The reserve where I used to play
Once in a while I re-visit my childhood home.
Well, what’s left of it. The house that I grew up in has lately been demolished.
But the environment remains.
It’s a strange experience. What seemed so large and impressive to me as a child takes on a quite different perspective.
This is a photo of the reserve where I often used to play as a child. In those days, the ramps were irresistible attractions on which to ride tricycles, scooters and the like. I remember coming to grief once as I fell off my trike. So long ago…
Memories of Summer 2013-14
It’s hard to believe that here in Sydney it’s officially mid winter.
Not that the past few weeks haven’t had more than a trace of it. The nights have been cold enough to warrant several woollen blankets. My guess is that sales of heaters, and even the old stand-by–the hot-water bottle– have soared.
Despite the change in seasons, Ron, Chicki and I have been visiting the local park just as often, enjoying hot coffee instead of cold soft-drinks. It makes a nice change.
Nevertheless, for today I have posted a photo of my hubby Ron, our adopted and adored little girl Chicki, and me–together by the river last Summer.
One of my most vivid childhood memories is participating in the delightful pastime of collecting the fallen flowers of the Frangipani tree.
The tree in question lived (and thrived) in the front garden of my Aunt and Uncle, who lived several doors down the street. It was in a suburb where gardens were small, and flowers of this quality were in short supply. Deliciously fragrant and pretty flowers were a treasure, especially through my childish eyes.
As time went by, my parents, sister and I moved away to the house where I currently live. Frangipanis all but disappeared from my life, until one day, Dad brought home a couple of small, bare trees. These he planted in our front garden.
This photo is of the variety identical to that of my Aunt and Uncle. The other specimen– a glorious pink– is also doing well.
I only wish that you could savour the perfume…
That’s what this Pelargonium sparks in my mind.
As a young child in my city home, I used to gather these and their companions, red geraniums, from our front garden.
Luckily, when we moved away to the suburbs, my family took slips, which struck with characteristic ease.
This is a direct descendant.