Is there anything more nostalgic than re-exploring the places we grew up? The other weekend my daughters and I were driving home from visiting my parents when I noticed an ‘open’ sign outside Harper’s Mansion. For once not over time committed we decided to stop. I’ve been wanting to re-visit the gardens for ages, I hadn’t been there since I was a kid when family friends lived there (the father was the one who actually brought the historic gardens back to life). The property is now managed by a trust and volunteers. The girls and I took such delight in exploring the gardens and the house. I was feeling sentimental with my daughter’s birthday fast approaching so relished sitting in the grass with them having an impromptu picnic and letting the dappled sunlight warm our faces and shoulders, taking the many winding paths through the roses, salvia, windflowers and hydrangeas.
The gardens of Harper’s Mansion, Berrima, NSW
In the same town, Berrima, where I grew up there used be an antique warehouse, where my mum worked for the length of my schooling. Peppergreen Antiques, was very well-known and often used as a location to source props for Country Style or Donna Hay magazine shoots and Baz Luhrman’s latest films. Nicole Kidman was a regular customer.
I used to spend my afternoons after school, when the shop was closed running through the cool, dark aisles, school shoes tapping on the stone floors, admiring the glass cabinets that stretched to the high ceilings. Mum would climb up on the huge library runner ladders and pull down carefully stored containers filled with hand-stitched lace nightgowns, petticoats, embroidered sheets and napkins, exquistette satin down-filled eiderdowns (some of which are now on my daughters’ beds). It was because of mum’s influence, and this absolute treasure trove of a shop that I came to love things that had a story. The honeyed patina of a writing desk, the hand stitched lace of a collar, the initials on a sterling silver serving fork. There were three items I found in that shop in my late tween, early teenage years that I still dream about. A raspberry pink silk dress with black beads sewn onto the bodice (and black lace sleeves if I remember correctly). I wanted it so badly, not for any other reason but to hang it on a wall and admire it. It couldn’t really be worn anymore. A white organza dress with black velvet bows (which was purchased by mum’s colleague and friend for her daughter to wear for her wedding). I wept over it when it sold. And finally a tapestry. Gigantic and heavy with age, its dark colours depicting a woodland scene with deer by a stream and a hare in the foreground. I remember mum turning to me and saying, yes but darling where would you hang it? I’d build a house around it, I replied. I still think of those three items to this day. There was magic in them that called to me. My babysitting and waitressing measly earnings didn't quite cover their cost though. They could never have been mine. And so each them slipped through my fingers. It’s funny to mourn things we never had isn’t it?
It was nice to revisit these memories. Since having kids I’ve seen the place of my own childhood in such a different light. I’m filled with nostalgia every time I drive through it.
Speaking of nostalgia, there’s something about the end of summer that I always find very nostalgic. We always wrap up the end of the season with a trip to our favourite place on the South Coast. It is a second home to me, another witness to my childhood, teenage and then adult years. A place of firsts and fun and freedom. I’m so glad to think I’ll be able to give my own kids the same chance at the experiences I had.
My son turned to me last night and said ‘Mum, I love being on holiday with you.’ And my heart burst and ached at the same time. Because I know why he said it. We’d spent the afternoon just wandering the beach, not pushed for time, just strolling, observing all around us, collecting delicious smelling frangipanis and violet plumbago and shells, stopping to look at the skull of a sea bird, the creatures washing up from the storm. I don’t think it was this activity so much but rather that we were so completely present with each other that he was commenting on. Must make time to try and do it more. It’s good for the soul and takes me back to my own childhood. Isn’t it beautiful to miss things we did have, and want them for our own children? What a privilege.
Nostalgia is proof you are living a life to be proud of.
What a privilege to yearn for your own memories.
~ Unknown
Audiobook love
I’ve been listening to Practical Magic. I only watched the movie for the first time a few years ago and had never read the book, and yet each time I listen to it it brings on a sense of nostalgia that I can’t explain.
Comfort read loves this month
You Are Here by David Nicholls - for comfort and laughs out loud. I found myself admiring Nicholls’ way of marvelling at the mundane, his ability to completely swerve away from clichès and draw familiarity from every day little things is so clever in this story about two people walking across England, slowly healing and falling in love.
One Last Summer by Carley Fortune (and anything by Fortune for that matter) - for nostalgia, of first summer loves, lost friendships and that feeling that summer brings, unlike any other season.
Spotify playlist loves to write to (or muse-filled drives) and one for swanny Sunday arvos
The Time Traveller’s Wife (the playlist not the soundtrack version)
The Anita’s sessions, Bella Taylor Smith (technically an album not a playlist but couldn't not put it on here)
anything by Griff
Writing - my own playlist but you can find on Spotify under Skye Louise. I know I’m always on the hunt for creative playlists.
Breakfast in a Nancy Meyer’s kitchen
Instagram loves
@witches.of.insta
@stevecordony
@penelopeboydart
@jyoungdesignhouse
Substack loves
‘s The Joy Rise - I particularly liked her latest March edition Books and Bits The Open Journal - her entry on A Life of Chapters feels appropriate here
The perfect Sunday set up by @jyoungdesignhouse
I came across the below poem recently and it helped me to stop and take a breath, hold the hope, whisper to my children, remind myself that while there might be wretchedness in the world I’m raising them to be the (below) ones.
Finally, I’ve challenged myself to learn how to make croissants, my favourite Sunday treat. I believe they’re very tricky! But will report back here next month on my efforts. Ever since I watched Meryl Streep teach Steve Martin how to make them in It’s Complicated I’ve wanted to try. Wish me luck!
The very best croissants outside of Paris from Milton local Beurre Noisette. Just yum.
