Going Back

Do any of you have good friends who are living a life that you once did? They are in the same house, with the same furniture, surrounded by the same people. They use the same dishes and silverware, and the food they eat is what you ate, prepared by the same hands. They go to work in the same place and do what you did, the only differences being new problems and style of handling them.

John and I have just returned from Vienna, where we spent time with good friends who now live the diplomatic life we left almost nine years ago. Surreal is a word that comes to mind. It is not often that you can step back in your life like that.

When I walked through the door of our old house, it was hard to suppress a lump in my throat. It was the last house that we lived in as a family of four before our girls left for university. They would often arrive home from high school with a group of friends, who would leave their shoes and backpacks in the entrance hall.

When we had large parties, many of those same kids would be employed to pass hors d'doeuvres or check coats. They always added an element of young fun to the staidest of diplomatic receptions.

As my friend showed me around her new home and my old one, I felt nostalgic despite myself. Songs like "The Way We Were" and "Memories" make me puke. I always think that looking back is a waste of time. But there I was, getting misty-eyed when I went into the girls' bedrooms, remembering homework projects ("It's due tomorrow!?") proms, old boyfriends, soccer games, plays, college applications. Despite myself, I could hear Barbra Streisand tuning up her water-colored memories.

It's a cliche to say that going back like that makes you acutely aware of how quickly time passes. It is not something to dwell on. After all, I have remained the same age as I was then, maybe younger.

But for those few hours, it was rather sweet to remember, as much as it gags me to say it, the way we were.