Category: nostalgia

basics · Changes · gratitude · happiness · knowledge · music · nostalgia

Do You Remember…?

Joanne3 Comments

Now I’m really feeling nostalgic! I received an email from a very dear friend this morning. He and his wife live in England and we often forward amusing emails to each other after we receive them.

Following my post yesterday, “Recycle, Reuse and Repair”, which found me lamenting to the tune of “whatever happened to the good old days when broken items could be repaired?” this email now has me thinking even more about “whatever happened to the time when…?”

Take a walk along memory lane yourself! Here is the email I received, along with a few interjections from me. 🙂

The email begins ~

“Someone asked the other day, “What was your favourite ‘fast food’ when you were growing up?”

“We didn’t have ‘fast food’ when I was growing up,” I informed him. “All the food was slow”.

“C’mon, seriously, where did you eat?”

“It was a place called ‘home’,” I explained. “Mum cooked every day and when Dad got home from work, we sat together at the dining room table, and if I didn’t like what she put on my plate, I was allowed to sit there until I did like it.”

(Once every blue moon, my Mum would buy me a treat of hot chips, wrapped up in newspaper. But they weren’t fast; I waited forever for them to cook!)

“By this time, the lad was laughing so hard I was afraid he was going to suffer serious internal damage, so I didn’t tell him the part about how I had to have permission to leave the table.”

(I remember this very well; I had to ask, ‘please may I leave the table’, without interrupting any adult conversation!)

“But here are some other things I would have told him about my childhood if I’d figured his system could handle it:

Some parents never owned their own homes, wore jeans, set foot on a golf course, travelled out of the country or had a credit card.”

(Credit cards weren’t even invented! When you wanted to buy something, you saved up to pay for it!)

“My parents never drove me to school. I had a bicycle that weighed probably 50 pounds, and only one speed, (slow).

We didn’t have a television in our house until I was ten. It was, of course, black and white, and the station went off air at 10pm, after playing the national anthem and epilogue; it came back on air at about 6am. And there was usually a locally produced news and farm show on, featuring local people…”

(Oh yes, I remember the black and white TV days; my kids think it’s hilarious that TV’s weren’t in colour!)

“I never had a telephone in my room. The only phone was on a party line. Before you could dial, you had to listen and make sure some people you didn’t know weren’t already using the line.”

(We didn’t have a phone in the house at all!)

“Pizzas were not delivered to our home…but milk was.”

(I had my first taste of pizza at age seventeen…boy oh boy, did I ever lead a sheltered life!)

“All newspapers were delivered by boys and all boys delivered newspapers…my brother delivered a newspaper, seven days a week. He had to get up at 6am every morning.

Film stars kissed with their mouths shut. At least, they did in the films. There were no movie ratings because all movies were responsibly produced for everyone to enjoy viewing, without profanity or violence or almost anything offensive.”

(Those were the days!)

“If you grew up in a generation before there was fast food, you may want to share some of these memories with your children or grandchildren. Just don’t blame me if they bust a gut laughing.

Growing up isn’t what it used to be, is it?”

The email continues, asking do you remember the following ~

  • Bottles with holes punched into the lids, for sprinkling water onto clothes before ironing them, because we didn’t have steam irons. (My Mum had one!)
  • Using hand signals for cars without turn indicators. (Yes!)
  • Sweet cigarettes. (Thinking he’s talking about lollies, and yes, I remember them).
  • Coffee shops with juke boxes. (They had one in the café next to where I worked at age 16!)
  • Home milk delivery in glass bottles. (The magpies (birds) liked to peck the silver foil lids off them, and the bottles were recycled!)
  • Newsreels before the movie. (Hmmm…Can’t say as I do).
  • TV test patterns that came on at night after the last show and were there until TV shows started again in the morning (there were only two channels, if you were fortunate). (Oh yes, this I do remember!).
  • Peashooters. (They were a boy thing…I remember boys having them confiscated at school!)
  • 33rpm records. (Still have some!)
  • 45 rpm records. (Yep, still have some 45’s too!)
  • 78rpm records. (Yes! My parents had a few! Wonder whatever happened to them?)
  • Hi-fi. (My parents had one; lasted for years!)
  • Wash tub wringers. (Funny…Mum had one and always told me not to stand too close, in case my hair got caught in it!)

Yes, I know…now I’ve ‘dated’ myself something shocking, and you have probably done the same thing! But would you have it any other way? We lived in an age when the world was younger and much more innocent. Those days cannot, and will not, ever be replaced…and we were lucky enough to have lived them! 🙂

The technology in the world advanced suddenly and with such a great volume of speed that at times it left our heads in a spin. Our children missed out on our ‘good old days’.

