I’ve been living in the past for a few days.

I’ve found that a good place to be recently, as I try to make sense of the world around me and watch the television feeds from the presidential race as Donald, Hilary and Bernie exchange barbs. I guess that’s one reason I’ve retreated; I’m disappointed in the candidates and both parties and the way they’re behaving, so the only recourse I’ve had is to drop back in time to a period when things were, at the time to me, much simpler.

I’m also reading a book harking back to the 60s, Robert Caro’s “Passage of Power,” that covers Lyndon Johnson’s rise to the presidency.

It started with the PBS Memorial Day program when I got to see the Beach Boys — a little older and grayer than when I saw them perform at LSU when I was in high school, but the sound and the harmony were still there. That led me to watching my DVD of “The Longest Day,” a movie about D-Day, which I play every year around June 6 to remember my father. I saw the movie with my father when it came out in 1962, and he pointed out the flaws in the film as far as Omaha Beach was concerned (he was there).

The other night, I turned on PBS and saw Simon and Garfunkel’s concert in Central Park, featuring songs that reminded me of my high school and college years: “Mrs. Robinson,” “Bookends,” “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and “I am a Rock.” All those songs made me think back to other times.

And all this reminiscing made me think about what has happened over the years from the 60s and early 70s, which were a time of change in the country, to now, where we seem, to borrow from the song title, to all be walking around dazed and confused, not knowing who to trust or who to support.

The partisanship in Congress is horrifying. Neither party wants to sit down and practice the art of comprise their predecessors used to help this country move forward, and the inaction and petty bickering has the voters frustrated. It’s no wonder Donald Trump can stand on a platform and spew out comments of hate and complaints (but no real solutions) and get cheers from normally intelligent voters.

Maybe the comment sometimes attributed to Thomas Jefferson is correct; maybe we should have a revolution every 10 years or so. But that decision I’ll leave up to the voters. Maybe it should come in November. If you’re upset about the way the country’s being run give a voice and vote for Mickey Mouse. If enough people voted for Mickey in November, I believe Mickey would win, and maybe the politicians would get the message we’re upset.

In the meantime, I’m going to back to my nostalgia. Now, if I can get back to Baton Rouge for a while.