Back in the good old days, a decent interval was observed before waxing nostalgic, but today, thanks to the fast pace of life, it's not unusual to experience instant nostalgia, or so I still fondly remember just thinking. This hit home the other day when I overheard a kid wistfully recalling the early work of Jon Bon-Jovi. Somewhere someone is thinking back to the Mario Brothers, before they were super.

I'm not immune, although I do manage to stay out of discussions of the Summer of Love (for me it was the summer of Working for the Post Office) and Woodstock, which at the time, I thought was a lot of trouble to go through for a Sha-Na-Na concert. Had I known Melanie was going to be there, there's no doubt there'd be a tear in the corner of my eye right now, and a candle in my rain.

I do have a nightstand however, which is kind of a time capsule, buried as it is, in the same soil as our conjugal bed. Every so often I dump out the contents of one or the other and engage in wholesale sentimental associations. Among my souvenirs, if you took the trouble to sift and winnow the receipts, price tags, and plastic sock holders, you'd find:

• a pen that my late Uncle Abe gave me, inscribed "Stolen from A. Bass"
• a tortoiseshell barrette of unknown origin
• my John Lennon wire rims
• a quarter flattened on the railroad tracks
• my late cat Arthur's front tooth, knocked out in a brawl
• Dad's cat's-eye tie clip
• a buffalo nickel
• a key to an apartment whose locks have long since been changed
• a Mount Saint Helens postcard
• an aluminum medallion from a bus-station machine stamped MIKE FELDMAN, AGE 9
• a Polaroid of my ex-wife's ex-Appaloosa
• a rawhide chew from my friend and confidant Rocky
• the business card of Juan de la Torres of Santa Fe ("You always have a friend, odd jobs, gutters and down spouts")
• a tiny Cracker Jack magic slate; a packet of pansy seeds packed fresh for 1976
• a silver pocket watch, broken, of the type once worn by nuns
• a New York subway token
• a rusting McGovern Button
• a newspaper article taped to an index card, dated 12/31/51 by my father, describing the removal of the foot of two-year-old Michael Feldman from the basement sewer with a new device called "The Foot Extractor";
• a bar chip from the Crystal Corner good for one small drink
• a standing-room pass to any Cubs game in 1984
• a letter from a collection agency in mint condition
• lyrics to a song entitled "Anyone but You" on the back of a Union Cab check stub
• a metal bear in a catcher's outfit which clicks
• an unwound cassette of Ram Dass
• a broken water bird whistle
• a souvenir button from Grandma Prisbrey's bottle village in the Simi Valley, California
• and a fortune from a Chinese restaurant: "You will save anything."