I wonder what stories will be told by our own children, when they tell their grandchildren stories of their own ‘good old days”?  😉

Australia · Changes · father · gardening · Mum · nostalgia · pies

Recollections of Comfort and Security

Joanne2 Comments

“Ah! There’s nothing like staying home for real comfort” ~Jane Austen.

Once in a while, memories of my first childhood home re-emerge, usually brought about by a mention of the area I once live in, and every time it happens I am left with a feeling of melancholy.

The reminder this time was due to my stumbling upon a blog, discontinued in 2006, written by a lady living in Woodford in the Blue Mountains. In her blog she had spoken of her love for anything vintage ~ clothing, jewellery, books, recipes…actually, this woman and I have a lot in common.

My own early childhood home in the Blue Mountains was in the little township of Valley Heights. Today, the population of Valley Heights is estimated at 1,336, so you can imagine how tiny the town would have been back when I was a child!

Way back in the early days, in 1813, when Australia was still learning to walk, three explorers, Blaxland, Lawson and Wentworth, managed to find their way through the rugged, mountainous bushland of the Blue Mountains, opening New South Wales out to the western plains area.

Although the progression of time has brought about many changes, both to my old home and the area, my memory still holds images of the three bedroom house, mostly built by my father; the home where the true meaning of the words comfort and security originated in my existence, and still live today.

Recollections of red velvet curtains, a wood grain wall, a kerosene heater and grey carpet in the lounge room. Linoleum floors throughout the rest of the house, including my bedroom, with scatter rugs here and there.

My bedroom was painted pink, with my second hand furniture repainted in light blue. A low, built in cupboard ran along one wall, purpose built by my brother-in-law to hold my doll collection. At one count, I had collected around forty-something dolls.

The house was humble, to say the least, but in my mind I lived in a beautiful mansion, surrounded by lush gardens; a tall weeping willow tree down the back, not far from the swing my father had built for me and where I would spend hours of my time.

Out the back, we grew hydrangeas and fuchsias, which to this day still remain two of my favourite flowers, and we had mint growing and a passionfruit vine. Our garden backed onto a gully full of various species of gum trees and bottlebrush, but my favourite find in the bush was always the uniquely shaped branches of a plant we called “mountain devils”. I could walk with ease alone down the gully, to a point where there sat a huge bush rock. The rock was my limit, without my father’s help.

In the front garden my sister had planted poppies, roses, gardenias, violets and daphnes, along with as many other flowering plants as she could lay her hands on. She was married the day before my seventh birthday, but still spent time in the garden when she can home to visit us.

Nothing gave me more delight than walking to the end of our street with an empty bowl, returning home to my mother with the bowl full of wild growing blackberries, which she would turn into a pie. Wild flowers grew everywhere in the area as well, in the empty lots of land and along the sides of the roads.

Those were the days when we bought our milk, bread and vegetables from the back of one of the many vans, which travelled around the streets selling their produce. We lived on a gravel road and walked everywhere we needed to go. If the walk was too long, we took a bus.

Life was oh so simple back then. And the air was fresh and cool, not surprisingly, with an altitude of 375 meters (1,230 feet) above sea level. Winters were cold and summer days were rarely unbearably hot. It doesn’t snow at Valley Heights, although we would regularly visit the snow, when it made its appearance during the winter months, by travelling just a few kilometres further into the mountains.

When melancholy sets in, it is brought about not by the memories of a time long gone, but rather from knowing that my family prefers to live in a warmer climate, beside the sea.

I wonder if the blogger from Woodford still lives in the Blue Mountains, enjoying her vintage finds in the many antique stores and craft shops there? As far as I know, the cottage industry is still alive and well in the mountains and I feel certain that the antique stores and art galleries have multiplied, since my last visit there.

The melancholy will pass, I promise, and I will bounce back tomorrow, my usual chirpy self. 🙂

What about you ~ do you have a special location, held near and dear to you in your heart of hearts?

inspiration · music · nostalgia

Time Travelling…With Music

Joanne3 Comments

“If music be the food of love, play on”~ William Shakespeare.

This morning my twenty two year old daughter and I had morning tea together. Being Saturday morning, she had already finished her two hour ballet class, so called in for a visit on her way back to her place.

We shared the last of the Welsh Bara Brith, which I had made a few days ago and each of us had a cup of herbal tea, whilst sitting in my quiet room.

My younger daughter, aged seventeen, completed her exams at school last week and had enjoyed a well deserved sleep-in. She joined us in the quiet room for her “early-morning-but-today-it-was-at-eleven-o’clock” mug of coffee. Tucked under her arm was her lap-top.

“Did you two know that Marilyn Manson is coming to Australia this year”?

“Who’s she?” asked Miss twenty two.

“It’s a he”, I informed her.

