Tag: Family

Zing – DP

lizaaitken

Clang, clang, clang went the trolly

Ring, ring, ring went the bell

Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings……..

Hear this song and I’m a child again watching musicals on the TV with my mum and sister, believing that anything was possible in the world.  I used to dream of being an actress like Judy Garland and making the most spectacular musicals.  I would wear the most glorious costumes and sing and dance to my hearts content.

The truth is I can’t sing a note, have two left feet when it comes to dancing and an apple shape figure, that does not work with the tight waisted dresses of my dreams.  But those musicals I was brought up on gave me dreams, hopes and a belief that things will always turn out okay in the end.

A Judy Garland musical or song can transport me back to that front room of my childhood where happiness lived.  A room, safe and warm where my sister and I knew we were loved more than anything in the world.  Where money was not as important as the type of person you were, how kindness shone brighter than any material object and food made with love cured you of any ills.

I wonder sometimes, having such a loving childhood what my own son will remember of his.  Could I possibly have inspired him a fraction as much as my mother inspired me, I don’t think so but I hope I have given him some of his beautiful qualities.

Our childhoods mould and shape us into the people we are now, not all are easy and ours certainly wasn’t. But we didn’t always see the difficulties, experience the worries of our mother or count the pennies.  Our mother made sure that we knew we were loved, she would walk over hot coals for us and we would always be protected.  We left home safe in the knowledge we could always return and there would always be love waiting.

Our childhood home is gone now, my sister and I cleared it together after mum passed away.  We brought some the memories with us in the possessions we split between us, precious memories including a Judy Garland scrapbook.  Another family lives there now, living different lives in a different era.  There is however laughter and love in those walls which I’m sure that anyone who lives there will benefit from and as I said I can go back there anytime I want by just playing a song.

 

In responce to The Daily Prompt – Zing

 

http://youtu.be/Ln3sNwccHxI – this video probably doesn’t work, I will have to learn how to upload!

Melodies of Life

lizaaitken

IMG_1931

We all have melodies that run throughout our lives.  They remind us of who we are, where we’ve been, love, happiness and disappointments.  I’m a collector of melodies, lover of music and lyrical words but I’ve no musical myself ability whatsoever.

Our recognition of music and tone starts before we are born, we listen from the womb.  I was born into a musical, well, music loving family and I was sung to through my mothers stomach.  My Dad, convinced I was a boy sung ‘My Boy Bill’ to me in his deep voice.   I don’t think he was disappointed, well maybe a little but he had a boy eventually in his third marriage, my mum being his first wife.  Dad used to get up and sing Al Jolson songs in pubs as did my grandad, dad now 78 still sings throughout the day.

I was named, as mentioned before here, after a Judy Garland song ‘Liza, Liza, Skies are Grey’ thus the title of my blog.  I have mum’s Judy Garland scrap book, started when she was just a teenager, it’s very precious to me as she was her number one fan.

So many of my memories are connected with music.  My Grandmother, swinging her skirt around her knees at parties after a few whiskies singing ‘Danny Boy’.  My other Grandmother’s love of the Opera and the poster of Placido Domingo she had taped to her lounge door well into her late 80’s and the stories of her as a poverty struck young woman climbing up into the ‘gods’ to watch the opera.

When I asked my step father after my mother died what song reminded him of her he said ‘The First Time Ever I Saw your Face’ Ewan McColl’s version.   When he died a month later we had a bagpiper play his coffin into church, just as he used to play the boats out of harbour as a young man.  Music brings them back every time I play something that connects us and I play these melodies often.

I was an officiant at a funeral recently, it’s a long story how I got to do it so I won’t go into the in’s and outs and bore you, but they wanted someone who was spiritual but also a vegan which is a bit of an ask.  I wasn’t a trained celebrant but I ticked the other boxes so I agreed to give it a go, no in all honesty, I wanted to do this young man proud.   He had died at 28 of a heart attack, very sad but as I learnt about him from his family I heard what a love he had for life and he loved to sing.  Would you believe he sang at his own funeral, well recordings of his voice for two numbers ‘ Poor Unfortunate Souls’ from the Little Mermaid and ‘Hakuna Matata’ from the Lion King.  He was larger than life in personality and he sung these songs with every bit of his heart and soul.  I have to tell you when these numbers played it was like he opened the chapel door and walked in through it.

That’s what music does, it takes you back, brings back and reconnects us to precious memories.

