Tag: memories

  • When something’s greater than the sum of its parts … 

    "... fountain pens 
    are to be savoured 
    like that first morning coffee 
    freshly ground 
    preparing for the day’s
    thoughts to surface 
    from within ..."

    I’ve been sorting through clutter, which is proving more of a challenge than it should be.  If you live with someone who wants to keep everything,  you’ll understand. That said, occasionally I find something in a box or drawer that I’d forgotten.  I recently found the two fountain pens that were purchased as wedding gifts by me and my husband.  Neither of us knew what the other had bought.  We no doubt congratulated ourselves heartily for our supposed originality, only to laugh when we realised that we’d both bought the same thing.  

    I do still use a fountain pen, but had forgotten how beautiful my wedding pen was.  It’s a Waterman with a tortoise shell casing, and a medium nib.  It feels good in my hand, and the soft click as you return the cap is immensely satisfying.  The pen I bought my husband is a Sheaffer, with a stainless steel barrel and cap, engraved with his name.  He used it occasionally in the early years, but he prefers a ballpoint.  It was thus consigned to a dresser drawer for the best part of 3 decades.  Having rediscovered both pens, I determined to give them a new lease of life.  

    There are certain objects that command respect just for what they are; they amount to more than the sum of their parts.  They carry a certain aura, that only deepens with age.  Binoculars, for instance, fit into this category, as do musical instruments, manual typewriters and, of course, fountains pens.  Perhaps everyone’s list of revered items is different, but I bet you can think of some.  A brand new guitar may well be a thing of beauty, but an old classic has something more, don’t you think?   

    two fountain pens, one tortoise shell and one stainless steel, laid on a leather bound book, with nibs side by side.

    I love the way that the old and new can co-exist.  I like to think, when using classic pieces in new ways, the past and present are uniquely connected.  It’s just better, isn’t it, to use the binoculars that belonged to your dad, rather than the new pair you bought, even if the new pair are technically superior.  Perhaps it’s just me.  

    Even though both wedding pens were completely dry, traces of old ink mingled with the new.  It felt spooky; in my hand and on the page, they served as a bridge between my younger and present self.   It took longer than I expected for the new ink to take hold and present true to colour.  A lesson right there perhaps: we think we’ve let go of the past, but it lingers in our subconscious longer than we think.  Okay, enough, I think I’ve stretched this metaphor as far as it will go! 

    Of course, it isn’t only old objects that can trigger memories and associations.  I attended a family wedding in the spring, which was a joyous occasion.  Inevitably, weddings always take me back to my own wedding day which, again, left me appreciating those pens and their rediscovery all the more. It also left me wondering what the modern day bride and groom had bought as gifts for each other.  I hope those gifts, whatever they were, will be deeply appreciated for years to come.  Then, even further down the line, when they rediscover them in a drawer or cupboard, they’ll bring renewed pleasure as they enjoy a new lease of life. 

    wedding pensDownload

  • Why gathered treasure is irresistible …

    "... 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. 

    large grey stone lying on a sandy beach

    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?

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