Tag: memories

"... if I had to choose 
one thing to save 
I couldn’t decide 
I’d let it all go 
knowing what I need 
will find me ..." 

I’ve been listening to the podcast The Clearing, with Katherine May, which has recently returned for a second series.  I love the idea of sanctuary; imagining where you’d go to find rest and recharge your batteries.  Guests are invited to describe their ideal place, to talk about what they’d take with them, what they would do whilst there, and what they might bring back.  Many guests chose to take a keepsake, and this is often a stone.  

It got me thinking about all the things I’ve gathered from places where I’ve felt rested and restored; keen to hold onto that same feeling when returning to my busy life.  Stones and sand both feature heavily in my collection.  Sometimes I feel guilty, thinking they belong back where I found them.  Then I tell myself that we are all in transit on this earth, and this detour is part of their journey but not the end.  They will no doubt outlive me and find their way back to where they need to be.  

When I pick up a stone, or a handful of sand, it doesn’t feel much, but it adds up to a lot in my modest home.  Bookshelves play host to many a talisman, windowsills and mantelpieces also take the strain.  Even the corner of the bath obliges, where Hebridean stones change colour whenever the bathroom is hot and steamy.  They soak up moisture as we soak in the bath.  It feels companionable. 

I don’t think of myself as materialistic; I’m not a hoarder.  But I can’t resist a smooth pebble, soft sand or pine cones.  It’s the memories they evoke that I love so much.  I glance at a jar of sand on my windowsill and remember walking along that beach, listening to the waves and feeling the wind in my hair.  I recall how I felt and the promises I made to myself to pay more attention to nature, to allow time just for me.  It’s easy to be so caught up in our daily commitments, that we lose focus.  I suspect we all need reminding about prioritising what really matters, whatever that may be.  I know I do. 

I’ve always treasured small things in which I bestow meaning. I learnt young just how much can be invested in material things, especially in church, where objects were revered.  In our house, my father’s record player took pride of place, and vinyl was  precious, to be handled with great care.  Playing a record was a ritual almost as sacred as the priest at church holding up the host.  That may sound flippant, but such was my 7-year-old view of the world.   

Rituals help us make sense of the world.  They keep us grounded: when it feels like everything is changing around us, you can always revert to what you know and trust.  And rituals need props right? What’s a birthday cake without candles, a Christmas tree without decorations?  You might have a favourite piece of jewellery that you always wear for a special occasion.  It may be as simple as the mug from which you drink your coffee, and woe betide anyone else who uses it! 

This week’s poem is the result of my reflecting on some of the things in my house that, on the face of it, seem worthless, but which mean a lot to me.  I’d much rather collect a stone from a beach than purchase a souvenir in a gift shop.  I invest a lot of myself in the things I gather around me.  They act as shorthand, the equivalent of bookmarks in the story of my life, helping me navigate to my favourite bits, to revisit and remember.  You might turn down the corner of a page in a book so you can go back to it.  It’s the same idea.  I appreciate the things around me, reminders of all I hold precious; I know they are shortcuts, it’s the memory that’s the real treasure. What things in your home do you value most and for what reason?