Lost & Found

Another season has come and gone here at the resort. The chaise lounges and lawn chairs are being stacked and stored and the buildings are being winterized. The pool is closed and covered. The grounds keepers are preparing for harsher weather and the CLOSED FOR THE SEASON signs are in place. The first of the fall leaves are beginning to trickle from the pre-autumn sky, littering the roadways and paths with their colorful, earthy presence. The smells of the late season campfires are being replaced with evidence of indoor fireplaces; gray plumes of smoke drifting lazily across the morning landscape.

On my party deck, The Taki Tiki, things are still fairly normal. I won't start putting the outdoor furniture away for at least another month. My new fire pit is getting a work out and I keep the hot tub going all year long. And, although my last big party of the summer is history, I will still be having smaller gatherings of friends over until it gets too cold. Then we'll move the parties indoors.

All of this does not, however, prevent a certain kind of nostalgia from setting in for the recently departed season. This struck me as I was putting things away from last weekend's party. I have a spare bedroom that I use for storing party supplies, masquerade costumes, linen, beach towels, and anything else that does not conveniently go with the neat freak motif in the rest of my house. This is where I keep my Lost & Found.

As I was standing there, adding a pair of rhinestone studded sunglasses to the mix, I felt a weird sense of joy for the accumulated memories of the recent past as well as a sadness for its brevity. I handled a catalog for a winery in the Napa Valley, an oven mitt, a little red lace choker that some babe must be searching frantically for, a green table cloth, a Giants tee shirt and two more pairs of sun glasses. There is a set of keys that no one has claimed or asked for; a small leather bag, a bottle of tanning oil, and a little silver serving tray.

Over the course of the summer, various items came and went from my Lost & Found. And I usually had the same mixed reactions as I added or removed the items. It could easily be summed up in the phrase "good times". But when I tried to analyze the feelings, to compare what I was feeling with what I was holding, I came up empty.

This puzzled me for a while until I realized that I was feeling nostalgic about things I could not even remember. After all, if I knew whose sunglasses these were I would get them back to them. I have no memory of who was wearing the Giant's tee shirt or (God help me) the little red lace choker thingy. So I was basically getting emotional over a box of junk that other people aren't even missing themselves.

On the other hand, these memories are not missing because of an alcoholic black-out. They are missing because I was busy with my guests at another part of the party. While I was making Liki Tiki blender drinks at the Tiki Bar someone at the hot tub was putting her sun glasses down. While I was happily munching on a grilled burger, listening to the Not An Exit story for the first time, someone else was tucking their small leather bag behind a chair leg so it wouldn't get lost. And while these minor items were being carelessly cast about, my friends and I were having some of the best times of the summer.

So I guess its alright to feel nostalgic when I look into the Lost & Found box. But not so much for the baubles that were lost as for the treasures that were found.

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