weekly photo challenge – nostalgia

Tags

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.

sorting through the past

Tags

memories, negatives, past, photos, sorting, spring cleaning, throwing out

The other day my sister gave me a big green box filled with photos and negatives I had left at hers when I moved over to Ireland many, many years ago.  Once upon a time the box had been organised and sorted but now it was a jumble of places and people.

So yesterday I took the time to sort through the photos. I didn’t want to keep them all so I decided to only keep those that fit into all of three categories:

• I could remember the name of the person(s) /place
• the image was not blurred or otherwise unpleasing
• I thought I would look at it again

I was amazed how many photos landed on the ‘to-throw-out’ pile. Many were because I really didn’t remember the name of the people in them, faces of people I spent short amounts of time with but who had dropped out of my life, or I out of theirs. Even more of the photos where of places that I couldn’t quite identify so out they went too. And then of course there were lots of photos that where just not great, too light, to dark, blurred, off center or ‘what was I thinking’ bad.

The third time I went through the photos I sorted out all of the ones I knew I would never look at again, really how many photos do I need of the same thing? So two out of three went into the bin. After all I was keeping most of the negatives (although a good few of unidentifiable blobs did have to go too) so I can always reproduce if need be.

After I had sorted through my past a small stack of photos and an envelope filled with negatives was left and somehow it felt like I had spring cleaned my memories, freeing up space for new ones, good, forgettable and maybe even blurred.

new day – new tablecloth

Tags

flowers, home, home made, memories, photo, photography, tablecloth

Easter is over and with it all of my decorations have disappeared. Last night, after a friendly drop in and chat, I decided it was time for a change and took down everything Easter, stored them away in a box for next year.

Since my friend had presented me with a bunch of springtime flowers and my mother had made me a gift of a home-sewn table runner I knew exactly what I wanted on my kitchen table. I put the flowers into an old stoneware jug – red with white hearts – that use to stand on a shelf in my mothers red and white kitchen – childhood memories embedded in its sturdy shell.

So this morning, as the sun bathed my home with warm spring light, the tablecloth and flowers made me smile. There was something just so cheerful at how the tulips bobbed their heads at me and how neat the runner sat on my table.

A new day – a new tablecloth … what could go wrong?

so cheerful – the red jug use to live in my mothers kitchen so I found it fitting it should stand on her tablecloth

 

a sense of scent

Tags

alfresco living, memories, moments, Paloma Picasso, perfume, quote, scent, smells

Scent is the first sense that is activated when we are born, but it is one we often neglect. However the power of smell is incredible, it can call up memories and transport us back through time, it can evoke emotions and much, much more.

Maybe that is why many women, and men too, indulge in perfume, a squirt of deliciousness in a bottle, a sprinkling of luxury in every day life.

I, for one, found the scent I love when I was 18, Paloma Picasso, the self-named perfume by the famous artist’s daughter. It may have been an unlikely fragrance for someone so young, but the heavy base-note of musk, patchouli and amber paired with upper-tones of honeysuckle, jasmine and tuberose, was one I instantly fell in love with and still adore to this day, more than twenty years later.

Recently, for the first time ever, I ran out of my “signature” scent without a replacement bottle waiting in the wings, well my sock-drawer.  And while I do have a selection of alternative perfumes, some I wear more than others, I soon found myself missing my favourite flavour.

But since my funds are running low I decide to wait and spritz my substitute smells.  As days passed and evenings went, I discovered that replacements just aren’t the same thing and I decided to give in to my noses pleas and buy a bottle of Paloma.

So yesterday evening, after an exhibition opening at the RHA, as I wandered down Grafton Street I decided to see if Boots had my perfume on sale, like they sometimes do. Lady Luck was gracious and I was able to buy a bottle of memories and moments at a reduced price.

Today I feel hugged by an old friend as the well-known scent wafts around me as I move, my sense of scent happy once more.

