The old penny…..

“The love we give away is the only love we keep” Elbert Hubbard

I bought a old penny from Ireland for a friend, it was dated 1896 which being a math dunce took me 5 or was it 8 minutes to work, out eventually I worked it out as 117 years old.

It was a bit worn, it’s edges looking less than round and it was very brown. The dates and figures were hard to read too, this was a very old penny.

I didn’t cost much but I wanted to buy it for him, not because it was he collects pennies, but because of some reason I couldn’t quite explain at the time.

Thinking now I am back home why I bought it has made me think about old pennies and what they represent (yes I do think too much), pennies that are out of circulation with no discernible value. But I do think they have value. And this is why…

This old penny has sat in hands and pockets of so so many people all different. Men have brought this home and put it on the mantelpiece or kitchen for their wives, who would have bought food, clothes, paid bills and made a home for their family. People would have paid for homes with this old penny, they may have spent on healthcare. Paid to be with loved ones especially in Ireland, where you had to pay the Match Maker and then the priest if you wanted to get married. Lovers and friends will have bought gifts and treasures for each other with this little penny. Tickets to other countries like England and USA. Yes this little dirty penny has many memories attached to it and has played it’s part in securing a whole lot of futures.

Money is like that it plays its part, but it’s only valuable if it buys something that people value. By itself this is just a piece of bronze, unless it is exchanged and given away it really has no value at all.

For this reason I wanted that penny, just like life we have got to decide what is valuable and what we are willing to pay the price for. And just like my penny it is only when we exchange does it bring real value.

Now this little penny is out of circulation and lost its retail value but all the memories remain, even if the penny can’t tell the story itself. in our society we tend to treat our old people like these old pennies. And just like those old pennies they have met many people and have lots of memories, and unfortunately society sometimes treats them like they have lost their value. We don’t always see the true value of those older in our world.

Either way maybe my friend may not understand why he is getting a old penny, but I know he will understand the importance of memories. And I know the only way to give this old penny it’s true value is to give it to him and hope he it reminds him to make great memories while he is in circulation, just like this old penny….

Let’s make a memory…….

“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.”
― Oscar Wilde

After my Dad died I realised that I would never remember all the stuff he talked about. The lessons he tried to teach, the memories he shared about his early life with Mum, his experiences of people. You see my Dad lived with me and my family and liked to talk (something tells me I am my Fathers daughter for sure) and often I was too busy with life to listen as carefully as I should have. After all older people have a lot to teach us if only we listened. That said my kids, extended family and I remember quite a bit (thankfully).

Only now do I take more care to remember the important things in life.

At the same time I figured out that it is also important to be conscious about making memories, as we only have one life, and I understand a rich person is not the one with the most money, but the one with the sweetest memories. Therefore my rally cry to friends is “let’s go make a memory” and luckily they are most compliant and love life just as much as me.

Today as Lady L sat next to the river and tried out her bird watching skill, (her Aussie cousins had impressed her with their skill so she is in practice for their return visit next year – which is not looking good as she failed miserably, saying “it’s a Swallow, no a Swift” “why a Swift?” I asked, knowing full well it was because it flew fast – that had been her only clue! It looked like a dove or pigeon to me but it could have been a penguin for all I know (just kidding I know penguins are not birds they are mammals, Lady L told me!!) This had followed her navigating skill, where she used her inbuilt Red Indian genes to instruct me how to find a pub in Northumberland. Her instructions went a little like this “it’s just past Hexham, yes that’s where it is Bellingham, no hang on its Wall, no it’s just up here. Is this the Military Road, are you sure this is not the Military Road”. In the end I stopped and got out the Maps on my phone, and gave in to the modern world, only to find she couldn’t follow the darn thing. So giving up entirely we stopped at nearest place beside the river and chilled, vowing to find the other pub some other day, or when Penguins fly.

However we did come up with a strategy for making our memories stick. Our first one (we used in Canada last year), we stand looking at a beautiful view, using a splitter on our iPhone we listen to an awesome song such as “one moment in time”. This uses two senses to absorb the memory. We decided the more senses you use the better, including smell and touch if possible. Perhaps if we had held hands it would have been better in Canada (creepy but better).

Second is to take a photo, or blog it recording how it felt at the time. Including recording what was said, funny things we shared. I find sharing the blog or repeating the sayings again brings back the feelings too. You can’t help telling a good memory without a smile on your face – just try it!

Or one which I haven’t tried, which is when you are in a special place, tell a secret to someone. Such as how you feel about them. Saying ” I love you” for the first time or “will you marry me” (be careful with this one – for obvious reasons!). It’s probably better not to say things like “I killed your ferret”, that may cement the wrong memories and lose you friends, if you know what I mean.

