I've not had much success or joy when returning "home". Unlike Gene and Dan, who seem to have residences still standing, mine has been razed from the face of the earth and replaced by 3 fashionable, pastel-hued townhouses. Whereas I recall a labyrinth of gardens (Mum specialised in camellias, azaleas, roses and vegetables - our place was a riot of colour and productivity), cubby houses and climbing frames, now there is sterility. Not one tree, shrub or blade of grass remains - they bulldozed the lot.
Perth suffers from urban sprawl - everyone wants to live close to the city, river and beaches (understandably). In years gone by, block sizes were large (a quarter of an acre), so they are now all being sub-divided and several smaller houses with no yards (or token "courtyards") take their place. Sometimes several adjoining quarter acre blocks are purchased and the whole lot put under townhouses.
I hate going back - in amongst all of these unfamiliar modern structures is the occasional original dwelling, looking small and old inside it's spacious surrounds.
I kind of wish I hadn't read those posts - I didn't sleep much last night - just relived the "good old days". We had a beach house too and we went down there every Christmas night (after having had neighbours and friends in all day for "drinks and nibbles"). It was a badly built two storey affair (the builder actually transposed the top storey so that none of the plumbing matched up and the water took forever to heat up and arrive...). Mum used to pack up the whole house in boxes which were carted out to fill the cars and boat (we needed two vehicles to carry it all), and then when we got there, the unpacking and carting up the stairs began. I got the job of hopping in and out of the boat to retrieve the boxes - can still feel the small blue metal digging into my feet now...
I won't go back to the beach house. I hope it's still there, and that the trees I planted from seeds are still growing unfettered - not looking like some gross amputee or missing in action.
Having just survived another Mothers Day, which for me, like Christmas has lost any vestige of magic since the death of my own Mother almost ten years ago, I wonder about the memories and traditions I'm creating for my own children.
Mothers Day for me as a child used to be a trip to a relatives farm - racing around with my cousins, playing in the bomb machinery, collecting freshly laid eggs, feeding all of the animals, playing my flute while another cousin played his guitar...it was special.
I think Gene's right - you do see your own mortality, the passing of time, but for me, I want to look forward, not revisit the past. I love where I live now and life is good, but try telling that to an over-active brain at 3 a.m.!
Not sure what caused this outburst - perhaps sitting in the dark last night with my husband listening to WTTB loudly; perhaps too much French Onion soup in the apricot chicken?