A perfume is like a piece of clothing, a message, a way of presenting oneself, a costume that differs according to the woman who wears it.

Paloma Picasso

my choice of scent – Paloma Picasso

shadow and light

Tags

feelings, life, memories, opposites, photo, photography, thoughts

Trying to find the perfect words and some good ideas proved to be more than a little tricky this morning. As I sat at my desk my mind kept wandering and my eyes drifted towards the window.

There was not much to see, except for the ever changing shadow of the birdhouse. As the sun traveled across the cloud speckled sky the play of light and shadow, on my whitewashed wall, tugged at my mind.

I couldn’t help but wonder about how without light there is no shadow, two opposites that exist in harmony. A bit like emotions that we have polarised: happy and sad, brave and fearful, relaxed and stressed. Without one we don’t really understand the other – true courage comes from battling your fears, relaxation fully appreciated in the knowledge of what stress feels like and pure joy felt in the realization that unhappiness is inevitable.

Now, that clouds have stolen the shadows away, my view has become less interesting, making me wonder what life would be like in a bland concoction of even-temperedness. No highs, or lows, to make us laugh and cry – memories created from emotion filled moments no longer an option in life.

So, while ideas still elude me today, I think I will go out and see what shadows I can find and what feelings my memories of today will be made up of.

sunny afternoons

Tags

bangles eternal flame, blues, Burnning Ring of Fire, Eternal Flame, feelings, I'll tell my Ma, Jonny Cash, memories, miscellaneous, music, quotes, random, reading, The Bangles, thoughts

Yesterday afternoon I took a moment and sat outside in the sun with a mug of tea and a few magazines. As I relaxed on my purple chair outside my front door and watched the life on my street unfold, I flicked through the National Geographic and Psychologies reading about lost languages and how to be a better me.

I had my CD player on and as blues, jazz and chansons drifted through my open window my feet tapped in time and a smile settled on my lips. As serendipity would have it my eyes flitted across an article aptly named “Music to your ears”.

It told me all about the effect music has on the brain, particularity the reward-center, giving us joy and sometimes even making the hairs on the back of our necks stand up.  Music helps us access emotions, even ones that we keep buried deep within us. So it doesn’t really seem surprising that we prefer happy songs when we are in a good mood and sad ones when we are upset, especially because it takes more mental effort to listen to joyous songs when we feel a little blue. Surprisingly sad music triggers the production of prolactin in our brains, a chemical that we produce to give us a mental hug, so when we are feeling low the blues really does make us feel better.

Like smells and images,  music can remind us of the past, lets us relive moments and experiences in our lives. This is why we especially  love the music we listened to when we where in our teens and early twenties, the most formative time in our lives.

And then of course certain songs may remind us of people, like listening to Jonny Cash’s “Burnning Ring of Fire” reminds me of when I was 5-6, dancing around to the song and singing all the lyrics. with my sister.  Or  “I’ll tell my Ma” by the Dubliners makes me think of my daddy singing it to my baby brother making him giggle. Or  The Bangles “Eternal Flame” takes me back to kissing my first love with butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

But no matter what song makes you feel what emotion no one really knows why music does what is does, why it can make us react the way we do. Maybe that is the magic of music, we all have our own tunes that our hearts beat to and our own rhythm our feet dance to. As Leo Tolstoy said so wonderfully:

Music is the shorthand of emotion

walking through doors

Tags

forgetfulness, memories, miscellaneous, pint of milk, psychology, random, shopping, standing in a room, thoughts

Yesterday afternoon I wandered down to the corner shop to buy myself a pint of milk but as soon as I reached the store, walked through the door I had forgotten why I was really there in the first place. I did some shopping, picked up some bananas, yogurt and a few tomatoes but even though I passed by the milk display it didn’t trigger any memory of need.

