Two days ago, I heard a song I hadn’t heard in years.
It was one of those songs that seemed to be everywhere for a short time in the mid-1990s and then quietly disappeared from everyday listening.
But apparently, it hadn’t disappeared from my memory.
Within seconds, I wasn’t here anymore.
I was sixteen again, spending part of my summer in the Bulgarian village where one of my grandparents lived.
Summer afternoons there could be incredibly hot. Between about one and five, the streets became quiet. The children disappeared inside the houses, waiting for the temperature to become a little more forgiving before returning outside.
And those hours became my reading time.
I can still see myself sitting inside my grandparents’ house, protected from the heat, with the radio playing somewhere nearby and a Sidney Sheldon novel in my hands. He was my favorite author at the time, and I could disappear into those books for hours.
Sometimes I moved outside.
My grandparents’ yard had several places covered in deep, solid shade, where even the hottest afternoon felt a little softer. I would make myself a cup of the non-caffeinated coffee we had in Bulgaria back then, find a comfortable place, open my book and continue reading.
Nothing extraordinary was happening.
And perhaps that is exactly why I remember it so fondly.
There was nowhere I needed to go. Nothing I needed to accomplish before five o’clock. Just a summer afternoon, a book, some music from the radio and the feeling that time was moving very slowly.
Maybe books had already become part of summer for me years before that.
In Bulgaria, from fourth through eighth grade, we were given summer reading lists. Every year, when school ended, there was a collection of books waiting to be read before we returned in September.
At the time, I’m sure I didn’t think much about why those lists mattered.
But looking back, I think they did.
Perhaps those teachers weren’t only giving us summer homework. Perhaps, without realizing it, they were planting something.
By sixteen, nobody was giving me a reading list anymore. Nobody was telling me to pick up Sidney Sheldon during those long, hot afternoons.
I was reading because I wanted to.
And all these years later, summer and books are still connected somewhere inside me.
Some people remember their summers by the places they travelled or the things they did.
I remember some of mine by what I was reading.
And sometimes, all it takes is one almost-forgotten song on the radio to open an old book inside our memory—and suddenly, we find ourselves between its pages again.
GK
Georgi Kisyov – Reflections & Books 
That sounds like a fairytale life: shaded yards, slow-moving afternoons, books, music, and not a care in the world. It reminds me of my own younger days, albeit in a slightly different setting. I’m sure it leaves you with pangs of nostalgia, or perhaps even saudade.
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It really did feel a little like that, especially looking back now. At the time, of course, I didn’t realize how precious those slow and simple afternoons would become. I love that this brought you back to your own younger days too—different settings, but perhaps the same feeling. And yes, I think saudade describes it beautifully: not sadness exactly, but that tender longing for a time we can visit only through our memories.
GK
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This made me sigh wistfully.
My own memory has a rather peculiar filing system. Ask me where I put something important last Tuesday and that information has been permanently deleted. However, play three notes of a song I haven’t heard in many years and suddenly my brain produces the complete archival collection—room temperature, what I was doing, what summer smelled like, and probably what shoes I was wearing.
I love that our memories attach themselves to ordinary things like that. We tend to think the important parts of life are the big events, but apparently the brain has other ideas. It quietly saves a shady spot in a grandparent’s yard, a book in our lap, music playing somewhere nearby, and an afternoon when absolutely nothing happened.
And decades later, it hands the whole afternoon back to us.
Hmmm…. makes me wonder how many perfectly ordinary moments I am living right now that someday won’t feel ordinary at all.
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I absolutely love the way you described your memory’s “peculiar filing system”—mine seems to work exactly the same way. It’s amazing how a few notes of an old song can retrieve details we didn’t even know we had stored somewhere. And your last thought really stayed with me, because perhaps that’s one of the gifts of nostalgia: it teaches us that the ordinary moments we’re living today may someday become the ones we would give anything to visit again. Maybe we should pay a little more attention while they’re still simply called “today.”
GK
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What a beautiful memory, it did remind me of my teenage years too, in another place. What a beautiful gift your teachers gave you in those summer reading lists. Thank you.
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Thank you so much! I’m glad this brought back memories of your own teenage summers too. Looking back now, I really do appreciate those reading lists more—I think they quietly planted a love of books that stayed with me long after school ended.
GK
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Songs can do that to us! One or two verses and we find ourselves back to where we first heard it.
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Absolutely! Music has such an incredible way of opening doors in our memory. Just a few notes can take us back decades and suddenly make a forgotten moment feel close again.
GK
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As a child, I spent a lot of time reading (and still do). Like you, I remember sultry summer afternoons sprawled on a blanket in the shade, book in hand. I read anything and everything – and still do. I was an only child growing up, so my companions were within the pages of the stories I read.
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What a beautiful connection to this memory. I can picture those summer afternoons on a blanket in the shade, completely lost in another world. And I especially love what you said about your companions being within the pages—books really can give us friendships, adventures, and entire worlds when we need them.
GK
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It is fascinating how we unwittingly attach memories to songs, blossoms, sandy beaches, the electric charge in the air after a storm. Perhaps not every time, but sometimes that memory instantly brings back a cherished moment in time, savored as if it were but yesterday. Yes, its nostalgia, it pleasurable delightful but never an escape, simply a treasured moment in time whistfully enjoyed relived and treasured even more eith the passing of time. Ty for this delightful memory as it brought back a few of my own. 😊
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Thank you so much for this beautiful reflection. I love how you described all those little things that can unexpectedly carry a memory—songs, blossoms, beaches, even the feeling in the air after a storm. And I completely agree: nostalgia doesn’t have to be an escape from the present; sometimes it is simply visiting a treasured moment for a little while and appreciating it even more because of the years that have passed. I’m so glad my memory opened the door to a few of your own.
GK
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I do love a great “book!”
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Me too! There’s something wonderful about opening a good book and disappearing into its world for a while. Some of my favorite summer memories were made between those pages.
GK
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