Mullis: Another quick nostalgia trip via the internet

I was on task, exchanging emails about a writing project. The editor and I were being snarky about using a digital editing program, which reminded me of an old Murphy Brown episode.

Three seconds later, I was off-task, watching said clip on YouTube, thinking about my college roommate and how we never missed an episode. We would laugh on that secondhand couch, eating burnt popcorn or lukewarm ramen noodles.

Another quick nostalgia trip made possible by the internet.

I’m a fan.

Not of wasting time, but of wandering memory lane online. It’s the world’s best scrapbook. My kids have scrapbooks … well, they're more Rubbermaid tubs full of keepsakes and good intentions. When I open the lid, it’s chaos.

Not fun.

The internet is a billion people’s Rubbermaid tubs, filled with videos, toys, music, photos, news clippings, journals. Thanks to people's diminished sense of privacy, none of these tubs have lids. And thanks to search engines, you can cut through chaos in seconds.

Super fun.

This changes the dynamic of talking to kids about “the old days.” You know, like the 1980s.

My youngest loves to style hair. Recently, she was using my head for practice. As she curled and pinned, I mentioned ribbon barrettes, the craze that dominated my early grade-school days. She was curious.

One click and .003 seconds later, her curiosity was satisfied. Then, we spent 20 minutes giggling over early '80s-hairdos.

Whenever I want, I can see my childhood home in Detroit without leaving Battle Creek. Once I stumbled across a video by a house-flipper who purchased that house. He had documented his ongoing renovation.

I didn’t know this guy, but I followed him like a wide-eyed ghost, reliving dozens of childhood escapades at every shaky turn of the camera. His footage cut through my mythology about the place, mooring me in refreshed memories.

A couple clicks and a group email later, my six siblings followed him, too. That email bounced around our inboxes for days, each sibling added their reaction, commentary and memories.

There is something so emotional and complete about these online journeys. It is how I imagined one’s life flashing before one’s eyes - every detail crisp, even the details you forgot you remembered. If there was a way to touch it, it would be perfect.

Like most people, I’ve come to depend on this virtual scrapbook.

Thanks to Gmail storing my emails, I can find a photo attachment from 2006 in .006 seconds. Most institutions from schools to newspapers keep digital archives, so I don't have to be diligent in clipping and keeping. And thanks to social media, our friends and family can supply the missing pieces without digging through a closet or even knowing we made a copy. Then there are the kaboodles of communal memories from strangers that I can unleash with a single Google search.

Instant time travel.

It scratches an itch, but like an itch, if you keep scratching it’s going to be infected. For example, my mini-Murphy Brown-a-thon put me a couple decades and 30 minutes behind schedule.

It is hard to leave when these nostalgia trips are so cozy. It’s as if my dearly missed grandmother had just walked into the room, offering butter cookies and a crochet afghan.

Wait – does someone have a video of that?

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of the novel "A Teacher Named Faith." She can be reached at nlvm.columns@gmail.com or www.NicoleLVMullis.com.