jennyanydots
<font color=blue>'Their behavior's not good and th
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2004
- Messages
- 1,127
(No, that doesnt sound right, this isnt a tale of fairies and pixie dust.)
Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away
(No, ET doesnt phone home in this story, either.)
A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the music used to make me smile
(Yeah, that sets the right tone.)
In the golden age of the early 1990s, I worked for a company that felt like Home. A company that, for the most part, no longer exists. I was there for seven and a half tumultuous years, departing for greener pastures in 1998 as the companys business began to wind down.
My current employer (a great place to work, I can assure you, but not Home), recently relocated my department. Im now across the street from the building I called Home from 1992 through 1994. (Cue the music There are places I'll remember, All my life though some have changed )
So Ive been riding the waves of nostalgia, thinking about my late, lamented employer. And out of the blue, I got an e mail from an old friend. Ive known her oh, at least 13 years. And she told me that our friends and colleagues from the place we used to call Home were having a reunion last night, and she asked me to join them. (Old friends, memory brushes the same years, Silently sharing the same fears.)
So last night I made my way through the teaming streets of lower Manhattan my route took me through Ground Zero, always a somber place -- to an Irish bar. And I saw people I hadnt seen in far too many years. Where are you working now? Who do you still keep in touch with? Do you remember when we used to ? (Things are okay with me these days, Got a good job, got a good office, Got a new wife, got a new life, And the family's fine )
The little girl who used to hide under her mommys desk whenever mommy brought her to the office is in college now. A son is sitting for the bar exam later this month. The young man who used to sit next to me has gray hair now, and has survived a bout with prostate cancer. A dear friend is retiring next month. The quintessential Yankee fan looked over my shoulder at the TV above the bar to check the score during last nights game. The guy with the flaming red hair had a heart attack and died 9 months ago. We all had a 9/11 story. (And the seasons, they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down, were captive on a carousel of time, we cant return, we can only look, behind from where we came )
It was a bittersweet night, like the sad notes of a folk guitar softly playing... These people were a part of my life for so long. Theyll always be a part of me. But the relationship we had back then, the close, family feeling we felt despite working for a large NYC corporation, can never be recaptured. Theres no place like Home, but I guess Thomas Wolfe was right, you cant go Home again.
Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away
(No, ET doesnt phone home in this story, either.)
A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the music used to make me smile
(Yeah, that sets the right tone.)
In the golden age of the early 1990s, I worked for a company that felt like Home. A company that, for the most part, no longer exists. I was there for seven and a half tumultuous years, departing for greener pastures in 1998 as the companys business began to wind down.
My current employer (a great place to work, I can assure you, but not Home), recently relocated my department. Im now across the street from the building I called Home from 1992 through 1994. (Cue the music There are places I'll remember, All my life though some have changed )
So Ive been riding the waves of nostalgia, thinking about my late, lamented employer. And out of the blue, I got an e mail from an old friend. Ive known her oh, at least 13 years. And she told me that our friends and colleagues from the place we used to call Home were having a reunion last night, and she asked me to join them. (Old friends, memory brushes the same years, Silently sharing the same fears.)
So last night I made my way through the teaming streets of lower Manhattan my route took me through Ground Zero, always a somber place -- to an Irish bar. And I saw people I hadnt seen in far too many years. Where are you working now? Who do you still keep in touch with? Do you remember when we used to ? (Things are okay with me these days, Got a good job, got a good office, Got a new wife, got a new life, And the family's fine )
The little girl who used to hide under her mommys desk whenever mommy brought her to the office is in college now. A son is sitting for the bar exam later this month. The young man who used to sit next to me has gray hair now, and has survived a bout with prostate cancer. A dear friend is retiring next month. The quintessential Yankee fan looked over my shoulder at the TV above the bar to check the score during last nights game. The guy with the flaming red hair had a heart attack and died 9 months ago. We all had a 9/11 story. (And the seasons, they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down, were captive on a carousel of time, we cant return, we can only look, behind from where we came )
It was a bittersweet night, like the sad notes of a folk guitar softly playing... These people were a part of my life for so long. Theyll always be a part of me. But the relationship we had back then, the close, family feeling we felt despite working for a large NYC corporation, can never be recaptured. Theres no place like Home, but I guess Thomas Wolfe was right, you cant go Home again.
