I realised with horror this morning that another casualty of the chaos of moving half a lifetime's worth of stuff has been a set of photos probably from the 1950s of my family when we were all spring buds: it wasn't just the nostalgia but was also the aesthetics- the colours had mellowed to jewel-like turquoises, deep reds and creamy ivory.
There was one of tiny versions of Big Bruv and myself, packed into a bed with McMum reading us a story which you can almost read from our faces. Bruv's hair was a mass of coppery curls that glowed out of the photograph like a beacon.
There was another of McDad with us, next to our semi-basement kitchen window. There was no door out from the kitchen to the garage where the car was, and we used to climb out of the window to go to church each Sunday.
I always used to visualise this as we sang the hymn 'Father, Lead Me Day By Day'; father climbed out of the window first, followed by children, and mother last to shut the window.
I'd been carrying them round to scan, and they must have fallen out of the book I had them in.
Silly.
But what a nice surprise! This morning, Zoot sent through this photo of The Chefs (thank you Zoot!). It must have been a very early incarnation- perhaps as early as 1979 because my hair is short. But not too early- I'm playing Bruv's bass, which means this photo was taken in between my Hofner bass being stolen by Hell's Angels, and by it's miraculous return (the story is here in this blog, miles ago).
Back to yesterday's posting: doesn't life have many episodes? I am lucky to have really good recall (or unlucky, sometimes, as some of the more exciting episodes have been rather nasty).
Sometimes I get really down, but then I wouldn't exchange my life for anyone else's.
This, I think, is a good testing point to define the difference between true depression and a fit of the miseries, and on occasions when I or a friend start sinking, we talk about this.
It is surprising how many people do value all of their life's experiences, good and bad.
A bland life? No thanks!
3 comments:
I don't know a single person who would describe their own life as bland.
No, me neither!
What I am saying is it's better to have the good with the bad, as we all do, rather than the bland, as we all don't!
I managed to find my notes from when the Chefs photograph was developed - 30 years on I see that my handwriting has got worse - it was taken before May 1979, didn't date every processed film. Now where did those Hooligans negatives go...
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