recall 75 memories and lessons I learned from them

I’ve decided to simply write this entry about singing as it is such a big part of my life. I think my love of singing comes from my granda, my mum’s dad. I remember so many times just sitting listening to him sing. I loved his Welsh accent. I could have listened to him for hours on end.

He used to make up songs about me- calling me Paulina and saying I was from Ballymena. I would argue against this, which I’ve heard was quite cute cause I couldn’t pronounce my street name and I would always tell him that was from there and not Ballymena!

I remember so many songs that my granda used to sing and when he died I used to shout at anyone who sang them. I hated hearing them because it brought all the bad memories back with the good. Now I just smile when I hear them and my siblings and I use them when we are “bonding”. It’s fun to relive old times and remember how happy we were with him- and to think about all the crazy things we’ll get to pass onto our kids.

Let’s see…what could this memory be about?

I think that seeing as my birthday is coming up (and I doubt I’ll write before then) I shall write about a birthday memory.

I have no idea what birthday it is that I first remember. I know I was kinda young, maybe about 6. I don’t remember anything about the day- I suppose it’s likely I got up, quickly tried to open presents before being ushered out the door to school. My first memory of the day isn’t til later that night.

As my birthday is in October it always gets dark a little while after dinner. I remember it being quite dark at this time and my dad being in the kitchen while I was told to stay away. My mum was work at this time. She’s a nurse so she does shift work. I remember thinking that it wasn’t very nice that mum wasn’t at home on my birthday, but at least my dad was there.

A little while later I heard a chorus of “Happy Birthday” from my dad and siblings before a little tiny bun (or cupcake if you’re from USA) was placed in front on me, one lonely candle burning brightly in the centre. It didn’t take much to blow it out- but the wish was still behind it.

I remember laughing at this memory years later. My mum had been working too much to find time to buy or make me a cake and my dad had improvised. It was really quite cute.

I don’t really remember any other birthdays until I was older. I think the lesson I learn from this is that little things really do make a difference- even little cakes.

This entry is from about fifteen years ago when I was at the supermarket shopping with my daddy. I can call him my daddy because at the time that was all I knew him as. At the tender age of 5 my daddy was everything- he was strong enough to pick me up high and show me the world- to throw me up and make me giggle with excitement. He fixed all my toys when they broke; he kissed my cuts and bruises and made sure there were no monsters (or spiders) lurking in my room. When I was 5 my dad was the only guy I thought I would ever need.

That fateful day I was following my daddy around, most likely being his shadow or running ahead excitedly when something bright and colourful caught my eye. That is until someone approached us. I have always been a little shy and I would run to my daddy’s side for comfort, clutching his hand whilst burying my face into his sleeve. I expect this time I acted no differently even though I knew the child who approached us.

This child was none other than the boy who had held my attention since the first day of school. He came up to us boldly, though I’m sure he was nervous. After clearing his throat he asked my daddy in his five-year-old voice if he could hold my hand.

My older siblings took a lot of pleasure in teasing me about my ‘boyfriend’ and from that day on I’ve never been able to avoid drama with boys.

I expect that my dad plans to tell this memory at my wedding.

I’m really taking this slow it seems. I quite want to just skip to times closer to the present, but I think it’s important to look further back, so here goes…

I remember when I was a kid playing in my garden. I was very fortunate to have quite a big garden with grass and a swing (that the neighbour broke) and a slide and later a “club house” that my sister use to charge me to use- apparently the money was going on food but I never got any of that.

Anyway, I have this great memory of being a chef. I was pretty much a disaster with anything that was actually edible, but I could make flowers, leaves, mud and grass look like a feast. Thankfully I was smart enough not to eat it, but it was a really relaxing time for me- pottering through the garden picking out my “ingredients” and avoiding my darling siblings.

I love the memories from when I was a kid- innocence is bliss. To think I could spend an entire hour just walking around making something that no one was ever going to see never mind eat and yet I thought it was the best thing ever.

This entry is a praise to imagination. May I never be too grown up to see the wonder in a mud pie.

I started this before but didn’t upload it…should be easier second time round.

So this memory is when I was 5. I was sitting on a row of chairs just inside the door of my granny’s parlour. Directly in front of me there was a large wooden box, with a large group of people crowded round it. Most were men wearing suits- a few I was related to. I really didn’t understand what was going on, but I knew enough to just sit there and be quiet. I remember wondering where on earth my granda’s bed had disappeared to- not to mention my granda. Every sunday we went to his house and he gave us mint imperials- but this wasn’t Sunday. There were no mint imperials. And there was no granda, at least not that I was allowed to see.

It’s not a very positive memory I don’t think. I think it’s important to note that I remember very little of this granda, unlike the one mentionned in the last entry. I did feel safe right after this point though cause I remember my dad coming and taking me away from that room. I think that memory makes me feel like I was growing up too fast but still being treated like a child because no one would talk to me but I could feel it.

How original are my titles?
Ok, well I think that the next memory I would pick is…
Camping with my family. There are lots of memories attached to this but the one that stands out most is going to bed early and just lying there listening to the adults talk. The most prominent voice was my granda’s. Partly because he was always so loud, but also cause his accent was welsh whereas everyone else came from N.Ireland.

I remember falling asleep listening to that voice, feeling really safe and secure because right in front of the netting that surrounded my bed where all the people who cared for me, just sitting talking.

I also loved my granda’s voice. He was a jolly, big man- kinda like Santa but he looked like Ronnie Barker (British comedian.) I guess that’s why this memory is prominent right now because Ronnie just died. I think that that sparked to memories of my granda. All his silly songs, his huge hugs, his smile and his payment of kisses. So I’d like to say this memory is about my granda. No one could ever replace him in my life, or my heart.

wow this is going to take a while!
I guess I’ll just start- erm…
I took a walk down memory lane with my dad recently. It was so nice.
I think my first proper memory was when I was three. I was in my living room with my siblings and my sisters thought it would be fun to chase me so they could tickle me. I HATE being tickled. So I ran away from them, and really didn’t care to look where I was going and I tripped over the vacuum cleaner, hit my head of the arm of the chair and split my head open.

I guess the lessons I learned were to look where I’m going, and also to be nicer to my siblings so they don’t feel like torturing me! Really it’s a traumatic memory and I think I want to be able to remember the fact that my mum was so worried about me and looked after me really well- and my aunt bought me a present (a teddy). So I want this memory to be a lesson in love.