 

Walking Back To Happiness

lizaaitken

I’ve not got a bad pair of legs even if I do say so myself.  The thing is, I paid for them, my mother walked my legs into me and scared poor cellulite from ever coming near.  From an early age, her love of walking was ours, like it or not there was no choice in the matter.

At the age of six I was holding onto the side of my sister’s pushchair while walking with mum to visit my grandmother seven miles away.  We walked from Morden, where we lived in South London to Balham and back again.  This was a regular occurrence and at the best of times without detours it was fourteen miles with short legs.  Can you imagine how many steps a six year old needs to take to walk that distance.  We didn’t own a car, mum couldn’t drive but the long and the short of it was my mum loved to walk.

I have a scar on my knee now from a fall on one of those walks, I don’t look at it today without thinking back. I can see the blood and the small stones stuck into my knee and I can still feel the kiss that made it all better.  In fact many of my childhood memories could be played out on the A24 otherwise known as the London Road.

I remember having dreams as a child of trying to walk or run from a monster and as much as I moved my legs I couldn’t go anywhere.  I wonder now if this might have been on the nights of our long walks, my legs still stepping one in front of the other under the bedclothes.

It wasn’t all-bad, we chatted ten to the dozen there and back, I knew my mum then like I do today because we talked to each other, we never walked in silence. I always think it strange when I see families walking along not speaking to each other, what a waste of precious time.

We played guessing games, told stories and sang songs on those walks, my sister joining in from the pushchair.  The sweet game was my favorite, it was a special treat when it happened as mum didn’t like us to have too many sweets.   We had to suck a sweet and see who could make it last the longest, last one with the sweet won.  My sister always won that game, I couldn’t work out how she managed as she talked as much as us.  I tried and tried to win, stuck the sweet under my tongue, held it between my teeth and kept my mouth open without swallowing but she was always to be queen of that game.

Mum used to say one day she would walk the length of England, I always hoped when she did eventually do this, she would wait until I was old enough to stay at home.  I think I probably walked the length of England a few times in my childhood, but hey I’ve got good legs.  What’s more I have the best relationship with my family, wonderful memories and a driving license!

Watching You

lizaaitken

I am following you down the street, the cobbles make it harder for you to push the pram any faster, so it is quite easy for me to keep up with you.  As I draw closer I look down into the pram at your child, a beautiful bonny baby shrouded in yellow.  I’m guessing you had a girl, I know yellow could be used for either sex but she looks like a girl, there is a look of her mother.

You have two children now, I wonder is your family complete.  I suppose it is too early to tell, you are still so young yourself.  Your daughter with that lovely thick curly hair just like her father’s, holds tightly onto the pram beside you.  She is chattering away at the double as you walk towards the park, a happy family unit on a beautiful summers day.

You don’t know me although we have met a few times now.  We met in the children’s library when you helped me find the book I was looking for and we met again at the summer fete when I was helping out with the face paints.  I sat behind you on the bus last week and across from you in the café the week before.  It’s not strange that you see me often, it is a small village and you get to recognise most folk around here.

I’m going to the park too, the dog could do with a run and I will stop for a sandwich in the café by the children’s play area.  It would be nice if we were there at the same time, I know that is your ritual on a warm day like this.  I have some bread to feed the ducks should your little one like to do that, but we will have to see if you go to the lake today.

I like it here, it’s a nice place to live, lovely for the children to grow with the countryside all around them.  I hope you stay, it would be lovely for the children and wonderful for me.

It took me a long time to find this village but I’m happy now after a lifetime of sadness and regret.  I never felt complete before I came here, I’m not really complete now but I’m probably as close as I will ever get.

I watch you from the café, pushing your daughter on the swing.  You both laugh as she soars high in the air, high enough to give her a thrill but safe enough for you, how clever of you.  The pram is close by and your eyes constantly move from pram to swing, what a wonderful mother you are, how lucky the children.

I never had any more children after they took you away from me at 16.  It has been the most painful thing to me and although I did eventually meet a good man I felt that if I had another child it would be unfair to you.  It would be like replacing you and that would be impossible.  Frank and I divorced and he has a family of his own now, I’m happy for him.

I would never tell you who I really am, I know the people that brought you up are your parents.  They are good people and did a wonderful job, for that I will be eternally grateful.  I have observed the love between you when you wave them off from one of their visits.  I love them too in a way, like you they have been included in all my prayers.

