Memories are strange things. Woven with fact is the golden thread of fantasy. Whether it is a memory that was generated by our past or a flight of fancy constructed on the whimsical tales of others. My parents often repeated home truth was that memories will be your fire wood for the winter.
My memories of my own grand parents are in the majority a colourful crochet blanket of such fantastical stories. These stories are as varied as they are sometimes far fetched but they work for me.
My maternal grandmother was one of 10 children growing up in a privileged family living in a picturesque coastal town, the Gatsby era was at its height. On the night of her sister’s wedding her flowing red locks, celestial voice and wicked sense of humour irrevocably attracted the tall, dark and handsome prince who won her heart. Tales of her feather light sponge cake and unequalled traditional cuisine was as legendary as her breathtaking rose garden hewn from the unforgiving earth of the Storm Berg. She was known for endless conversations in the drawing room and tea trays set with the finest porcelain. Musical soirees were the events where friendships were forged and life stories shared.
My grandmother would sing and laugh and remind people around her that one’s circumstances have nothing to do with your ability to live life with your arms and heart flung wide open and the breeze blowing through your hair. In reality her life was much different from the picture just painted but I have little recollection of her struggles and many years later I still celebrate her ability to experience joy no matter what. What a gift to leave behind, a spectacular kaleidoscope of colourful fragments and the jingle of laughter living on in the minds of those who loved you.
Friday 3 June from 9-5 the theme at the Rosemary Manor Market @ 345 Rosemary Street is "my Grandma's Kitchen'.The theme this month is so much more than enamel mugs and thick hand knitted jerseys. It is a celebration of our grandmothers’ kitchen. Whether based on reality or fantasy does not change the fact that we can all, from time to time, use some firewood for the winter.
We should never stop repeating those well worn stories from the past. Who will ever know if some of the facts are replaced by the soft call of our fancy!
