Store Your Happy Memories Here:

[Croix]

Dear All~

What this place is for:
This thread is a tool, a resource, and also I guess a dash of entertainment.

I’ve found that when life is grim that sometimes thoughts of past happiness can create a chink of light in the grey overwhelming press of down. They can help occupy the mind with lighter reflections.

With that in view I invite people to set down a brief passage describing some happy event they look back to with fondness and peace.

They - and others too - can then return to it when they feel the need to glean a little warmth.

It is not a place for gloomy or dire tales, those can go elsewhere.

What to do:
Just set out, as simply as you like, your recollection of some past experience that means something good to you, something you enjoyed, something from safe times.

It can be, like my story below, anything – from an account of visiting grandparents to simply cooking and eating a melted-cheese sandwich in a favorite kitchen – you get to choose.

How to do it:
Write. Write enough so someone else can feel the mood, know what happened, find the goodness. (stop at 2,500 characters please!)

Grammar, syntax, spelling, punctuation are not compulsory, just write as you can – the only important thing is the content - not literary merit. Short or long - it does not matter.


I hope you enjoy, contribute and find a little distraction here when you need it.

Croix

[Croix]

The loved little lions above reminded me of when my life was simpler.

Concern.
Shere Khan was large, more than large, he had presence. Around the vicarage, demesne and churchyard he regarded all as subjects. Long ago the village cats had learned to shun his empire, eking out existences elsewhere.

Shere Khan was a Siamese, tawny coat, black points, blue soul-penetrating eyes, a ragged ear and and the softest cream undercoat it was possible to rub your face in, which I did - though I was the only one permitted to do so. Khan would allow him himself to be picked up by this young worshiper, give a curt purr as he was nuzzled, and then replaced on the ground.

He walk was not dainty. He plodded powerfully, muscles obvious, head down and thrust forward, front shoulder blades the highest point on his so solid body, tail drooping and then up again in a curve. With mouth open two large ivory tusks depended from the upper jaw, slightly hooked to retain unfortunate prey.

I watched him through the lead-diamond window over the sink in the kitchen as he went down the yard to the stables, into the Occupant’s stall and curl up in the straw above the manger. He and the Occupant had an understanding, each the centre of different worlds.

The Occupant had a sore lip, velvety but marred by a scratch, now mostly healed. A rodent had nicked her whilst helping itself to loose oats in the manger.

Shere Khan settled and regarded the Occupant. The Occupant regarded Shere Khan. Contentment, comradeship. A loose oat, unlipped peeped from the manger’s corner.

From the kitchen I hear a shrill squeak. A minute or so later I saw Kahn return from the stables and enter the tithe-barn door, then to appear in the kitchen. Shouldering open the cupboard he deposited a rat, fresh but deceased, beside the wicker basket where Kotick, his small seal point mate was nursing their seven kittens.

Familial duties discharged Shere Khan left for nightly rounds. Kotick, already full of boiled fish, looked dubious.

[Gruffudd]

Cats are popular here it would seem. This story underlines just how much a cat and a boy can share in solidarity with each other. A proud moment with my cat.

After the third attempt at finishing school my cat (I'll call her Cath because she was a self respecting Welsh lady) and I moved out. I had accumulated enough marks to get into the Catholic uni. It wasn't my first choice but with an entrance ranking of 20 I couldn't be too fussy. Cath had been given to us by a local vet who had acquired her when a bulldozer driver at the rubbish dump had run over her and left her with the receptionist. She rather appreciated how better life was and followed me everywhere.

At uni I learned the hard way that the priest changed colour and became animated if one rubbed AMDG off the blackboard or if questions were asked. He would fly into a proper rage telling me that I had a place reserved for me in the fiery depths of hell for all eternity. Bless him, he had a way with words.

I was in class. Cath having followed me there was sleeping under my chair. I felt the urge to ask a question. I knew I shouldn't, it a bad idea. But given that the counter reformation and Vatican 2 why was Mr Luther still such a bad man Still? Surely now everyone kind of agreed on stuff.

Oops.

He turned the colour of a cardinal on Easter Sunday. Steam coming out of his ears, his eyes fixed. He asked the heretic to stand. I looked around to see who. He said, "It's you Gruffudd". He started to move towards me. Then from under the chair Cath flew into the air, her arms, legs, and tail outstretched. She landed on the Priests chest, front claws digging in at the shoulders. There was a tearing and ripping as Cath descended, letting out a low and long meow. She ran for the exit.

The room was silent. The Priest was frozen. I felt like people were looking at me.

The Priest broke the silence. "You." He screamed, "You are a witch and you had your cat attack me. I'll have you in front of the holy inquisition."

My response could have been better, I have come up with some good ideas since. I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ask that question." I took off home. Cath was waiting on the mat.

A letter arrived advising that I was no longer welcome at the Uni, noting my persistence in heretical thinking and the behaviour of Cath. I guess the uni and I were not the best fit. Cath and I enjoyed some buttermilk ice cream together and discussed what I should do with my life now that I had been expelled.