Sometimes memories are so good you feel you simply can’t absorb enough of them, I know I have felt like that. So even if trying to trap a memory can be tricky its worth it.

But in the end the best part is sometimes the playback. When you reminisce with loved ones and friends. When you enhance the best times with added twists not untruths just little funnies. It brings out the best and you will get to relive them all over again. That’s what makes memories important they have staying power…..,

Who moved my chicken?…..

‘Who moved my cheese’ (for those people who do not make sense of their lives by reading a book on every hurdle they come across like I do) is a book which helps you understand how to deal with change in your work and life. Easy book, not life changing but good.

Yesterday I had a little op, nothing major but a bit uncomfortable. As I sat with my friend in the waiting room for 5 hours, not drinking (well apart from the huge Costa coffee he got me when the nurses weren’t looking) and eating for 8 hours. We talked about life and people but mostly ourselves which is always a popular topic with me and my inner circle of friends, due to the fact we never fail to be fascinated by how much chaos and trouble we can get ourselves in to. We mess up communication, relationships, goals and generally most things that life gives us. That’s not to say we are not successful, no people in my world are successful in work, relationships (mostly) and life in general. No sitting there in that waiting room watching some people who were going through much more than I was, made me appreciate the way in which we can acknowledge what we don’t do do well and let it teach us to change, hopefully grow and love our lives and each other.

By the miracle of technology, while we waited I communicated with both my sons from their temporary homes (via FaceBook) in China and New Zealand. AMAZING! or what! Chatting about what they are both doing, checking they are speaking to each other, their Dad, getting a update on their plans and their eating habits (always important I may be weak at parenting but I am still their mum!). It seemed so amazing to be chatting like this in a NHS waiting room. Especially under a sign that said turn off all mobiles (obviously not aimed at me!). The surgeon too was interested in their adventures, when I told him (him being a very young Australian called Sebastian, who promised to do my op perfect this time- don’t you just love the faith the young have). And I have to say even being bumped to last on the op list never made me think less of the NHS or the gang of nurses and surgical team that looked after me. They held my hand, told me I didn’t look 50! (for that alone they get a 10) and made sure I didn’t feel alone or afraid of the procedure. How lucky we are to have this in our country.

The aftercare was provided by a different group of special people, Lady A and her wonderful family. Who live in a beautiful chateau on the top of a hill in Durham. Arriving later than I had hoped after my little delayed hospital visit Lady A and her handsome young son Master B were at the door to greet me with a drink and hug, followed by a relax in their beautiful garden. Sun still shining, Master B entertained me with his future plans, being 12 he has lots. Added to this he is growing into a heart breaker but has not lost any of the mischief he was born with, nor his skill at getting me in trouble with his patents as they realise they will never let him come live with me as I encourage that mischief gene just a little too much for their liking.

Bringing me his chicken (its name I cant remember but it’s not ‘Pieces’ I know) so I could get acquainted with it. (Can you get acquainted with a chicken?) who knows but as he said “I will just move my chicken” I realised handling life is like that, we don’t have to blame/hope someone else for our life trials or for moving our cheese/chicken. No we may not be in control of most of it but we can move our own chickens especially with the help of incredible friends. So as I relax among the family, cats and chickens I realise how blessed I am and what a good day this has been. I also vowed to eat beef for tea at the pub tonight, don’t ask me why …

You can dream about it every now and then, but you can’t go home again…..

In a couple if weeks I am going to visit my big brother and his lovely wife. I haven’t seen them in a while, they live part in England and part in Spain and to visit their house abroad is always relaxing and fun.

Seeing my family always makes me think of the past, as my memory is not the best (hence the creation of this blog – suggested by Son Number 2, so I don’t forget too much and appreciate as much as possible in life). Last time at my brothers house we watched a old movie of one of my Dads birthday parties. My Bro, his wife and I happily pointed out to our friends who was who in our extended family, giggling at our old hair styles and reminisced about those no longer with us.

Looking back is an odd experience, Lady Y this week spoke about how she can still recall vividly the experience of visiting her Nanna, the walk up the path, along the passage feeling excited to see the woman she adored.

When I recall memories of my family home, I still feel the comfort, security and love that I don’t think I will ever replace, as these are childhood memories and special. My favourite day of the week was Wednesdays, because it was my Mums day off, a day which meant trying to throw a sickie from school just to stay at home with her. The house we lived in always felt warm, people were always welcome, both my parents being very social and generous. Dreaming of home like this sometimes makes me smile, but often it makes me sad, sad because I can never go home again. No time travel or Worm Hole available, that I can slip through and get home to my parents and the love that existed in that house. No dreams can take you back to the place in your mind but it can’t take you back in time.

