Store Your Happy Memories Here:
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.
Great thread Croix!! Thanks...
I was a smiling 7 y/o girl who met a nearly 7 y/o smiling boy in the street of my mums best friend. We clicked immediately and began a torrid love affair. (as only kids can do) He, a white haired good looking boy with gentle hands and a beautiful smile; me with blonde swirling curls and eager to please. Both enamored by each other; holding hands as we walked down the middle of our quiet street while other young one's mocked us with taunts and whistles.
It could've been New York, Amsterdam or a sheep track at the back of Bourke, it didn't matter, our love transcended suburbia humdrum. The leaning white wooden barrier over the storm water channel was our perfect water view, and the pot holed road was our walk down Sunset Boulevard in June.
The thing is, it was innocent. No fear or doubt, no what-if's or how much. The natural progression was marriage and babies...I'm smiling as I remember. He actually proposed (as a matter of fact) to which I replied; "Ok. But I have to ask mum." We both smiled then kissed on the lips with pursed mouths. My first kiss!
No, I didn't marry him, but I never forgot. We lost touch a few weeks later and met up in high school, sharing a secret 'look' and smile as we passed each other on the stairwell. No words necessary...
We have three pets at the moment, or they have two - depends on perspective I guess.
There have always been animals to go though life with us.
There's the little porky dog, it's tan and shaped like a zeppelin with a toothpick at each corner. Much stronger than me (so my wife has to take the lead on our walk). It often masquerades as an honorary cat, and as such entitled to the cat food left by the other cats.
There's Nasty Cat, small, mean spirited, holds the title deeds to our bed and hisses at all and sundry. I read out-loud recipes for Cat Maryland (you know deep pan, egg yokes, breadcrumbs etc ) to her - makes not the slightest impression, just glares and remains on the bed.
And of course Sumo cat. He gradually grew into the name, we first got him from the pound, where he was in a little felt igloo curled up with his back to the entrance - and would not come out. Apparently he had been found
wandering in a garden and brought there. At that stage he was small and more timid than timid. We took him
home in his igloo and left him in the kitchen corner, still safe in his little felt retreat.
The Zeppelin Dog and the Nasty Cat gobbled their heads off as usual and eventually an eye peeped out. We shooed the others outside and Scaredy-Cat came out to sniff the remnants, found them to his satisfaction and dined.
He had at that stage chosen his own name. As time progressed he decided he could dine in company and did so, and did so, and did so. Before all that long he was larger than Nasty Cat and developing a very fine set of whiskers.
Post breakfast he would sit on top of a gate-post at the end of a bower of clematis and nectarine visible from the kitchen window. He became convinced he was surveying his personal territory and started to develop a Royal Manner - timidity now very much taking the backseat.
As months and breakfasts went on the overhang on the post became perilous, so I had to nail a round board on top. This eventually itself became insufficient and a larger board substituted. Around this time he changed his name to Sumo Cat.
He is still trying to catch up to Zeppelin Dog, though in the competition over licking out the sardine can (Watch it! -tomato sauce variety only thank you) he has, for the moment met his match.
We're looking forward with interest to see if the hierarchy changes.
One day in 1993 my dog Lucy and I decided to climb the mountain. So it was out past the castle and up through the town. Then on past the houses with the front gardens, some of them had the doors open with the warm weather and there was a glimpse of how the other half lived. On we went onto mountain road and then tho common. There was a red fox with white mittens and a white tip on its tail, we watched each other for a while before it turned and ran. Onwards up the hill. The town spread out below with the patchwork fields all around. And there it was, our destination. A bowl of water for the dog and an ice cream from a 1950's American caravan for me. Da iawn.
Looking all around me seeing white & the peaks of many mountains. I thrust myself with the poles sliding swaying slightly left then right left then right. I bend my knees, bum in the air poles facing behind me & off I go skiing down the mountain...life is so peaceful here & I find a sense of bliss. I'm listening to the sound of my skis gashing into the snow & looking at the marks they're leaving behind. My own personal trail left by my momevents in the snow. I hold onto the lift and am jolted back up the hill excited to feel the breeze and fly down the mountain again. Again & again. I don't want this to end.
Speaking of mountains Rob and Steph;
The first time I watched 'The Sound of Music'...absolutely tremendous! I was a little girl at the cinema who loved to sing and dance with my sisters and always wanted brothers and a nice family. The Brady Bunch can go fly a kite!
A happy memory that is coming to my mind is:
Waking up on Christmas morning when I was 8 or 9 years old and going somewhere in the garage and seeing a beautiful new green bike. It was for me, it had a white basket attached to the front and long streamers hanging out from the handle bars. And green was my favourite colour back then. But the more happier memory attached to that one was when my mum took me down to the deserted horse racing track. I had her all to myself, she was focused on me and teaching me how to ride. There were no other siblings there, she wasn't busy working any job. Just me and her. I remember her pushing the back of the bike and her saying " just keep pedaling....keep pedaling!
You write so well. May I suggest you write books! I think you would be great at it!
I felt like I had escaped to another world, just reading your short story here! It was a great feeling to forget & be distracted from reality for a while! I think you have a great gift! Please write some more!
I'm very happy this thread is doing what I'd hoped - to provide a brief moment of ease - great.
Do you have your own thread? Makes it much easier to talk to you if you have.
Anyway as you asked I'll set down another one, from my youth this time, (I guess it's much about perspective too)
Picture a slightly tubby youth, decked out in hacking-jacket, jodhpurs, hard hat and shiny boots clutching a riding crop and walking towards the stables were the new occupant had been installed by parents.
The youth is confident, with many months – no years’ experience in a riding school trotting on calm beasts too weary to voice an opinion.
The occupant on the other hand is short – 13 hands, stocky and with unkempt dun coat, bristly mane and tail. Comes from the Snowdon area in Wales.
The youth enters the stable, dark and smelling of hay and dung. The occupant is in the centre stall, backside towards the youth.
Picking up the bridle he opens the half-door and enters the stall, heading towards the head, in order to fit the bridle.
As he reaches the middle of the stall the occupant looks round and then edges over – firmly squashing the youth against the side.
Several hacking-jacket buttons later the youth reaches the head and tries to open the occupant’s mouth to insert the snaffle. No cooperation. Then too much, that mouth open and closes on the youth.
Dragging arm out (with a rag of sleeve left as evidence) the youth loses presence of mind and heads back to the door, forgetting in his haste the occupant has other options.
Just as he starts to close the door a casual kick lands on it, tumbling the youth to the floor.
The occupant finds hay in her manger and contemplates.
Postscript - Having demonstrated the natural superiority of Welsh Mountain Ponies over all other lifeforms the occupant became much more cooperative (or did I learn more sense?) and we often went for enjoyable excursions in the leafy English countryside (route by mutual agreement).