Tag: Memories

Soft toys

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I seem to have collected a lot of these over the years. There’s a cat, two owls and a reindeer at least. I was given a couple of them and bought a few more. I like cute things, although I do wonder whether collecting them is sensible. Humans have a tendency to feel attached to inanimate objects. Like children love their toys, I guess adults love ornaments and objects. Sometimes this leads to hoarding, other times if the person is rich it might lead to collections of fine art. I think these could be described as two sides of the same coin. Both are ways of giving you pleasure, a good feeling each time you buy something, or hold it. But that feeling and impulse to buy can be an addiction. Or just holding onto belongings from a parent. Even a crisp packet that a good friend has eaten out of can have significance. So much so that it cannot be disposed of. Collection and hoarding are not so different…..

Rain

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The rain comes down harder and faster these days. When I was a child I remember gentle rain, now it seems to soak in seconds. Water has a way of getting into everything when it falls. Like a cold shower it wakes you up, startling you as it splashes in your face. It was once said that there is no bad weather, just being inappropriately dressed for it. Nowadays I’m not so sure.

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Northern Soul

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To save my blushes I’ve drawn over a photo my friend took of me today.

After we had sung with the combined choir there was a brief break and then a woman got up and did a quick dance lesson to teach us  Northern soul dance steps. The music is in four four time, so she taught us four steps, stand on your left leg, tap your right foot behind, to the side of and in front of your left foot, then put your right foot down about shoulder width away from your left foot. Then putting your weight in your right leg repeat the moves using your left foot. After we learned to do that and danced for a while to a northern soul tune she added a jump, then jump and cross your legs spin round, clap, and carry on doing the side to side step.

I was jigging along with the rest of the crowd. I loved Northern Soul when I was a teenager.

The only problem? My knees are aching now.

Home

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Sometimes I want to go home.

Not this house, home,

But the one I grew up in.

The family home and hearth.

The  place I knew so well

It’s nooks and crannys

The garden and the tree I climbed.

The old swing and the rockery.

Doors I shut forty years ago

Creak open in my mind.

I wish I could shut my eyes and go.

See our old pets, the roses by the back door.

Dad’s motorbike, mom’s hair in rollers.

Little memories make me homesick.

I would drive there now at 2am

But a new family live there.

I feel lost.

I wish…

I miss

Home.

Homesick

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I moved away from home 40 years ago. I was going to college and I got in to the polytechnic I attended. I completed my qualification and met my partner who became my hubby. We stayed here and although I went “home” for visits I never went back to the town I was born in properly, I mean permanently.

That was OK, but then my parent died and my sister who had lived there all her life decided to move away to another town. Now when I feel homesick I can’t drive there. It would be too odd to park outside. Would the new owners be aware I was there? Would it seem like stalking? I dont think I could do it. But what I do sometimes do is look on Google maps. I used to use the figure Icon and look at the house as if I was in the street. Obviously it’s not photographed every year but I noted changes in the drive and trees that have been removed. Now Google maps only shows me a view from the air. I used to use the roadside version so I could pretend to drive home. At least I have good memories but I do miss my old Home. X

Enamel kiln

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DSC_0026Enamel kiln at Gladstone pottery museum, Longton, Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire. These burn hotter than a normal pottery kiln. This is to create enamel from powdered glass, fired about 1400°C. There is a working enamel kiln at Stevensons in Middlewich on the banks of the Trent and Mersey canal. Enamels are used from jewellery to bathroom ware. This is because it has to be stronger and not chip or crack.

The industrial heritage of this country is hanging on. Places like the Black Country museum in Dudley in the West Midlands give us a place to see how the past was. Manufacturing changes and evolves. Soon robots and AI might be the only way things are made. But despite the old dirty polluting past may have been bad, it still stirs memories and romantic ideas of the way things were.

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Shouting

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It’s dark outside, in two minutes it will be the longest day of the year. In one minute……

There’s shouting outside, raucous farewells from the pub we live near to. A car revvs loudly in the night, then screeches of up the hill. A woman screams with laughter, so loud it sounds like distress but it turns into a loud giggle.

The longest day has arrived, well actually it did an hour ago. But because we are now in British summertime, our 1am is 12 (midnight) in the rest of the timezone we are in.

The noises have faded. Perhaps they have gone home. Taking their fag ends with them I hope. That is something that really annoys me since the smoking ban. People smoke outside and then discard the cigarette butt’s.

Someone is walking past, heavy shoes Thudding on the pavement outside like a rushing heart beat.

I’d better get some sleep, today, now, is a sad day, a relative passed away a few years ago and I remember it being the 21st of June, the longest day. My memories are stirred every year at thus time.

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Thanks to Martha I can post again.

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I managed to delete photos from my WordPress account so I can now post new ones. Thanks to my friend for helping and explaining how to do it.

I deleted over 10%, so if you look back at some of my old posts there may not be images to accompany them. At least it means I can avoid upgrading my account and also save a bit of money.

So… Posts and more posts to come

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Gran

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It’s 23 years since she died and I still miss her. I miss the visits with my mother to see her. She had an open fire in her living room and when I was little I used to make spills of rolled up newspaper to light the fire with. I think my grandad used to use them to light his pipe. Infront of the fire was a big peg rug, made of pieces of rag cut into thin strips and pushed through a hessian sack backing. The chimney caught fire once because gran had put a board across it to draw the air in. The fire caught the soot in the chimney. The fire brigade arrived.

At one stage I remember the kitchen had a tin bath on a ledge at the end of the kitchen. They must have had it infront of the fire. The other downstairs room in the house was the front parlour. It had a big heavy suite in it and an aspedistera in a pot on a stand. The parlour was only ever used for formal occasions. I think I remember dusting it for gran sometimes.

At the back of the house was an alleyway but it was only narrow and beyond that was the gate into the back garden. Gran and grandad used to keep hens.

Once you start remembering it’s funny what comes back.

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