandi Cromwell
Nostalgia - What is it? Blakiston's Medical Dictionary states “A strong desire to return to things or conditions of the past.” -I've got it!
Yes sireee—I'm not sure that I like it, though. I woke up early this Saturday morning feeling tired, lazy and useless, and this really isn't Whit.
There is a slight drift of wind from the northeast that has cleared the air of smog. The sky is as blue as can be, and the foothills to the north are close enough to touch.
My, my—it reminds me of the early years, when Warren Shaw and I would hike to the top of the hills, where we could see Signal Hill in Long Beach, with oil derricks sticking up their crowns like straight pins in a pincushion. The air was clean and clear, and we were young and full of vigor.
Yorba Linda was a mass of green trees, nestled peacefully in a valley below. The eucalyptus trees, standing high in straight lines, divided the valley into off-sized blocks, like a patch quilt, green of color. It was a comfortable, cozy view that I wish I could “cuddle” again.
My walk down Main Street, early this morning didn't help, either! No activity, no familiar faces, no open country feeling—Sure, the new street design is beautiful with the new plantings of trees and bushes, and the new signs on the building reading “Frills and Freckles,” “Yorba Linda Travels,” “Country Curl Hair Cutters,” “Cathy's Cupboard,” and others are unique.
However, today it all seems to complicated and too well-planned. I kinda liked the wide, straight street, and the individuality of the building along old Main Street. Even the old street that was bumpy with oil oozing to the surface, all black, shiny and “icky,” would appeal to me today. I wish that barefoot boy could walk across that street and get some of the black stuff on his feet, even if he had to use some kerosene to wash it off before going to bed.
I miss the ranchers' “pickups” parked along Main Street, Ralph Navarro's old Model T Ford parked in front of Doc Cannon's Drug Store, the smell of coal smoke from Old Blacksmith Shop. Golly, I've got it bad!
Maybe I ought to go into the Yorba Linda Travel Agency and see if a trip will cure my “sickness.”
Hmmm—No, I've tried running away to other places before, but I'm always happy to hurry back to Yorba Linda. It's home.
There still are enough old friends and familiar sights, to make me more comfortable here, than any other place I've traveled to. I reckon the only thing that will cure my nostalgia, today, will be a good old “whittlin' session” with an old-timer. Don't know who I'll find, but we will look for someone who already has this nostalgia disease, cause I sure don't want to pass it on to someone who doesn't want it.
I'll try to pull myself together next week and continue our regular whittlin' sessions. Keep whittlin'.
Thank you Awanda for sharing with us all the good stories that Whit wrote. We are now on our last article that he wrote. What wonderful memories.
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