It must have been our lucky day. With lap-top at the ready, Miss Seventeen proceeded to play a most charming song for her big sister, feeling sure she would also become a fan of Marilyn Manson. (You are detecting the note of sarcasm in my voice here, aren’t you?)

I will not be offering a link here to MM, nor would I repeat any lyrics to his, um…songs. Needless to say, I invited Miss twenty-two to come into my office with me, as I had a you-tube clip that she would be sure to enjoy!

During the week, Káren at the Calm Space has posted a lovely article “Music to Sooth Your Soul”. A link is included in the article, to the most beautiful version of “Hallelujah” by Il Divo. My daughter knew the song and loved this version, along with the beautiful backdrop of The Coliseum.

Once in the mood for hearing such beautiful harmonious voices, we played more songs, including “The Power of Love”, “The Adagio”, “Unchained Melody” and “Ave Maria”.

Seeing the old Righteous Brothers of “Unchained Melody” there, I had to play that also. I now have an urge to see the movie “Ghost” again!

Il Divo, I have discovered, perform a beautiful version of “All By Myself”. I listened to it, but only as it was being sung in Spanish. The version sung in English, by Eric Carmen, had been my mother’s favourite song and far too emotional for me to listen to. I’m having a happy day and have no desire to cry!

At one stage, my daughter questioned me as to whether the room we were in felt cold, then answered her own question; the goose bumps were due to the music! We both had goose bumps.

Isn’t music amazing? It has the ability to transport your soul to another place and another time, give you goose bumps, can be uplifting (or depressing), it can soothe your soul, as Káren told us and it can even rattle your soul, as displayed by my younger daughter’s music!

Káren asks at the Calm Space “What music do you turn to, when your heart is aching and you’re in need of soothing”? Further to Káren’s question, I would like to ask; what music transports your soul to another place, another time?

I do believe Shakespeare had a point; music is the food of love! 🙂

Australia · nostalgia

A Bouquet Of Keys

Joanne4 Comments

For days on end, the stainless steel laundry tubs reminded me of long forgotten summer days, spent with my uncle on his dairy farm, in the middle of New South Wales.

As wonderful as the memories were, they puzzled me. Reminders of an uncle, whom I hadn’t seen since I was a teenager, every time I did the laundry? Why???

Bottles had been sterilised in a bleach mixture in my laundry tub, in preparation for my son’s latest batch of home brew, leaving a bleachy-metallic odour lingering for days after…Uncle Jim’s bleachy-metallic odour!

What?!  Why did my beloved Uncle remind me of bleach and stainless steel? This question had my mind working overtime…he had a dairy farm…the milking machines were stainless steel…the vats containing the fresh-from-the-cow milk were stainless steel…they must have been sterilised with something…a bleach mixture maybe?

Regardless, Uncle Jim was back, in my mind’s eye, for a few precious days of re-lived moments…

Way too early in the day, long before any self-respecting man or beast should be stirring (I never was a morning person) rumour has it that Uncle Jim could be found, (should anyone care to find him at that ungodly hour!) herding the cows into the milking sheds.

Memories abound of waking each morning to the crisp summer’s air, after the searing heat of the previous day, snuggled into a light feather quilt, the scent of Uncle Jim’s breakfast of eggs, bacon and fried tomatoes wafting into the room, cooking on the huge fire-wood stove in the adjoining country kitchen.

Remembering that this was a holiday, no school, no one knowing where to find me, steeling a few extra minutes under the feather quilts would be allowed.

The grassy, hay, chicken feather smell, whilst collecting eggs from the chicken coup with my granny, and, as the day grew older, the smell of the dry heat mixing with the dust of the barren country roads, combined with the leaves of the eucalyptus trees.

The high-light of each day began around about the middle of the day, when the dry-heat reached its peak, to a point where I would wonder if I would ever take another breath of cool air again. Uncle Jim would bring the old ute around to the front of the farmhouse, after loading the icy-cold vats of fresh milk into the  back tray, and off we would drive, car windows opened wide, wind hitting our faces, driving along the open dusty roads to the cool rooms, where the milk would await its collection.

With the milk safely delivered to its destination point, it was time for my treat…a huge carton of freezing cold, chocolate or strawberry flavoured milk!

The heat of the day disappeared, along with every mouthful of flavoured milk I took, not daring to return before the next day, when it was nearly time to take the next trip along the dusty roads, to the cool-room and my cool-milk.

As each day drew to a close, (a far more respectable time for both man and beast), Uncle Jim would again herd the cattle along the lines of stalls into the milking sheds, this time with my “help”. Not to be left out, the bull would wander into his favoured stall also, right at the end, where he kept a close watch over his harem!

