The Music Box, Hathaway House Book Shop and other memories of Wellesley

Both history and popular lore (Don Henley, too) warn us that one should never look back for risk of something bad happening to you. Fear turning into salt, turning into dust, turning into stone, or turning directly into that perpetually-disruptive kid from the second grade now standing uncomfortably close in line at the bank and immediately recognizes me. I, on the other hand, rack my brain trying to recall how I know this bald guy who looks at least a decade older than he turns out to be. Happy days.

As we get older, do our perspectives and memories fail us, or is it the initial imprint that was imprecise in the first place. As kids, our sense of time and scale are all relative, right?

Every time I pass Stuart Swan Furniture, the former home of the Hathaway House Book Shop, my heart warms with the memory of spending what felt like hours tucked away in a carpeted corner, nose in some book, the distant sound of my sister's voice calling out to me that it's time to go.

Dining on Howard Johnson's famed clam strips is a long-distant childhood memory, followed by tuna-and-mozzarella topped salads at Bel Canto, later pulled chicken pizza at Figs, and now antipasti at Alta Strada. Post-HoJo's, three iterations of Italian restaurants in the same location, none of which hold the same food memory. Clearly the clams weren't gastronomically superior, so what's that about?

In the seventh grade, I gathered together a few weeks' allowance, walked into the Music Box, and bought my first two albums: Pat Benatar and Steppenwolf. And yes, the polarity of my musical tastes still run this extreme. But who cares these days – recording your own mix-to-cassette no longer has the unique allure/appeal/appreciation for playback talent: anyone's iPod can do that simply by selecting the “shuffle” option.

Do you remember that intense smell of buttered popcorn that hit you like a wall when you'd open the door to the Wellesley Playhouse? It's not the same at the megaplex. Nor at a single-screen film theatre. Why is that?

This made me wonder: is it the sensory memory of the actual experience or is it the sense of place?

What exactly is wrong with romanticized nostalgia? As the saying goes, he who does not learn from history is condemned to repeat it. But there are muddled messages: one cannot stop the movement of time, progress is inevitable, and why bother holding onto something that seems like a relic anyway. So how do you keep moving forward, yet have a foot in the past. Or at least be considerate of it, particularly without having the feeling that you're stepping back in time experientially like Main Street USA at Disney World.

I once had a huge fight with a colleague from France over the use of “progress” in a corporate tagline: I was lobbying hard for its use as it implied positive, futuristic development; he explained that the word could also have negative connotations, such as the progression of a disease. Ah, our friend semantics. He won the argument, by the way.

For as long as I could remember, the Town of Wellesley had a ban on chain/fast food restaurants. Whilst there are no drive-thrus in town (aside from the Rt 9 Dunkin' Donuts on the Wellesley/Natick border), there are at least ten establishments currently in town that immediately come to mind that happen to fall within this description. So what happened here?

Progress can be good: there is a growing trend among environmentally-aware businesses to “go green” in an attempt at reducing their carbon footprint. Credit must be given where it's due: Wellesley's excellent recycling/disposal center is widely recognized one of the nation's earliest and highly emulated system.

Consumers are becoming more aware of where their food comes from, and are patronizing smaller, local businesses just like the Good Old Days. Supporting local farms, movements such as Slow Food, and purveyors that offer seasonal foods produced using artisanal methods are great ways to bolster local businesses and feel good about it, too. I presume not many of us have fond memories of going to an energy-depleting big-box superstore.

I love old theatres, old family farms, old grocery stores, old butchers, old fishmongers, old cafés, old shops, old markets, old restaurants. Yet without a steady stream of business brought by dedicated support, awareness, and patronage, these operations will die out.

Allow me to reiterate my colleague's point: not all progress is positive.
Cost and convenience cannot be the primary drivers.

It's unrealistic to expect everyone to rush out and live the life of a purist, where all things procured are from ethically-sound and sustainable sources. A sweeping change of consumer habits may not be possible, passable, or practical.

Think about why it is important. By staying focused on things that are good for you, whilst also helping local farms and small businesses, investing back into the community makes sense. Let's try once this week.

Who says you can't go home again. I could just kill for a dish of chocolate chip ice cream from Bailey's right now.

What are you missing? Post your comments below.

Wellesley resident Sally Khudairi is chief executive of communications/lifestyle consultancy HALO Worldwide, and co-owner/creative-director of Dorset Café in Wellesley Hills.