weekly photo challenge – nostalgia

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childhood, memories, nostalgia, photography, photos, Weekly Photo Challenge, weekly photo challenge – nostalgia

Red with white hearts, very seventies, there use to be three but one, the middle one, lost its handle and then its spout. They are just a couple of jugs but to me they are a little bit more. They remind me of growing up in Dublin, of red and white cherry wallpaper in the kitchen and eating porridge at the breakfast table with my sister. They remind me of afternoons in the back garden, drinking cold tea from glasses held between dirty hands. They remind me of family dinners of spaghetti and if we were lucky some wobbly jelly for desert. Two jugs that symbolize the nostalgia of my childhood.

Weekly photo challenge – Quest

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childhood, daydreaming, imagination, photography, photos, Quest, Weekly Photo Challenge, Weekly photo challenge – Quest

I remember as a child always going on quests, of a short, more often than not in an imaginary world I had created. I would battle crocodiles, find hidden treasures, run away from home to find my ‘real parents’ (who  turned out to be circus folk or extremely wealthy), search for fairies at the bottom of the garden or try and solve a mystery. I would dress up in colorful, ludicrous outfits, pack a bag, sometimes a snack and get lost in the journey itself than mostly ended when I was called in for dinner or it was time for bed.

That sense of adventure without a resolution, the enjoying the journey not the arrival, the search not the finding is something our goals oriented world doesn’t really cater for once we hit adulthood. So I can’t help but wonder if maybe rediscovering questing is a quest in itself. After all who doesn’t want to be a pirate princess, an adventurer, a circus acrobat, a cowgirl, a fire-eater or able to fly?

And while of course I know all of these dreams may be somewhat unrealistic, spending a wet and miserable Saturday afternoon daydreaming about impossible quests seems like the perfect thing to do – at least until dinnertime or my bed calls.

going on a quest on imaginary sails

childhood home

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childhood, childhood home, family, farm, Germany, godmother, home, orchard, photography, photos, woods

Back in May I was over in Germany for a few visits and family functions. While I was there I stayed a few nights with my godmother in the house I lived in as a child. From the ages 10 to 17 I lived in a small village up near the North Sea, across the road from farms and with an orchard and a tiny wood in the back. A curly haired girl, barefoot and in a skirt, who dreamed of living in the city while picking apples.

Spending time in my childhood home was a wonderfully strange and somewhat magical experience and I have the photos to prove it:

daddy’s girl

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childhood, daddy, family, father, love, memories, miscellaneous, random, thoughts

It’s my daddy’s birthday today, well it would have been if he hadn’t died last year in the summer. I miss him and when I looked at my calendar this morning a little surge of sadness quivered through me.

I was always a daddy’s girl, even though for most of my life he wasn’t around. And as a blond little girl with big blue eyes I looked up to him and wanted to be just like the man I saw and loved. I may have inherited his mad curls, dodgy eye and love for words but thankfully the urge to smoke cigarettes and pipes passed me by. Although I have to admit that I love the smell of tobacco and do feel a little bit nostalgic whenever my nose catches a whiff.

Some of my favourite memories of my father circle around his love of telling stories. He was a real Seanchaí (an Irish story teller) who would light up his pipe, pull my sister and myself onto the couch and into a world of heroes, fairies, witches and long gone adventures. His deep voice and winding words would paint pictures of old legends and made up stories featuring him in the lead role.

And he was fun, he would play tricks and silly games with us, his big smile barely visible beneath his curly beard and his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. One of my favourite pictures of him sits on my shelf and shows a happy memory. He is perched on top of the wall outside my childhood home with my sister and I draped around him, both of us trying to get as close to him as possible. With a Frisbee crowning his head and two plastic rings dangling from his ears he’s defining his position as the biggest tuddlebuddle in the world, my sister and I coming in second and third.

My heart broke when he left us or we left him (it was always a little unclear) and although I always missed him with an ache I never doubted that he loved me even if I never understood what happened.  I am thankful for all those moments spent with him and memories that flood my being and I feel sad that my brother never really got to know him. So today I just want to feel a little bit sad about all I lost, never had and let the man who defined me so much know I will always be my daddy’s girl.

The importance of fathers