Now, just when I imagine most of my childhood memories are tucked up safe and sound in their own little colourful boxes and stashed away somewhere in the vicinity of the deep-dark-recesses and long-forgotten, out pops the key to open the box, releasing each magical memory back into the present, cunningly disguised as a whiff of bleach or a carton of strawberry milk.

But I’m not complaining, only surprised. I’m happy to bask in the feather quilt again, just for a moment longer. 🙂

The nose knows far more than we give it credit for, having its own personal source of intelligence.

What joy-filled memories of bygone days have your bouquet of keys unlocked for you?

inspiration · nostalgia

A Magical Memory

Joanne3 Comments

These trees hold magical powers. I found myself pondering the power that every branch, every piece of ripening fruit and every beautifully formed leaf held over me. Even the gently sloping fall of the ground had me mesmerised.

Nearby, my cutie-cat pounced along through the grass, chasing butterflies, whilst black-velvet dog was having her own adventures, rustling around in the undergrowth nearer to the back boundary fence, just beyond the trees.

My mind wandered, to another place; another time…..

The house was old, very old. We opened the creaky wrought-iron gate and walked along the short footpath, through the neglected garden and onto the aging wooden boards of the front veranda.

To our left, the wall of the house had two doors, either of which may have been the main entry; my father unlocked the second door.

We entered directly into a small but cosy lounge-room. Further investigation revealed three bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. Although the house was anything but grand, I instantly felt at home.

My bedroom was the smallest room in the house, even the bathroom was bigger. There was only room enough for my single bed and a tiny desk, but that was all a nine year old girl needed. A small, built-in wardrobe in a corner had enough space to hold my winter clothes. A broken, dull, brown blind covered an extremely tiny window. When I managed to open the blind I could see across into an open field of grass, where a local bee-keeper kept a number of bee hives.

The room where I felt really comfortable was the lounge-room. Burning logs blazed non-stop in the open fireplace and I knew where my cat could always be found; curled up on the old hearth mat. An antique clock chimed every quarter hour on the mantle-piece. At night time I loved to hear the wind whistling around the windows outside, knocking and scraping tree branches against the side of the old house.

The most old fashioned lounge-suite I had ever seen was the only furniture in the room, one three seater couch and two single seaters. I made claim to one single seater chair nestled comfortably next to the fire-place. I adored the way in which I sunk into that big old chair, just like being gobbled up by a huge marshmallow! An aged, brown marshmallow, but definitely a marshmallow. The broad, solid, but softly upholstered arms of the chair were just the right width for me to rest my book, whilst reading. As I recall, by nine years of age I had collected most of the “Famous Five” series of books by Enid Blyton and I read them all.

The house was only a five minute bus trip to and from my school. Other children in my class would travel with me and in the afternoons we could hardly wait to get home, allowing us an hour or two to spend in the park directly across the road from my house. We all enjoyed the swings, merry-go-round, see-saw and climbing gym there.

When walking outside the back of the house, you were met by another aging wooden porch, this one larger than the one at the front of the house, with wooden steps leading down, into a gently sloping expanse of garden; an orchard.

Oh, how I loved that orchard! Tree after tree, producing lemons and oranges, neglected, just as the front garden was, and containing magical powers that only my nine year olds mind was aware of! The trees were my protection from everything, nothing could harm me there, and I was invincible…the garden was calm and safe, protective and mesmerising…..

Our stay in this ancient, neglected home only lasted for three months, during the cold winter season of a beautiful, mountain village. Spring arrived far too early for me that year, along with a move into a brand new home, built by my parents. There we had fresh new carpet, brightly painted walls and brand new furniture. And, I missed my old house…

Standing amongst the foliage in my garden, mesmerised by the trees, I contemplated the similarities of the home I had shared for a number of years with my husband and children, a home where I felt calm, safe and protected.

Collecting the ripened fruit that I had picked from the trees, I called out to my cutie-cat and black-velvet and the three of us headed back up the gently sloping hill to the back of the house.

As I walked in through the back door, I heard the chime of my clock, sitting on the mantelpiece over my fireplace. And in the far corner of my lounge-room I spotted the big marshmallow of a chair, with broad, solid and softly upholstered arms…a chair which had recently found me (but that is another story for another day!) 🙂

Was it my conscious or sub-conscious mind that had drawn the orchard, chair, clock and fireplace into my life? If I hadn’t lived in that wonderful, old neglected house a lifetime ago, would I have been inspired to draw these items to me, or would I have made different choices?

Some day, I may have the answers to those questions. And if I don’t come up with the answers I am now pondering? It doesn’t matter…every single piece of furniture, ornament, picture on the walls, paint colour, curtain, and in the garden every garden-bed and tree there was firstly pictured in my mind’s eye. When I went to the store to buy them, every item was there, waiting for me. If I didn’t find them first, they found me.

They bring such joy to my life…just the way it’s meant to be. 🙂