The ageing process is a curious thing, in that its effects are gradual and don't usually register with us until they've gathered a fair bit of steam. This applies not only to ourselves, but also our possessions. Take my bedroom walls for example, or to be more precise, the posters, pin-ups, pages and pictures which adorn them (and are somewhat obscured in the accompanying photo by some of my collectables).
Most have now been in place for at least 30 years (though some go back nearly 40), but it's only in the last couple of years or so that it began to dawn on me just how faded, tanned, and wrinkled many had become, prompting me to begin the time-consuming task of replacing them with brighter, newer, and more colourful duplicates. I've now renewed around 80 of them, and my room looks all the better for it, but it occurs to me that I'm living in a 'vanished age' which I've preserved by means of a scanner and printer.
Some were replicated by scanning the originals and digitally restoring them, others by scanning spare issues of the comics they came from - some purchased at the same time as the originals, others a few years afterwards (and a good many years ago). Truth to tell, many of the wall pics had probably begun to look old quite a while back, but it wasn't until they became noticeably mottled that I realised time had taken its toll and decided to do something about it. However, when younger, I'd probably have just replaced them with new (and different) posters and pin-ups, so why indulge this odd compulsion to preserve things the way they were?
I think I know the answer. As regular readers of my other blog may be aware, my family originally lived here (in the house I currently occupy) from 1972 to '83, whereupon we moved to another house in a different neighbourhood and resided there for just over four years before returning to our former home. Not wanting to move from this house back in '83, I felt like one who'd been "from the room untimely ripped" (to misquote Shakespeare) and this made me want to re-create (as much as possible given the different dimensions of my new room), the ambience of my old one.
Had we never moved, this desire to replicate my former surroundings would likely never have occurred to me and, as I said, I'd probably have replaced time-worn pictures with new and different ones when the occasion required. The irony is though, that even if we'd never moved, my room couldn't have remained the same anyway, as I'd have had to remove my 'wall adornments' to accommodate renovation and refurbishment to the house a mere year or three down the line. (Thankfully, we were spared that inconvenience.)
Had we never moved, this desire to replicate my former surroundings would likely never have occurred to me and, as I said, I'd probably have replaced time-worn pictures with new and different ones when the occasion required. The irony is though, that even if we'd never moved, my room couldn't have remained the same anyway, as I'd have had to remove my 'wall adornments' to accommodate renovation and refurbishment to the house a mere year or three down the line. (Thankfully, we were spared that inconvenience.)
This would've meant being decanted to a caravan for a fortnight (with furniture and possessions put into storage) while the house was gutted of original fixtures and fittings, then rewired, re-plumbed and, where necessary, re-plastered. (New wall sockets and light switches were installed, but not in exactly the same spots, hence remedial work being required on the walls.) Upon completion, the entire house would've needed redecorated, and as some of my old pictures were glued to the wallpaper, I'd more than likely have just put up new ones. However, not happy at moving, my reluctance to abandon the warm familiarity of my former surroundings inspired me to try and re-create them in my new room, and again in my old one when we returned.
I've never managed to shake that compulsion, so now sleep in a room that's largely the same as it was between 1975 and 1983, resulting in me living in a bygone age that vanished into the mists of time 35 years ago. I can only conclude that moving to another house in '83 was a traumatic experience for me, and one which affects my outlook to this very day. Or it could be that I'm just bonkers I suppose, but if you agree with that diagnosis, I'd much prefer you kept it to yourselves. After all, you know what a timid, sensitive soul I am, so there's no need to be cruel.
I've never managed to shake that compulsion, so now sleep in a room that's largely the same as it was between 1975 and 1983, resulting in me living in a bygone age that vanished into the mists of time 35 years ago. I can only conclude that moving to another house in '83 was a traumatic experience for me, and one which affects my outlook to this very day. Or it could be that I'm just bonkers I suppose, but if you agree with that diagnosis, I'd much prefer you kept it to yourselves. After all, you know what a timid, sensitive soul I am, so there's no need to be cruel.
Thoughts, theories, observations or empathy can be left in the considerately-provided comments section if you feel so motivated.
I can see why you would want to preserve an environment that came with a set of memories ans associations and it is fortunate that the means are available to refresh those items as required. Myself, I have lived in too many places in rooms too different to each other over the years to have any hope of preserving any one setting, but I have a collection of books, music, comics and merchandise that has traveled all over the place with me. I find that, as has been mentioned before in other comments, opening up said publications or listening to certain albums takes me back to the time it was acquired. So I guess in my case it's the objects that act as my time machine rather than the way that they are displayed down the years.
ReplyDeleteI guess that when you moved each time, PC, you were 'ready' to do so, whereas I was a reluctant 'flitter'. Yet had I not been in the habit of hanging posters in my old room, I wouldn't have felt the need to re-create that ambience in my new one - or, indeed, again in my old one when we returned in '87. At first (for about 20 years) it was almost as if we'd never moved out in '83, but gradually I began to sort of miss my new room too. There's no hope for me, alas - I'm trapped in the past.
DeleteTrapped in the past, or at odds with the present, Kid? Personally, I prefer the trappings of the past. Some people are meant to be curator of their own personal museum of memories :)
ReplyDeleteProbably a bit of both, TK. And that's a good way of putting it - I'm certainly the curator of my own personal memory museum. I wonder if other people take it to the same extremes as me?
DeleteI've know people who would like to, but they're often inhibited or restrained by their need to fit in and conform :)
ReplyDeleteSomething I've never been guilty of I'm glad to say, TK. Which is why I'm probably the only lifelong teetotal, non-smoking, non drug-taking Scotsman that most people who know me know (if you know what I mean).
DeleteI've come to really treasure items from my past in the last few years (I'm 42 now), whether they are comics, books, cds, bric-a-brac. My parents recently threw out a set of wooden ladders that I well remember using as a small child to hang posters and reach the top of the wardrobe where my plastic dinosaurs sat. The ladders were not in good condition, they had already been 'patched up' with some wooden strips nailed into them to strengthen them but were still rickety, creaking and frankly unsafe. Better and safer for all to get rid of them and replace them with some new lightweight metal ladders, but I still felt like part of my past was being wrenched away from me when I carried them out to be dumped. That, I'm sure, can't be rational thinking, but I see it as simply wanting to maintain a physical connection with my past.
ReplyDeleteI think I just have an affection and craving for old-fashioned things in general- earlier today I saw a shop front that had been removed and a former sign was still underneath, with an owners name handpainted on that must have been from the 70s or 80s. Even though I don't remember the shop from that time and have possibly never set eyes on that sign before, I still felt a kid of yearning nostalgia when I saw it.
Your first paragraph describes me to a 't', DS. A good number of years ago, I stored some old pots and pans in the loft that would otherwise have been thrown out. A few weeks ago I noticed that, because of the less than ideal conditions in the loft, they were now beyond being able to salvage for future use. I carried them out to the bin feeling like a ned abandoning a litter of puppies, and I'm still not over it.
DeleteIncidentally, there's a shop like you describe in the Old Village quarter of my home town. I must get a photo.
I love that phrase Tony mentioned above : "curator of your own personal museum of memories". Sums up how I feel about a lot of the books I've owned since childhood, each one triggers fond memories and associations every time I look at them.
ReplyDeleteStephen King once said 'it's hard to make other people care about the things that are important to you'. He was absolutely right.
Yeah, that was a good phrase (think I'll steal it). As for other people caring about the things that are important to me, as long as there's someone like that around when I pop my clogs who'll look after my stuff (or make sure it goes to good homes), then that'll do for me.
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