Tag: nostalgia

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The Importance of Being Idle

 

I was thinking of a family story when I woke up yesterday, one of my favourites and never ceases to delight me. I’m not sure why I enjoy the story so much but I suspect it’s because it illustrates the stark differences between my parents so vividly. My father, a short-fused, A-type personality was a man who got things done, was always early for appointments and had no tolerance for anything or anyone that had a whiff of “idleness” about it. (I have put idleness in quotes because what he, and many others, considered to be “idle” in wartime Lancashire could easily include pausing to draw breath). I often think he would not do well with the current avalanche of self-care books available because he literally, would not understand the concept.

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Sea Glass I Have Known

 

When my parents decided that we would move to the UK when I was but a blossoming ‘tween, one of the (many) propaganda stories they hinted at (along with the acquisition of a pony, our own stables and a chuckling brook round the back) was that many young Brits-by-the-sea enjoyed “beachcombing” as a very suitable pastime.  (I expect that these badass individuals spent the rest of their time modelling cabled sweaters on knitting patterns … just saying). The allure of a metal detector may or may not have been mentioned at this time but even at the advanced age of 13 I realized that this was severely uncool and was just not going to happen on my watch.

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Club Django and More

accordion

 

Last week a friend (actually, two separate friends, who both know me well)  invited me to come along and hear Club Django. I do love hearing bands play live and I particularly like this kind of music but sometimes it seems like too much trouble after a  long day at work and the concept of coming home and going out again seems unbearable.

Still, as noted here before, I find Klezmer (or so-called ‘Gypsy Jazz’) reliably cheering so my friends collected me at the especially odd time of 2pm and we moved out of the glinty sunshine into a darker venue to catch Club Django in concert.

And from the opening notes, I was so, so happy that I did.

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Maine Deconstructed

 

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The General and I are just back from Old Orchard Beach in Maine which is the sleepy, predictable kind of holiday that I often really enjoy. The lush, yet austere landscape of Maine and the cottage itself are hugely significant to The General since he has enjoyed many golden-hued summers there as a child and because it’s still a property that is “family owned” you can sense  the tradition and memory as the key turns in the lock.

The very first time I was here and the door creaked opened to the warm – but not unpleasant – smell of humidity and age, I was nearly overcome with a sense of Those-Who-have-Gone-Before-Us.

It was just like being invited to a crazy, crowded party where everyone has convened in the kitchen, chatting loudly and you have to enter sideways with your bottle of wine, introducing yourself.

Except that the kitchen was empty.

I am often very sensitive to this type of thing so I wasn’t unduly freaked out and besides, the vibe was friendly enough but it did serve to re-ignite a really unsettling feeling that I often experience now which is being super conscious that I am still, and possibly always will be, The New Girl.

And what can I do? There’s simply not enough time for me to be fully accepted and it makes me acutely aware that I no longer have the extended family that I was comfortable with when I myself was married. Strangely, for example, I knew my ex-husbands’ parents more than twice as long as my own.

I am not a fan of this feeling but don’t know what to do about it.

I often feel as though as I am driving a motor boat and pulling behind me three decades of memories that just won’t drop the line.

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