Many years ago I used to regularly read the Peanuts cartoon in the Sunday colour supplement; occasionally, I would cut one out and put it with other bits and pieces in a scrapbook. I remember the last panel of one of these cartoons showing a fairly despondent Snoopy saying, “Thomas Wolfe was right: you can’t go home again.” Continue reading “going home”
It’s Easter and I’ve realised that I don’t remember any of the Easter eggs I was given as a child, though I’m fairly sure there must have been some and I’m sure I was quite excited about them at the time.
Later on, I may have been given chocolates, flowers or other gifts by friends and lovers; no doubt they put a dutiful amount of thought into the choosing and the giving.
Perhaps I even gave presents to other people. If I did, though, I don’t remember.
In fact, from all the Easter gifts given and received during more than fifty years, I only remember one – the book in the picture.
The dedication inside shows just how long ago I was given it:
Half a century from now, how many people will reach for their e-reader and bring up a digital file that will have the power to connect them to the past in the way this book connects me?
A couple of weeks ago I was trying to locate a half-remembered short story. My “google fu” is not what I thought, apparently, and the story remained unidentified until I reached home and had access to my own bookshelves. Here, I found the story in the first book I opened.
It was Lovecraft’s Poetry and the Gods. (Easily found online now I know precisely what I’m looking for.)
I was at a writing workshop this weekend and one exercise involved writing about our childhood homes. When the first few pieces were read out they involved anecdotes of family arguments and illness etc.
Some of the people involved grew up during the War, so it’s not surprising that there were some bad memories, but the tutor commented that her experience shows the vast majority of people will write something negative. I suppose this ties in with the fact that first memories are often of some traumatic experience. Continue reading “the bright side”