It's funny how infrequently our nostalgia summons the memory of yesterday. Not the literary "yesterday" that references the summers in canoes, the recesses of Red Rover, or the birthdays that warranted a countdown.
Oh sure, those are good too.
But funny how scarcely we're nostalgic about the literal yesterday. This blog was borne of a fluky memory of fondness for a Monday when it was just a Tuesday evening, lying on my bedroom floor, papers spilled and spread around me.
I can't recall what summoned the fondness for that particular Monday. But the fondness for yesterday made me smile. I realized it was so close to the today and the tomorrow that I must be in a good spot now, not to be reaching back.
Oh but this comes with a disclaimer, it won't be long until I am haunted with a utopic, perfectly preserved memory of my wandering ski days out West. My mind has a strange tendency of distilling memories, preserving the most savory morsels of sun, adrenaline, flesh, rugged skyscapes, and peoplescapes to feed me on vacant days in the present.
But I'll wait until next Monday to reach back, today, I'll take today, yesterday, and tomorrow. There is really fresh jam waiting in my fridge for breakfast in the morning.
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