nostalgia for the cave

I miss the cave days, where we all slept in a lump of warm bodies. Except in my imagination maybe I have a body pillow. But still; it was nice, that lump of family. Back when we were just developing language, we cracked each other up trying to figure out what the heck the other person was trying to say. What are you trying to tell me? Yesterday? Is that what you mean? We need more words, man!

And if only someone would invent writing! I would want to write down what you just looked like when you brought in that pile of berries, with your smile all blue and the kid on your shoulder, her teeth blue, too. Happy. Here. You. 

Gee. Even the people I'm nostalgic for are nostalgic.

I know; I know it wasn't like that. We made up words as we needed them, and maybe things back then were so tough and so primitive that you only needed to communicate a few things: Yes. No. You do it. Run. Ouchy-wawa. Found food. Hug. Something between teeth. But someone in those caves had to have a bit of poet in him, in her. Someone had to be the first person who started to hum, and then one day someone hummed a third above someone else. I miss those moments.

We didn't worry about being awake at night, because we knew we could nap whenever we wanted to. They say that's been the norm for us since way back when -- we'd have a middle of the night awakening, and then we'd go back for the second sleep. Cave dwellers did not think Ugh. I'm awake and "Frosty the Snowman" is stuck in my head. That torment did not exist in those days. Being up in the middle of the night back then gave you time to stoke the fire, time to go outside and pee, look at the stars, time for everyone to share the crazy highlights of the dream they just woke from. Mine was about flying -- crazy, huh? I flew right up to a giant beehive, ate some honey and then woke up when the little one pulled on my body pillow. Hey, look, I found a great dead branch while I was peeing by moonlight. I'll put it on the woodpile. That's what I would have said if I had had a few more words to play with.

I feel a special nostalgia for my neanderthal ancestors, who seem, no matter how you cut it, to have caught a truly bad break. I'm not saying they were perfect, and I do think humans have some lovely qualities. But they've found that we Neanderthals were homebodies, and liked to keep things organized in our homes. Everything had its place: tools in one pile, sticks in another. Sharp things were out of the way, which I feel particularly proud of somehow. And over in the corner, maybe a this-will-come-in-handy-someday pile of vines -- for when we invent straps, as long as we don't go extinct.

When humans came along and were such bullies, Neanderthals were overwhelmed, is all. I can see myself being flummoxed by this aggression, and I am, in this little reverie of mine, more nostalgic for the Neanderthals than for the wily, bully homo sapiens. As I tap out this blogpost under a blanket in the dark of night, I think wistfully of the things passed down to me from my Neanderthal ancestors, and proud of them for getting that little bit of DNA into the human family before their light flickered out forever. In comparison to humans, they weren't as good at social networking (check) and seem not to have been as committed to grabbing the bull by the horns (check). Some scientists think Neanderthals made life more difficult for themselves by doing everything together instead of divvying up the labor between the sexes (check). And apparently they were great at climbing trees (check, and thank you for that, ancient genes).

I miss these ancestors. They were just beginning to learn to hum.