After I had paid and left the shop, I strolled back home enjoying the warm sun on my skin and hoping the rays would turn my legs from a cheesy white to a more healthy beige when I passed by a new store selling bits-and-bobs and furniture. On a whim I wandered in and wasn’t really surprised to see not much of interest to me. But in the corner, tucked away behind a lamp and a chair I spied a wooden shelf, a perfect piece to hold a few CDs. Being my daddy’s daughter I haggled 10 euro off the price and with the semi-heavy shelf under my arm I left the store to only remember I still needed milk.

As I retraced my steps and bought the much-needed pint I couldn’t help but think about how odd it was I had forgotten about it in the first place. But then I remembered an article I had read about how walking through doors makes you forget and had to smile, after all I had walked through four doors on my way to the shop, seven if you count the return.

Most of us have experienced standing in a room and trying to figure out why we went in there in the first place, we struggle to remember and mostly we can’t, , but nearly always we ask ourselves: “how could I have forgotten?”

The simple answer would be, we just weren’t really paying attention to what we were doing but the more ‘scientisty’ one is a phenomenon know as the “doorway effect“. Studies have shown that we remember things better if the setting we are in stays the same, this means that as soon as we stand up from our desk and leave the room we just can’t remember that we wanted to make a cup of tea because we changed our environment. The reason behind this is that our brain seems to optimizes certain kinds of memories to keep they “ready”, but then purges these memories when it believes they have expired, to make room for new ones. These kinds of memories are called “event models” and when you walk through a door you are changing venues, making your brain think that what ever happened in the old room is now no longer immediately important and it gets rid of the information. It’s a bit like that stack of papers you keep on your desk, you can’t have everything there as you’d never find the computer otherwise so every now and then you have to file away some stuff to make room for the more urgent paperwork at hand.

Of course it doesn’t have to be  a door that signals your brain it can purge the event models, walking up stairs, answering the phone, even finishing the task at hand can make you forget what you were doing or wanted to do next.

So the next time your standing in the kitchen staring into the fridge, don’t worry you don’t have early onset Alzheimer, you just purged your memory on the way there and maybe if you look  beside the kettle you’ll see a cup of tea waiting for that drop of milk.

party of me

Tags

family, father, feelings, home, love, memories, miscellaneous, photo, random, relationships, The Commitments, thoughts

Yesterday was fathers-day, at least in a big part of the world. And while I was browsing the blogosphere and stumbled upon more than many blogs on fathers, fathers-day and loving fathers, I grew more and more upset.

My father died last year on the sixth of July and with only a few weeks to go till this anniversary he is very much on my mind and heart. I can’t help but wonder about what I lost and the time we didn’t have together, remembering my childhood with and my growing up without him. And as words of love, thanks and happiness spilt from my computer screen into my lap tears dropped from my eyes onto my keyboard.

But at some point I decided that it changes nothing to be upset about something that you have lost and will never get back so instead I decided to celebrate what still lies ahead of me. I poured myself a glass of wine, broke of a piece of dark chocolate and let The Commitments play.

As I danced barefoot on my own in my living-room and sang loud, off-key and happily along to some good old soulful songs, I remembered happy times in my life, some with my dad some without. I let myself envision a future filled with love and fulfilled dreams, a time so full of laughter and happiness that sorrow would be a forgotten word. But as The Commitments sang “Bye Bye Baby” I twirled back into reality and looked at my dads photo on my bookshelf.

It is of a younger him, one I didn’t know and one that my mother fell in love with. His dark curly hair and beard frame a face I loved so much and he is holding his newspaper in one hand and probably a cigarette in his other, his mug of coffee in front of him and a private smile plays on his lips. And as tears welled back up into my eyes I could hear his voice in my head telling me “to be good”, and as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks I promise him I will try.

And so what if I am a little upset, it is my party and I’ll cry if I want to, there has to be some benefits of a party of me after all.

chocolaty delights

Tags

brunch, chocolate, Dublin, family, food, friends, good little girl, love, memories, miscellaneous, random, thoughts

Brunch is a wonderful thing, especially when you are having it with five lovely ladies in one of your favourite food places in Dublin. As always I was running late, no real reason why other than I always seem to be just five minutes behind my scheduled, maybe it’s the running in heels that does it.

