Some years ago now, though it feels as if it happened the year before last, I took a call from my Letting Agent: "Have you had that baby yet?" he asked. "Because there's a house I'd like you to see. Gotta keep in the game, Sian." And I laughed and said that I thought I could hang on for a bit and we went to see the house and I bought it. That baby arrived. She isn't quite ready to move into the very same house; but after a Saturday afternoon (Saturday afternoon! Please! Is that not landlord dedication way above the call of duty?) spent in Ikea, I'm hopeful we're getting there. I'd be more hopeful if I hadn't heard someone mutter the words go back next week; but I'm telling myself that, even with a special catalogue launch , it couldn't be any busier than it was this week. Could it?
In memo terms, I can't say that I did anything new in Ikea. We're regulars. I'm married to a man who enjoys building flat packs more than doing almost anything else in life. But I arrived home, read a bit of the paper, and came away with a new word you may be interested in...
....vermodalen which is "the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist"
This comes from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: can you imagine? A list of everything you could possibly feel sad about? That's not a happy thought.
Just last week I ordered another set of prints from my Berlin phone photos collection. Pretty much everyone who stands in Alexanderplatz takes the picture I took. I don't mind that, though: there will be thousands of photos the same (or much better), yes; but if a photo is nothing without the feeling behind it, and I believe that to be so, then each one of those photos will mean something different to each person who takes it, or to anyone who looks at it. And maybe the meaning changes depending on what you go looking for, too.
That's the kind of thought I have when I go to a concert these days and look at the spread of generations all there to see the same band. Last night I went to watch Squeeze for the first time. You'll need to be at least as old as I am to remember their beginnings. My sister and I stood there, talking about the poster we had shared from a copy of Smash Hits magazine. She liked Glenn Tilbrook. I always liked Chris Difford, the thoughtful, quiet one, of a pair I can see now as songwriters for scrapbookers. The past has been bottled and labelled with love.
Which brings me back to where I came in. I've been asked frequently over the last few weeks how I feel about the changes we'll be seeing here, as our girl starts her new life. I've decided that, next time I need to reply, I'll repeat what Glenn said about looking back: "I like the memory of how it was then and I like the reality of how it is now". Have a good week!
Helena, Eileen, Mitra, Mary- Lou, Ladkyis, Susanne, Karen, Maggie, Alexandra, Deb, Barbara, KraftyKaren all made a memo last Monday. Go on: give 'em a wave! and please consider joining us. Anything new you did over the weekend? Anything you learned that you didn't know before? We'd love to know!