[TBella]

Visits With Nan

hi

i finally remembered happy moments!!!!

As a child, I loved going to my nan's house. My sister & I would stay over on school holidays. My nan would show us how to knit, do hobby text & make flowers out of crepe paper! My favourite was making the flowers & the hobby text!

I loved going through my nanas photo albums & listening to all the stories she told us about the photo's.

I remember & now miss her famous Irish stew & bread & butter pudding. No one makes it like she did!

I loved it when Nan would take us to her mums place ( great grandma) in her old car she called Besty. The smell of toast cooking on Nanna J wood stove made your mouth water. You cannot beat the toast in the wood stove. Nanna J also made the best cream puffs ever but you weren't allowed to make a noise when she put the cream puffs in the oven to cook ( apparently noise stops them from rising lol).

I had lots of fun with both my nanna's- loved singing & dancing with them. Listen to records- back in the day!!! Crystal Gale was my nan's favourite! And don't a make ya brown eyes bluuuueee!

I learnt a lot of things from both my nanna's & they were both always so much fun, despite the fact that Nan suffered with chronic depression!

Im so grateful for what both their lives taught me. I love & miss them both greatly but am so grateful for the time they were both in my life.

Thank Nan & Nana J😘

Croix you're so right- arrrrr that feels so much better!!!

[Emmy.]

I remember working at a local cinema and having this HUGE crush on a guy from the local Indian restaurant. My first crush - I was about 16. Hadn't had any boyfriends before.

We had a movie dinner deal going between the cinema and the restaurant (Have a dinner at the Indian restaurant and receive a movie ticket to come to the cinema).

After some little time my crush starting bringing me these chocolates, from the restaurant, when he'd come to buy a booklet of 10 tickets for the restaurant. (You know those little complimentary chocolates when you pay your bill) Every chocolate I opened was shaped as a heart.

A few months later I went to the restaurant with a group of friends and we were given the complimentary chocolates after the dinner. I told them "Oh these are delicious ..... brings them to me, they're little love heart mint chocolates". One by one my friends opened theirs, someone got one shaped as a star, a sea shell, a sunflower...

A lot of time passed. I knew my crush was SO out of my league. I never had a chance with him.

8 years passed and I'd had travelled the world had a couple of boyfriends and moving back at home when I saw my crush again, working at a different restaurant where I was dining with a friend. I still had those butterflies in my stomach when I saw him.

I had dinner with my friend who kept saying "that waiter is being very attentive toward you and he keeps staring over here".

Once we'd paid the bill he walked us out of the restaurant and proceeded to ask me out on a date!!!

2 months later we were living together... 3 years later we married... And we've now been together 10 years (married for 7years).

He is my soul mate and all that I live for, he is my air.

He is my world and I am his.

Not long after we started dating he told me he'd had the biggest crush on me (but was worried about our age difference - 11 years). He asked if I remembered him bringing me chocolates. I said I did. He told me he use to go through all the chocolates, feeling through the white wrappers for the ones that had a chocolate heart inside.

He has been my biggest support in my mental health journey which has only made us stronger as a couple.

I adore him.

[TBella]

That's very encouraging & glad you have found the help & support you need!

thanks for sharing- it's greatly encouraged me that sometimes, it's just all about timing!!!

[Emmy.]

I do think we needed to wait to be together. If we'd been together when I was 16 I don't think I would of appreciated him. Does that make sense? But it sure is all about the timing x

[Gruffudd]

That is beautiful Emmy. I also once had a meal at a restaurant that didn't go as expected.

It is 1995 and mother and I decided to visit Macau. We did all the tourist things, the fort, the Cathedral which is just the front wall, we sent some post cards from the charming Portuguese post office. Then we wandered off the main square into the town. We saw a restaurant there and decided it was time for lunch. The owners only spoke Portuguese and Cantonese so we agreed with them yum cha. It was fantastic food, one exotic dish at a time. With the most amazing vegetable sculpture of fish and elephants and such.

Looking around there was something curious. Like a Bruce Lee film. There were some old men playing mahjong in a cloud of smoke, young men counting and organising many little plastic bags. There was an orange cat and two little dogs who sat on a long green velvet couch observing everything. And over on the side near the cash register was a pile of violin cases.

We had started on a pot of the most glorious jasmine green tea out of little jade bowls when the front door swung open with a crash and a twang as the violin cases toppled over. In the opening silhouetted by the brightest of light were men. They proclaimed their presence with Portuguese authority.

Then everyone except for one of the dogs and us scarpered. The dog limped towards the door on three legs it's wagging tail putting it off balance. The men advanced from the doorway shouting something a little incomprehensible, but they were wearing lovely distracting tight uniforms. Police?

