Today's article from our nostalgia series is no trifling matter. It is a story of dusting, polishing, fur babies and puddings. And it all began because my daughter bought a new car.
Confused? Well, all will become clear when you read today's " I remember when... article which also includes living angels, tilers, pink ribbons and nice cups of tea,
It all started a few days ago when my daughter came to visit. She had travelled down to Brisvegas( Brisbane to most folk) to get her new car. Her beloved European convertible had been stolen and left torched out by a group of misunderstood young people who need our sympathy, empathy and love. ( sarcasm)
She was unable to buy her car of choice, but miracle of miracles, she could buy one manufactured in China.
How amazing is that?!
I must admit, having seen it, it is rather nice. Smart and select and very cost effective.
While we waited for her, my brother and his girlfriend decided to dust and polish the pictures, carvings, wall plates and memorabilia around Redhead's home. All the high places that she is too vertically challenged to reach.
Little did I know that the dusting would disturb clouds of memories and release a flood of joy and change the visit from ": how are you? " to " Do you remember when? "
I am not suggesting for one moment that Redhead is short. Heaven forbid. She just has really tall paintings and ornaments....
whew.... bullet averted.
Anyway, back to the dusting and polishing now that the dust has settled.
We always meet at Redhead's home. It is convivial, convenient and well, it is home. It has been for over 36 years.
It was home to her and Raymond F Peters and is still home to me and my family.
The Christmas trifle we ate and the pavlova and the fun times we enjoyed around a table that., today, is so sadly bereft of guests.
The laughter, the memories, the fun photos taken and now? A trifle recipe sent to a granddaughter in the hopes of recreating a Christmas that has gone and can never come again.
What have we allowed to happen?
The death of loved ones and the death of old times are now accepted and we no longer mark the passing of freedom for fear that what little freedom we have left is taken from us.
As I walk through Redhead's gate, I see images of my late father sitting in his chair and smiling as I approach. His gentle face looking at me with happiness and that joy returned in my eyes. I hear his voice calling " You're looking well! " and I feel his hug from the dusty crevices of my memory. His laughter and pleasure to greet me. God, I miss that.
But Dad was from the pre covid years, The time before we forgot what it meant to care about each other and care more about what we are told to think.
I feel the warm embrace of decades of memories and the groundswell of love of a family and for a family that I love and honour and know in my heart that it is no trifling matter.
It is important, this love of the past. This need to keep the past alive and never forget what made us who we are and what we are in danger of losing,.
It is not dark, but we are getting there.
As I wander down the slate walkway, laid decades ago by a man named " Ron the Tiler" , who smoked dope and was a master tradesman. albeit with a tendency to deviate to west of normal, I still marvel at his craftsmanship and look for the words he placed on the tile that said " "Ron the Tiler laid this. "
My eye looks to the right and I see places in the garden that trigger a memory of a pet long since past.
Every dear pet we have ever shared our lives with is buried somewhere in Redheads' garden.
We often laugh and think that if someone ever redeveloped her home. people could be called in to do an archeological dig. There will be so many graves there and so many beloved fur babies held in her care.
In fact, my darling Bridget rests in the ground that Redhead has ensured is always ready to " find the right spot " and allow our loved pets to rest together.
Redhead always makes sure that a flower is placed with the latest member of the Rainbow Bridge Club. She is very careful to make sure that the end is kind and caring.
Though I have to admit that the yard is filling up after so many decades of loved ones seeking her refuge as they hope that they are remembered as fondly in the after life as they were in this.
I can't tell you ( but Redhead can ) where every one of our beloved pets are placed to rest. She knows the spot in her garden, the plant, the little token left to honour the love that we received from that wonderful cat or dog.
What is it that makes us so love our pets, our beloved companions?
Is it our love of them or their love of us? Or is it both?
We cannot and should not try to understand why it is. Just that it is.
Help us cover our monthly costs
Which brings me back to the dusting and the memories that flooded from that act of dusting.
The carving from Bali, bought on the day that my eldest daughter was born.
The photo of our Dad when he first came down under and went from the Royal Navy to the New Zealand Navy.
My brother took the treasured photo out of its frame to take this image. Thank you.
The collage of images on the side of the fridge that showed two little girls - now in their mid to late forties - my daughters - with a long gone standard poodle who migrated with my parents when they came to Queensland and found their home of so many decades.
The vintage Shakespeare plate that has adorned her wall for so long it is literally part of the furniture and part of the essence of the home. The photos of us as children and the portrait of her as a young girl. Rosy cheeks, red hair, ribbon in her hair and that familiar look in her eyes that still says " I know my own mind "
Well, OK, not exactly the same, but there are similarities... I will leave it up to you to decide. Perhaps it was the camera that made her look confronted.
Before my daughter arrived, we had turned a day of dusting into a day of " dusting the memories" and laughter was born out of layers of the dust of covid.
When she arrived, we gathered around the table and drank tea from the Royal Daulton cups and reflected on when they were bought, where they were bought and how they have been part of our lives for so many sessions of family get togethers; we spoke of the black standard poodle who used to chase the froth whipped up by the waves on the beach after a storm ( how many years has it been since we saw that? ) ; the time I bought a pig ornament and called her Rosie ( she now sits atop Bridget's grave to let her know she is loved) and we laughed at the good times before the world went mad.
And we had that cup of tea and smiled, laughed and felt the togetherness of family.
After all, a nice cup of tea solves many problems.
Raymond F Peters singing with Redhead on the keyboard
As we sat around the table and said " I remember when... " we looked at each other and not one of us said " It's over, isn't it? " But we all thought it.
I am reminded of what Bob Dylan said " It's not dark yet, but it's getting there. "
And we are certainly in a dark place right now.
It's not over yet. As long as we keep remembering and never let the dust settle on the past, we have a fighting chance.
With a little help from our friends.
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