F Scott Fitzgerald taught us that "we can never go back."
But that makes it no easier.
I've nearly finished reading The Lunar Men. Notes here. The members of the Lunar Club, of which I've been reading for the past several days, are now coming to their own end. The author is introducing us to their growing / grown children. Some have already died. I can see the end coming. It makes me very sad, and every page with descriptions of England at the time, remind me of the time I spent at Menwith Hill and Pateley Bridge with a most wonderful woman.
Some outings with Pat were most incredible, such as the day-long hike to Whitby and back. I wish we had done more of those excursions. We did excursions every weekend, but somehow they don't bring back memories like Whitby. Haworth, of course, is an exception, such fond memories but we were a threesome that day and I needed / wanted to be with Pat alone. Or alone with Pat.
We can never go back, but wow, the memories will never go away.
Note: this is the second time I've read this book. There are some chapters I need to read yet again. But I'm getting a better and better feeling with regard to the dozen or so men of the Lunar Society.
When I go through this again, I need to develop some way to keep track of the places where they lived, and the locations in relationship to each other, particularly Erasmus Darwin's home, Lichfield.
