Blog... another word for diary.

Today my mother's home went on the market to sell. I was there early helping to create a loveliness for the open house, just as she would have done for people to come through and see her home. She passed away at the end of last year just prior to Christmas, and now it's time to sell her lovely home.

I'll miss the many morning teas and chats together.

Seeing how neat and tidy all her photos were, inspired me to do a similar thing at home. And what I've loved finding as I clear and sort, are the little memories that are surfacing along the way.

And in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. Kahlil Gibran.

It's very comforting to find a message here or there that I've kept from her. Anyhow all the clearing and decluttering led to digital decluttering which in turn led me to my original blog.

I've been blogging since about 2007 on my original Frangipani House blog, and thought I'd use it for the blog hop challenge on facebook. But somehow when I decided to fiddle with the html of the front page, I've managed to lose access to the front page of the blog. Long story short, after 'trying' to sort out the problems, I found another memory of her...

November 6, 2009...

So hubby, mum and I had gone to the club last night for a bit of dinner and a glass of wine, to watch the sunset, the yachts and the light on the water.

And as we sat watching some pelicans in the river, my mum asked, "Why don't you ever see baby pelicans? You see ducks with their babies, and all sorts of animals with their babies, but I've never seen a baby pelican."

Well that made us all stop and think, but not for too long, can't tax the old brain too much. And we realised that none of us had ever seen a baby pelican either. Have you?

Sunset Port Macquarie

Anyway for a short moment, I was back there at the club sitting with her in my mind. It was what the Irish call a 'soft' moment, and I was so glad that I'd added the story to my blog.

When someone you love becomes a Memory, the Memory becomes a treasure.

Memo to self; write more of those little snippets of everyday moments, they are very heart warming.

From my favourite place to you today, may you have many soft moments.

(BTW. Strong suggestion to those who would with play with blogger main page html layout on Google - BEWARE - and in case you know how to remedy the situation, would love to hear from you. )

About the art in this blog post. I'm occasionally turn to my journal in fits and starts to learn how to draw, and use inspiration from books that I have at home here. The drawing was inspired by Cate Edwards and the quote by Kahlil Gibran from the book Philosophy by Suzanne Maher - love her books so much.

The little stitched mandala was made by me, I used material from the wrapping from flowers that I received.

The Art of Memory

I've been taking a few time travel trips the last few days. Yes, I have finally made it around to clearing the clutter of my family photos. Some years ago I took photos out of old albums, the ones that were going sticky with age, and had been meaning to sort them out.

Anyhow... the last few days I've finally faced my nemesis, and have successfully managed to get them into some semblance of order. In the process, I've been contemplating memory and creativity, and how to get my memories into some type of artful arrangement. Which in turn led to googling, as you do, on memory. I invite you to contemplate The Art of Memory with me.

The relationship between memory and creativity is even enshrined in the mythology of the ancient Greeks. ~ Daniel Kilov.

Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory
~ by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

In his TED talk you'll hear Daniel mention, The Goddess Mnemosyne. I'd never heard of her before so I went in search of an image, and discovered this beautiful one by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Oh to be able to paint like the old masters. In Greek mythology, Mnemosyne was the daughter of the Titans, Uranus and Gaia and mother of the muses, the Greek Goddesses of creativity.

Sorting Through My Memories

The memory keepers of old only had their stories to pass down the generations, to keep the his-tory the her-story alive. I wonder today if our memories aren't getting a little less workouts because of our digital age. I don't know about you, but my phone stores my memories in the form of images, stores my phone numbers, and so many other things. I no longer work my brain to remember my phone numbers as my phone does it all for me, and I wonder sometimes, if it is really good for my brain.

And then, I appreciate the moments that I have been able to keep alive through my camera. Moments that I can walk down memory lane again, and time travel to another moment, away from now.

It's interesting how a photo can bring back a flood of memories. This quirky whale lived at a house just around the corner from my inlaws. I always wanted to see it's mouth empty for a photo shoot, but it was always full of junk mail.

Just beyond that whale, lies a pathway that winds through braken fern, that leads you down to Middle Harbour. Once there was an old swimming pool, but sadly after it fell into dissaray, was dismantled. The photos here, are ones just prior to it being lost forever.

Many delightful swims were had in that old pool. Mind you, you had to be careful of the oyster shells, all at once tempting you to eat them, while being to scared to.

Then there's the time that my brother in law took a delight-filled dive in from that wall there, only to remember midway through the dive, that he'd left his car keys in his board shorts.

The car keys were the electronic type. The ones that won't work once wet. Well I'd never seen someone pause mid air before, but when he realised what he'd done. He did. He paused, he grabbed at his shorts, yelled, 'Oh _ _ _ _, no' and then fell in. It was fascinating. I had that interesting combination of alternating concern and raucous amusement.

Photos can bring back so many memories, funny, sad, tender. As my husband and I looked at old family dvd's we realised how they'd also captured moments of local history. Clontarf in the early 1960's before the hills were covered in what are now multi million dollar homes. I have to say that we did spend a few wishful moments willing ourselves back in the time to purchase some of those blocks of land.

Did it work, that wishful thinking? Perhaps if I see you at Clonnie pool one day, I'll let you know, but more likely I'd best keep that to myself. Where would you go if you could travel with your memories? Would you buy blocks of land, or go and talk to someone? I'd love to hear where your muses take you.

The true art of memory
is the art of attention.

~ Samuel Johnson.