The sadness never stays long with me, as I love my life and believe the best is yet to come and I am not sure whether there is much in life that you can go back to successfully.

Can You go back to a good book, education, favourite places, relationship etc and feel the same? I have read books that changed my life but on reading them again they didn’t have the same effect – I had changed since the first time I had read it so the effect was never going to be the same, places may still look the same but it never feels like the first time you discovered somewhere special etc etc.

No going back rarely seems an option for most things, people grow develop, memories also change how we remember things, we enhance them or fudge them depending on how we want the memories to be. Perhaps something’s should remain beautiful memories, something tells me when I visit my family in a couple of weeks, we will be reminiscing and it will seem like it wasn’t so long ago that everyone was all together in our family home. But in the back of our minds we will know that although we can dream about it every now and then, we can’t go home again……..

People or boats …..

I recently bought this print from a local artist Mr Lindsay. He paints scenes from our local coastline usually Tynemouth and Cullercoates. Visiting his shop you can watch him paint or just admire his work hanging there. I often think how I would like to buy one of the big originals, but never would spend the money, such is my lack of art collecting.

Mr Lindsay is talented and friendly so chatting to him I said I liked this print because it reminded me of people. Being polite he said “everyone sees something different in art”. “Why people he asked me””?” (again being polite). I said because all the boats are different, some little, some big, some new, some old. Some well maintained, others rather worn and well used. But all of them are stranded on the same shore, all of them are waiting for the same thing – the tide to come in and give them the ability to do what they need to do – sail in the Ocean.

Everyone of them has the ability to get to where they need to be, as craftsmen have built them. They have their own journey mapped out and just because they need to sail alone doesn’t mean they are actually alone. They are stranded at this very moment but when the Ocean reaches them, they will sail again and maybe get close to each other, they might be so close that they wave and say “Bon Voyage may the winds be with you” ( or whatever sailors would say to each other). I could see Mr Lindsay think I was not his typical art collector and at £8.50 for the print not going to be his best customer either. But he left me with my own insight on the print and hoped his next customer will at least pay for his tea.

I did buy the print because of the people resemblance, as it reminds me that although we are all different we still share the same Ocean (life). As scary, as unpredictable as it is, it offers so much potential. It looks like it will never end but even the Ocean stops at the shore, and little or big boats, pretty yachts or sturdy fishing boats get old and tired and need to retire. But while we are in the Ocean we can sail together, feel the freedom and knowledge that when the tide goes out and we are left feeling alone we are never really alone, just look across the beach, and there will be others, just waiting for the Ocean to come back and pick us up and take us to where we are meant to sail. For now I just need to figure out where to hang my not so original piece of art……

My other house is a Castle….

‘Today everything is shut’ this is CB’s comment when I suggest we go out for a few hours. “Not everything” I cry its only Easter Sunday not the end of the world. So my bright idea today was to take CB, back to a time in my life when I didn’t worry about much (youth does that to you).

Telling CB, we were going to see my childhood house I dragged him to Witton Castle Caravan Park (a real Castle with – yes you guessed it a caravan park around it) where my family had owned a caravan. a caravan which many people would have thought Jack built, it had so many creative improvements by my builder Dad, none of which matched or even looked like an improvement but we loved it. I spent every weekend from March to November in that caravan, with my extended family for all my childhood. Those were the days kids could explore by themselves and wander for miles without parents putting a call out on Facebook.

Many family members spent their honeymoons and summer holidays there, as money was tight then and we didn’t even think of flying anywhere. I can remember making lots of friendships (as CB pointed out Caravaners are a community and very friendly) some of which I still have.

As we walked around the site, I could see in my memories, my family walking back from the Caravan Club where my Dad would sing and my Mum played bingo (one of her favourite sports!). Looking at the Castle I could see they had definitely spruced the place up, the old castle walls had been covered with tiling and strange textured paint. It made it look a little like those pretend castles you see in Disney which was a shame. I had really wanted to go back a little bit and feel the fun and joy that my childhood had given me. But instead it seemed a little false and barren. No longer could you walk along the battlements or hang around the little swamp pond looking cool. “Health and Safety” said CB, “worlds gone health and safety mad”.

And then I realised, in a moment, sat in the Castle car park, getting ready to come home, no one can ever go back and feel the same about somethings when change happens.

Because now I am a different person, when I was young, I didn’t have the experiences I have had now. I have learnt new lessons, seen things that has altered not only my perspective but my understanding. I want different things than I did when I was young and know things I don’t want too (sometimes growing up is startling). Wanting to turn back the clock is useless (not just because they actually went forward today) but because those memories build the rest of our lives, sometime ago someone told me that just because somethings don’t last forever doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. I mean who would want to be a kid all their life!! Apart from most of my friends that is……