Hot summers spent down the beach, exploring the rockpools and lighthouse then navigating our way throught the bindi infested grass to wash the sand off with the hose. Riding the trikes with wobbly wheels down the dangerously steep and cracked and buckled concrete driveway. Going to speak to the cheeky cockatoo down the road to see what naughty words he had learnt since last holidays. Picking fresh Aloe Vera off the plant to rub on our sunburn and eating copious amounts of spaghetti bolognaise and red jelly. Climbing the frangipani trees at the bottom of the block and having midday naps on our makeshift mattresses on the verandah. Hearing the waves crash all through the night and seeing the beam from the lighthouse streak across the window. Singing Italian childrens songs and de-tangling strands of brightly coloured beads from Nonnas musical jewellery box.
I've been thinking about these memories a lot lately and wishing for the opportunity for my children to have the same experiences.
For this reason, I love Franjipani trees. Theyre not particularly great looking but the perfume sends me back to my childhood. I remember I used to stuff handfuls of flowers that had fallen on the ground into my pockets, and by the time I got down the beach or home again, they were warm and soft and turning brown and the smell was amazing. I'd suck in the scent with the deepest breaths and it was just heaven!
No comments:
Post a Comment