,,,foggy memories, time lines blurred…
Re-Cover Versions & Unsung Songs – The Blog of Andy L
,,,foggy memories, time lines blurred…
‘Where You Aren’t Anymore’
…just holes where you used to be…
‘In The Kitchen’
Late afternoon sun streams through net curtains and on to the black and white checkered vinyl tiles of this kitchen.
It’s a rudimentary kitchen, for sure, but one with great memories as it is in an old place we have spent over 20 years holidaying at in summer.
Even the also rudimentary meals cooked there from whatever is at hand have been memorable. Board games have played out on the very basic formica topped table after dinner.
Kitchens can be utilitarian places, but they can be at the heart of our memories too.
‘Jumbled Memory Dream’
…enter then the tunnel of dream, where things half-remembered are not what they seem…
“Leadlight (Faded Memories)”
frame it up with blackened lead
fill it in with frosted glass
forget the things that went before
The inscription on the tall memorial stone reads “in loving memory”.
But those who loved, and held those memories, have passed into memory too.
It’s an endless elegy we all recite.
‘Rose Tinted Buried Memories’
Why is it that we look back with such fondness on what lies half buried in memory?
‘Birds Used To Sit Here And Watch People Far Below’
Detail of the sculpture shown in the previous post Half Buried Memories .
The carved inscription gives the title to this entry.
(for the record, birds still sit, and shit, on the sunken parapet)
‘Half Buried Memories’
No, it’s not the results of a New Zealand earthquake, but rather a sculptural piece in Auckland commenting (perhaps) on the loss of historical buildings, and that greater emotional loss which accompanies that process.
While I was taking the picture on the weekend, a colourful local approached and told me that he had opposed the sculpture’s installation years ago. A “waste of money” ,”not actually real”. Just attracted people wanting to take photos (“like me?”, I asked smilingly).
That was as may be, but there was no getting around the period in the 1980s when developers, according to the bloke, were hell bent on pulling down old buildings and replacing them with new and shiny edifices, before new “heritage” planning rules prevented them doing so without some preservation measures being undertaken.
It is a burial site of a kind, even if “not real”, and evokes the feelings you associate with those places.
In the background, the newer high rise buildings of downtown can be seen through the trees.
There will come a time when they too will be demolished to make way for something “better” and more progressive.
And only memories will remain.
…carved memories, swathed in trees…
‘Painted In Memory’
This is a vista of Mangawhai Heads in New Zealand’s Northland, shot in the falling afternoon today but painted with the memories of our stays here over twenty years.
So many good times!
This view, from the deck of the place we stay, never seems to change, even if we have changed and continue to change over time.
It is a restful anchor for weary souls.
Sublime and serene!
‘Fleurs-de-Lys: Patron Saints & Guardian Angels’
What if you were caught up in something that threatened your very being? And didn’t have the means or motivation to conquer it by yourself?
A fellow blogger (very talented!),whom I only know by her blog name, Beadberry, told of her escape from New Orleans ahead of Hurricane Katrina. See the previous post Five Iron Fleurs-de-Lys
The fleurs-de-lys motifs reminded her of symbols of the French-influenced Crescent City (the Saints football team amongst other things )and, in turn, those memories of fleeing the town before catastrophe struck. Someone she knew had pushed her into getting the hell out of there.
I too had a narrow escape from tragedy a couple of years ago, avoiding death only because someone passing by raised the alarm for emergency assistance as I lay prone on a sidewalk.
I still don’t know who that person was, but I consider him or her as a guardian angel.
There really are saints and angels, human, or otherwise maybe, who look out for us, I reckon. You don’t easily forget a brush with tragedy or death; you count yourself lucky for those who actually gave a shit about you in those times.
And symbols bring those memories back home to us, just when we might forget.
‘Through The Trees’ Hanmer Springs, NZ. July 2013
shafts of light and air