We were taken back to the barracks and then waited in a dark little room for an age before there was a knock on the door. Mother said, "come in". First through was a black umbrella followed by a little man in a pin stripe suit with a bowler hat. It was comforting that the British consol conformed to stereotypes. He told us that our lunch had seemingly placed us in a spot of bother because we had joined these chaps called "try add". Not to worry though he was there to take us back to honkers following a wee chat with the commandant.

It didn't take too long for it to be obvious that we were unaware of what we had wandered into. They were generous too, they told us that we wouldn't be required to pay the bill for lunch.

Such fun, we got to see more of Macau than expected, and got a free lunch.

[Gruffudd]

Today I could do with a happy memory, here is one:

We were given a mission from our Nain to find her old friend from school whom she had last seen near the Universal colliery in Senghenydd sometime in 1947. There was little more to go on other than the name Lucy, and that she remembered a red front door with a silver knocker the shape of a dragon.

So we started walking the steep streets alongside terrace houses marching up and down the hills. Asking everyone that passed, "ydych chi wedi gweld y tŷ gyda'r drws coch?" But no one had seen the house with the red door.

Late in the day and dispirited we headed to the bus stop at the town clock and there is was, the house. We lifted the dragon and let it fall, the sound echoing through the house. The door was opened by an old lady, we asked if she was the Lucy who was Nain's old friend. "Ydy, yes."

She disappeared, there was some clanging and then we were invited in and ushered to the nice lounge. It was dusty and thick with lace. There was a coal fire burning in the grate. We sat down and tried not to express the discomfort on our faces that each of us were feeling with our behind.

Lucy left the room to fetch a pot of tea and some welsh cakes, she was overjoyed by our visit. I caught sight of her skipping down the hall.

Mother reached under the cushion of her couch first. She retrieved some knives and forks and a pepper mill. Dad was next, he found an alarm clock and a bottle of stout. I found a punch bowl and a teddy bear. We looked to my brother. He shrugged, "can't feel nothing" he said. He checked anyway and pulled out the most enormous pair of underpants, bigger than any of us had ever seen. He turned red. Bright red, like the door.

We heard tea cups on a tray on their way down the hall. Mother said, "quickly now", and gestured to be quiet. Everything was returned to its place under the cushions.

We shared tea, Welsh cakes, and stories of Awstralia with Lucy. She was a hoot, and we learned all of the childhood secrets Nain had not told us. No one said a thing about what lay beneath the cushions. We didn't dare.

Lucy bade us well and sent us on our way with some more Welsh cakes.

Whilst standing up on the empty bus I think we laughed all the way home.

[Croix]

Y bad achub st cybi (The St Cybi Lifeboat)

I remember walking with my Nain, walking a long way, longer than usual as we used to go places together a lot.

We went along the road by the sea, past the boatyard and the graveyard up onto a promontary where there was a large building, white wall, red roof, small door and lots of windows tucked high under the roof.

The building was built on rocks right beside the sea, not a beach, deep water. The sea-side of the building had huge double wooden tarred doors that were swung wide and held open. From inside the building between the doors ran two rusty rails down into the sea, the lower ends covered in long brown seaweed.

Nain and I sat on the turf and waited. Mens’ voices came from inside, then an engine started, loud even though at idle.

There was a clank and the start of a rumble.

Slowly at first, then gaining speed, the prow of the St Cybi lifeboat came though the doorway down the rails. Faster it went until the whole boat was visible, propellers slowly turning, plunging into the sea, nearly ducking below the waves and then surfacing again, water gushing off its turtle shaped deck and cabin.

A man in a dirty yellow oilskin stood behind the cabin with the wheel. Steering that white and blue agent of mercy into the distance.

Croix, (who at times tries memories as a coping mechanism, one that does often help)

[Gruffudd]

Do you remember being 17?

Summer always meant a few weeks in a small town on the edge of the island where the land dissolves into the water and the oil rigs light up the horizon at night.

If you walked far enough west along the beach it ended at an outcrop of rocks. Large smooth boulders and foaming waves. It was at the end of a dirt road, a favourite place for the boys to park their station wagons and take their boards into the ocean and sit there just beyond the breakers. I spent hours sitting on the rocks and watching.

It was awkward being 17. I felt like if people knew who I really was they would reject me.

East along the beach sand stretched on endlessly between the ocean and the forest. It was a place of complete isolation, miles without encountering anyone. All of my life I have walked that beach sometimes finding planks of wood protruding from the sand. Perhaps the remains of a ship like the one that sank leaving only one survivor washed up on the sand, a five year old girl who lived for another ninety years. Her photo surviving the generations on the hallway wall. I liked that direction just me with no way of being different.

On a hot summer night I could not sleep so I headed out to the beach. There was a fire on the beach. I walked towards it. It was made out of planks stacked in a pyramid. Sparks flying up into the warm black air. Then around me were the boys, the surfers. One said, "you're the one from the rocks. Join us." I was handed a bottle and found myself part of the circle around the flames.