I don't know if it was because we had some spare time on a nice morning, or if it was because I turn 40 this week, but on the way home from town today I took the little helper on a nostalgic magical mystery tour... It wasn't an entirely new excursion for him, but it's been long enough since the last visit for him to have been excited.
I grew up in a hamlet called Berrys Creek. It had four houses, a hall and a school. The year before we moved to Berrys Creek its school closed. This was a blessing and a curse. The curse: I'd probably have been perfectly suited to a small, insular, protective school environment. The blessing: we had relatively unrestricted access to the old school, its grounds and buildings. For a couple of months each year the school was used as a camp by a Frankston school. They'd bring urban kids down for a week at a time to experience bucolia. Other than that it was ours.
For me the old school was a place of freedom and joy. The place where I carved the initials of those I coveted in the bark of myriad trees. The place where we'd go to play pool or ping pong (which we called table tennis, but I like the alliterative bounce of all those P's). A place to climb trees and collect tadpoles. A place to (ok, Dad, I admit it, they were mine...) stash some old Playboy magazines I'd stumbled across in my neighbour's shed. A place to run away to when I decided that I was leaving home. A place to substitute my unwitting little brother for a bus as the object I'd leap over on my BMX while pretending I was Evil Knievel. Damn Madonna for getting stuck in my head:
This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to...
So this morning's minor detour was quite a nostalgia trip. And... And it's awful to see the place unused, unloved, rundown. Awful. What a waste. If I had the energy and the finances I'd find out how to lease it. I'd fix it up and turn it into a beautiful little cafe. But I have neither... Maybe someone will do something with it one day.
In the meantime I had no qualms pilfering a few bits and pieces: some kids' chairs, a few old bag hooks and a water bubbler. They felt more like memento mori than mementoes...
After more than three years in the house I still hadn't organised anywhere to hang towels in the bathroom. Not a hook nor a rail. So they ended up on the door knob. Not ideal. I had envisaged (don't steal this idea - I may still do it!) using old bakelite fishing reels. I wanted to mount them on a piece of karri, using their handles as towel hooks. But! I wanted to mount them in such a way that they'd still function so I could rig up little trapezes (is that a word? can you picture what I mean...?) to hang wet towels from. The 'trapezes' would be lowered or raised using the reels. The warmth of the ceiling space would be perfect to dry the towels between uses. Anyway... The bag hooks are a nice addition to the bathroom in the meantime!
This afternoon I removed one of the garden taps - the one closest to the sandpit - and replaced it with the bubbler. It's a lovely thing. I used to drink from this fairly anonymous piece of plumbing, and now the best little helper will too. Sometimes I love the circularity of life. Maybe that's just nostalgia...
As I drove to the end of the bitumen and the road turned to corrugated and potholed gravel Madonna was usurped by Michelle Shocked. Almost Pavlovian, every time I drive this stretch of road I find myself singing Memories Of East Texas...
Memories of East Texas and those pine-green rolling hills
Covered in the springtime with golden daffodils
Rowing on Sandy lake come April, harvesting hay in June
Sitting by the road watching wellfires burn by an old October moon
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
Memories of East Texas and of Gilmer, county seat of Upshur
Looking back and asking myself ''What the hell did you let them break your spirit for?''
Their lives ran in circles so small, they thought they'd seen it all
And they couldn't make a place for a girl who'd seen the ocean
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
But those memories of East Texas and those pine-green rolling hills
Covered in the springtime with wild daffodils
Sitting in those Piney woods, playing my guitar
Thinking back on the roads I'd come, thinking I had not come that far
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to...
So this morning's minor detour was quite a nostalgia trip. And... And it's awful to see the place unused, unloved, rundown. Awful. What a waste. If I had the energy and the finances I'd find out how to lease it. I'd fix it up and turn it into a beautiful little cafe. But I have neither... Maybe someone will do something with it one day.
In the meantime I had no qualms pilfering a few bits and pieces: some kids' chairs, a few old bag hooks and a water bubbler. They felt more like memento mori than mementoes...
After more than three years in the house I still hadn't organised anywhere to hang towels in the bathroom. Not a hook nor a rail. So they ended up on the door knob. Not ideal. I had envisaged (don't steal this idea - I may still do it!) using old bakelite fishing reels. I wanted to mount them on a piece of karri, using their handles as towel hooks. But! I wanted to mount them in such a way that they'd still function so I could rig up little trapezes (is that a word? can you picture what I mean...?) to hang wet towels from. The 'trapezes' would be lowered or raised using the reels. The warmth of the ceiling space would be perfect to dry the towels between uses. Anyway... The bag hooks are a nice addition to the bathroom in the meantime!
This afternoon I removed one of the garden taps - the one closest to the sandpit - and replaced it with the bubbler. It's a lovely thing. I used to drink from this fairly anonymous piece of plumbing, and now the best little helper will too. Sometimes I love the circularity of life. Maybe that's just nostalgia...
As I drove to the end of the bitumen and the road turned to corrugated and potholed gravel Madonna was usurped by Michelle Shocked. Almost Pavlovian, every time I drive this stretch of road I find myself singing Memories Of East Texas...
Memories of East Texas and those pine-green rolling hills
Covered in the springtime with golden daffodils
Rowing on Sandy lake come April, harvesting hay in June
Sitting by the road watching wellfires burn by an old October moon
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
Memories of East Texas and of Gilmer, county seat of Upshur
Looking back and asking myself ''What the hell did you let them break your spirit for?''
Their lives ran in circles so small, they thought they'd seen it all
And they couldn't make a place for a girl who'd seen the ocean
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
But those memories of East Texas and those pine-green rolling hills
Covered in the springtime with wild daffodils
Sitting in those Piney woods, playing my guitar
Thinking back on the roads I'd come, thinking I had not come that far
I learnt to drive on those East Texas red clay backroads
And I mean to tell you my friend they weren't no easy roads
You had to watch out for all the curves down by Kelsey Creek
And detour through the Lindsay's pasture when the waters ran too deep
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