I look up to see you entering the garden area of the café.  There is not a table, you stop to look around for a space to sit.  Lily, your daughter points over in my direction, yes there are spare seats at my table by the swings.   Today I have been blessed I think to myself as you sit.

A Wallop for Christmas

lizaaitken

Christmas, and I was happily meandering through the lanes in Brighton. I was relaxed and soaking up the festive atmosphere, until that was I heard a loud yell from behind. As I turned I saw a woman with what I can only describe as a look of absolute rage upon her face, appearing as if she might explode like a bomb at any moment. Her hair was wild and framed a face that was red and swollen, and eyes that appeared to be almost popping from the sockets, almost sitting on her cheekbones. She grabbed the arm of the young girl with her and propelled her forward and in front of her into the crowd, like you might throw something very heavy. ‘You just wait until I get you home my girl’ she growled at the child as she pushed past me. They were walking very quickly, almost running with the young girl looking up at what I assumed was her mother with a pleading and frightened look on her face. The woman had terrified me, breaking into my day with what felt like a slap around the head with a negativity and anger that radiated from her very presence. I could do nothing but watch as I saw them turn the corner that led away from the main drag. I knew the girl was in for it, didn’t know what she had done but recognised that her mother was out of control and was very likely to lash out at the child or anyone that interfered. I guessed she would, as she had said wait until she got home.

What would the child learn from a good beating, that her mother was bigger and stronger, that you use your size to instill fear into those who are weaker. Would she grow up believing that to raise children would mean raising your hand or even your fist. I wondered when it would stop, when the spirit was beaten from the child or when the child was big enough to hit back.

I don’t and won’t ever agree with hitting children and can’t find any excuse for it, however many radio shows I listen to or articles I read that try and persuade me otherwise. I find it unbelievable how many intelligent people see no wrong with smacking as a punishment or to instill discipline. That so many informed and well-respected people still say ‘it never did me any harm’ is absolutely beyond me. Common sense and basic intelligence surely tell us that to hurt another human being because we don’t agree with their actions is wrong. That a child might learn not to repeat behaviour because they fear being hit still does not teach the child the behaviour is wrong and why, it teaches the child fear. When we can find no other way to deal with our children’s behaviour than hitting out we have lost control ourselves, it teaches our children that it is okay to lash out when things don’t go the way they would like. I know there are a lot more resources in the parenting toolbox.

I wondered what good would these beliefs do me now as I looked at the corner the mother and child had turned. Would she listen to reason if I chased after her or would I by interfering make the situation worse for the child. I know that other people had noticed, you couldn’t not, but the moment had passed and the hustle and bustle of the Christmas shoppers resumed as if the incident had never happened.

I gathered myself and started to run towards the corner they had turned into. As I turned I caught sight of them in the distance and called out ‘wait’ continuing as I shouted, to run towards them. The mother stopped and turned, her body rigid and I felt ready to attack. I do not know how I did it but I plastered a smile across my face, laughing as I caught up. ‘I’m so pleased I caught you’ I said as we stood face to face, me smiling and her looking absolutely livid. ‘You dropped this’ I said as I held out a five-pound note, ‘I saw it fall from your coat pocket as you passed me’. I saw a change in her expression, confusion, as she knew she hadn’t dropped it and definite suspicion of my motives. ‘I nearly didn’t chase you’ I said ‘ I thought it was my lucky day, finding a fiver’. Adding ‘but then I thought about it being Christmas and being a mother myself, I felt you wouldn’t want to loose a fiver you could use for your children’. There was silence for a few moments, I could see her mind turning, could she have had five pounds in her pocket she had forgotten about. She took it from my hand with a quiet ‘thanks’ and glanced at the young girl standing with her. ‘I bet you’re pleased your mum hasn’t lost her money’ I said to the child with a big smile ‘what with all the treats she will probably be buying for you’. The girl smiled looking from me to her mother and I saw a different look between them. It seemed and I hope that the anger had subsided, I had interrupted it and replaced it with a gift, and the mothers face had softened. ‘ Well have a lovely Christmas’ I said as I walked back to the main street without the money I had put in my pocket earlier for a coffee.

I carried on my walk thinking about the incident, had I done the right thing. It certainly wouldn’t have taught the woman anything but then I don’t think she would have listened to reason at that time. I hope I reframed things for them and their day got better.