Anyway, as soon as I arrived a good friend gave me some chocolates, a very special kind, and even though I was already in a good mood it skyrocketed. As I sat down with a big grin, the other beautiful faces looked at me with large question marks written all over them. It wasn’t my birthday or any other special day for that matter (unless they had forgotten the newly invented give-your-friend-some-chocolate-day) so why the big purple box filled with chocolaty delights?

My dad had an uncle, the rich, very mean and children-hating kind. And every now and then my mum and dad would take us children to visit him for an afternoon in his house by the sea in Clontarf. He was a true bachelor who loved his piece and quite and I do believe he kept all the balls that ever landed in his back-garden and stored them in his potting shed.

My big sister was a quite, good little girl who did as she was told and loved to read so she would sit and not make a sound. I was more of the chatty, questioning, sock-slipping and always getting into trouble kind who seldom did what she was told and had very little fear. And somehow this little girl version of me broke down the mean old uncle and charmed him into liking both my sister and myself.

I have no memory of this, but my mum says that on one of the visits to this old mans home, I decided I wanted to see the back garden and since my mum was busy drinking tea and it wasn’t my dads home I took my great-uncles hand and demanded he show me the garden. My mums says he was so shocked that I had no fear he brought both me and my sister outside and walked around his garden with us, holding my hand and chatting. From that day onwards whenever he came to visit us, or we went to see him or it was a special day he would give my sister and me each a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray.

So when my generous friend told me that she sometimes gets boxes of chocolate from thankful new mums (she is a mid-wife) I told her about my special relationship to the purple Cadbury’s kind. I was just telling a story, sharing a memory with her but for some reason she understood that when you are  five, six, seven or even thirty-eight having a whole box of chocolates all to yourself is more than just a treat, it is something very special indeed.

So now, on some rare, surprising occasions, this particularly giving girl shares her chocolatey delights with me and makes me feel just as special as I did when I was a little girl.

pieces of me

Tags

bits and bobs, cream jug, Dublin, family, home, Ireland, memories, miscellaneous, moving, old photograph, random, South Africa, sugar pot, thoughts, travel

I have moved quite a bit in my life.  After three countries, nine homes and lots of boxes I have been living in a tiny little cottage in Dublin for the past two year, and I love it here so hopefully I will stay for a while.

Like most things in life, there are upsides and downsides to moving, packing is a definite downside, it takes quite long and somehow you break things, lose things and wonder about the person who owns certain things, even if it’s you. Meeting new people is an upside, but missing ones you left behind is a definite downside. Getting to reinvent you home is a plus but having to decide what to keep is a negative. However the one thing that always stays the same is you, after all you take yourself with you where ever you go.

As I was thinking about this yesterday my gaze fell on the little pottery sugar-pot that sits on my table. This little pot has been in my life as long as I can remember, it even features in an old photograph of my father from before I was born. It sat on my parents table in South Africa like it dose on mine here in Ireland, always filled with sugar and always with a silver spoon sticking out of it. It isn’t worth anything but to me it is priceless.

This little blue pot holds more than just sugar, it holds memories of family meals and cups of tea shared with friends. It reminds me of a time when I was small and liked sugar in my tea, of my first love who took tea with his sugar and it always has that little bit of extra sweetness when I run out while baking.

I have a lot of bits and bobs and knicks and knacks cluttering or adorning (depending on your pint of view) up my home, but only a few of them are really special and things that I keep no matter where I go. They are more than just decorative or practical items they are what makes a house my home and they store pieces of me that I am reminded of when I see them.

So while I like the challenge of moving, the new adventures it holds, for now I will stay put and be happy in a home filled with bits of the past looking forward to the future and what pieces it has in store for me. I don’t need a new sugar pot but maybe someone will come along with a cream jug that fits perfectly.