Memories

I’ve been looking through a load of old photos that one of my brothers canned in from a random selection found in Mum’s collection - pictures and slides dating back from when my parents were first married, to old holidays, lots of the three of us growing up - can you can imagine the memories that have popped up.

Some terrific - and embarrassing - ones of my brothers, as little boys - to me and my best friend Lin, and the only one of me that I really like of me, aged about 8, doing a (very good, though I say it myself) handstand on the beach. When my technical skills have improved, I will share this picture, but my imac won't oblige right now...!

Isn’t it wonderful how an image can provoke an instant response - for instance, that handstand, feeling the gritty wet warmth of the sand in my fingers? The thudding rush of blood to my head. Arching my back, tipping my body ever so slightly in a struggle to get the perfect balance. Stretching my feet so my toes pointed skywards, while someone - my mum probably - clicked the camera.

Other pictures - remembering my paternal grandparents. Wasn’t my grandpa a handsome man? Wasn’t my grandmother a big woman - till she had gallstones and shed lots of weight, lost her husband (he died) and she became an outspoken woman…..

Memories are such powerful things, aren’t they? They can provide a perfect trigger for novels, a poem, short story, film - anything that takes our imagination.

But this was one from yesterday, when my dear friend Jac and I took my mum out for lunch. She’s doing amazingly well for 93 - nearly 94 - and I hope I will look back on this in years to come, with very happy memories of a special lunch.