Lately, I have been doing rather a lot of exploration of memories.
I suppose I've always been somewhat fascinated by the whole memory thing... both in terms of being able to remember things, as well as examining the sense of realness that is associated with bringing back certain moments with fondness, from our past.
In retrospect, my childhood seemed like a very strange adventure, most of the time. The endless travel, the living in different countries, the occasional being shuffled off to a family member, the multitude of schools... all of which generally added up to a situation that none of my peers could relate to.
Was I ever happy?
I suppose the best way I can answer that question is by saying I wasn't specifically unhappy much of the time. But to go so far as to say I was happy would be an exaggeration, so I suppose I end up at just saying I "was." I wasn't happy, I simply "was."
If there was any part of the travel that I felt somewhat happy about it was our times at "Villa Tita" in France. Because we returned there for multiple stays that lasted several months at a time, and did so a number of times between my being aged 4-5 and about 10 it seems like one of the few "anchor points" I had in my young life.
It was where I developed my connection with cats for example.
In general, everybody in my family hated cats — and particularly my parents — but at the house where we lived the neighbor had a black and white tuxedo cat that would often come strolling down our driveway and through our garden, much to my father's disgust.
"It'll just pee on everything, wretched thing!" he declared.
It was actually a very gentle and friendly cat. My mother was of course also horrified that I was touching "that Beast" and worried that I'd get fleas... and I couldn't understand why. Our cleaning lady — Madame Antoinette — liked cats and didn't quite understand my mother's disgust either, and did her best to help me learn about cats, using a mixture of simple French and sign language.
Somewhere in my boxes of old stuff and letters there is actually a photograph of me and the black and white cat.
That part of France was also where I developed my love of beach combing and walking on the beach in general... something I went on to actually do as a living for almost 10 years as an adult.
"Little blue stones"
I remember finding sea glass on one of the nearby beaches and back then would call them "the little blue stones" because they were tiny fragments of cobalt blue sea glass. Again, something that was a fond memory, and I think about often when I find a piece of blue sea glass on our own beaches, here.
In the local town, my mother and I would sit at a particular park before grocery shopping and have an ice cream under the tall pine trees. I found it fascinating that not only were there nuts in the pine cones, but you could crack the nut shells and there were edible nuts inside! We had no such thing in Denmark.
It is odd what we remember sometimes. One of the things that struck my seven-year-old self was the sheer variety of fresh fruits and vegetables and fresh fish and meats you could get at the local market. We really didn't have such markets back in Denmark and although we grew a lot of our own produce it was nothing like what you could get there and I found it rather fascinating.
Our times spent in France passed when I was about ten and my parents were getting divorced. From that point forward there wasn't much traveling; that is, my dad continued to do the traveling, but my mom and I not so much because she no longer had the expansive budget that came with being married to an industrialist... and I needed more stable schooling.
I haven't been back since those childhood years and I doubt I would recognize the place anymore... after all, it's been 50 years and change! And perhaps it is best that I don't go back because undoubtedly I would end up feeling disappointed or somehow let down.
I have previously tried such "time traveling" to another part of my life and discovered that even though the places may be the same the person visiting those places is not the same as the person who stood there all those years before and so it never feels quite the same. There's a vague familiarity but that's about as far as it goes.
And so, I leave these good parts of an otherwise turbulent childhood where they belong: in my memories.
Thanks for visiting, and have a great remainder of your week!
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Created at 2023-07-20 00:54 PDT
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