Tuesday, 7 March 2017
STAPLES IN THE SANDS OF TIME...
I decorated my back room recently. I say 'recently',
but it actually took me about 29 years to start it, and then
it was months of hanging a couple of strips of wallpaper every
few weeks 'til it was finished. Because of a medical condition,
I tire easily, and I just didn't have the stamina to apply myself
to the task with any energy or enthusiasm. Therefore, it was
a bit here and there when I could. And I was absolutely
knackered at the end of it, let me tell you.
The room used to be my brother's, mainly, when we
stayed here the first time around. I say 'mainly' because
we shared it for quite a few months when my room suffered
from damp during the winter months, and there was a period
when we swapped for a while, so the room was 'officially' mine
as well. As regular readers will know (and lost the will to live
at my continual re-telling), we flitted to another house after
eleven years, then moved back (sans brother) four-plus
years later. Along with my old room, I also comman-
deered my sibling's former sleeping quarters.
Yeah, big deal, you say, get to the point. Well, while I
was in the long, slow, arduous process of trying to hang a
few strips of wallpaper, I found staples embedded in various
spots in the walls, where my brother had affixed all his heavy
metal posters back in the '70s. I decided to leave them there
(after flattening them into the wall with a hammer), as, having
been there for more than 40 years, I didn't have the heart to
remove them. Long after I'm less than a memory, these old
staples will likely still be there, a permanent testament to
the fact of my family's presence in this house down
through the decades.
I've touched on this subject before, but it amazes me
to think that we always leave our mark on wherever we've
lived, even if we don't realise it at the time. When I revisted
a former dwelling sixteen years after having moved out, I was
surprised by just how many 'markers' of our time there yet re-
mained. Wallpaper, tiles, lowered ceilings, marks where fluo-
rescent lights had been, etc., it was all comfortably familiar to
me, as if we'd never been away. And when we returned to
the house in which I now reside, our departed doggie's
scratches in the back door were there to welcome
us and remind us of our previous occupation.
We all leave our mark behind us, however trivial,
and regardless of whether we intend to or not. What
feature of any of your former homes will attest to you
once having lived there long after you're gone?
Posted by Kid at Tuesday, March 07, 2017