Category: Life

Well, not right now, but sometime in the next few years at least. Maybe… probably…

I dunno, I’ve given up trying to plan too much too far ahead so let’s call this future dreams that we hope will come true (note: a lot of this is, in reality, grounded in boring things like money but I’m ignoring that for the purposes of this post).

I grew up in Dumbarton, so did Becca, something we discovered not long after we first met and we then spent a few hours discussing what the town was like for us growing up which was, despite the age gap between us, surprisingly similar. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise though, towns like Dumbarton don’t really change all that much, and definitely don’t do it fast.

I moved away from Dumbarton in my early twenties, a new job taking me down to Aylesbury for a couple of years, before a move back to Scotland to sunny Bothwell and then Hamilton, before moving into Glasgow’s West End for several years. Then I met Becca, life took on a wonderfully different feel and, a year in a terrible rented house in Bothwell aside, we’ve made a happy home for Jack in the house Becca grew up in (yes, we rent from my in-laws, no it’s not stressful as they are wonderful and very chilled out and hey, we gave them a grandson!).

But over the past year or so Dumbarton has taken on a different quality for me, with memories of my childhood and early adulthood – the formative years if you will – are merging with more recent sadder memories of my Dad, my Mum, and my younger sister. As well as the everyday grief of thinking ‘ohhh Mum would love to hear this’ or ‘I’d better tell Jen that…’ and ‘Dad would know how best to do this…’ I now have locational memories of playing in the park that we take Jack too with my sister when she wasn’t much older than he is now, or getting ice cream with Mum & Dad in Helensburgh (Dino’s forever! Well Galone’s in the Vale but it shut down years ago), and I’ll be honest with all these emotions and memories barrelling at me day after day, it’s sometimes kinda hard to take.

I work at home almost exclusively these days which is wonderful for many reasons but will happily admit that NOT being out and about in Dumbarton, and having the constant barrage of mini-memories of my family in my face all the time, is yet another reason add to the list of benefits.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t an always state of mind, it is stuff that I don’t think about most of the time but when it hits, it’s hitting hard.

So we are moving!

Well, like I said, probably.

Truth be told I have very little family left in the West of Scotland. My Mum’s brother lives about 45 mins away, and I’m not that close with my cousins on that side of the family (I’m older than all three by enough years that there has never been a good crossover), and my cousins on my Dad’s side of the family who I am closer to now live in Australia and New Zealand (the ‘Aussie’ is over in a couple of weeks which will be great).

In short, there aren’t that many ties for me here any more. My best friends live in Glasgow and Edinburgh but seeing them is always something that takes a little arranging anyway so it makes little difference if I move further away, just means a little more planning on my side. Same for the days I need to be in the office, it would like mean an overnight in a hotel now and then but that’s definitely manageable.

There are my nieces of course, my goddaughter Daisy and her big sister Lucy; suffice to say that the ramifications of my sister’s death has made that situation a little tricky to navigate but they are always in my thoughts and, as they grow, hopefully I can explore a relationship with them in later life.

Becca and Jack are a different consideration though. Becca has friends here, a couple of besties that I know she would miss but given they trade WhatsApp voice notes and messages multiple times a day it might be workable. Jack will be at school if/when we do decide to move but at most he’ll only be in Primary 3 or 4 and I can barely remember GOING to school at that age so I think he’ll cope.

I say all this because we are considering moving up north to be nearer Becca’s brother who is near Aviemore. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and given how much time we like to spend outdoors, it’s far more geared up for that kind of lifestyle than the small provincial town in which we currently reside.

Note from Ed: Check that usage of ‘provincial’, sure it sounds all eloquent and ‘writery’ but you don’t live in a province ya numpty.

It would be a good base to explore more of the north of Scotland in Vera too (our motorhome for those not paying attention) and would mean when my in-laws come back to Scotland after their months abroad living their best retired lives, they’ll be close to both families. We have been thinking about it and have a couple of locations we’d prefer but of course that depends on the finances and general state of the world.

Time will tell, but the idea of living somewhere quieter, smaller, and with beautiful countryside on our doorstep really appeals. Quiet walks along country paths, long bike rides without having to negotiate irate drivers on busy roads, a slower way of life.

Dumbarton isn’t a bad place, like most towns it could be better, and we are lucky that we have beautiful countryside on our doorstep here too, it’s just that the proximity to Glasgow means it’s usually inundated with utter bampots who will happily queue for hours to double/triple/quadruple park at some of the easier to reach parts of Loch Lomond, and seem to pay little attention to what they leave behind. Yes tourists mean money but ugh, they also means noisy inconsiderate morons.

Ahem, no YOU’RE a grumpy old man!

Anyway, the current thinking is to move north. Probably. Or New Zealand. Or maybe Canada.

Right now it’s all a dream but we are starting to consider the move in terms of how we want to live our lives, what we really want from a location. What are our must-haves? Can we live without a good cafe nearby? Would we prefer to cycle everywhere if possible? Do we want to live near other houses or get something a little outside of a town? Do we move only a little north to keep Glasgow and Edinburgh closer?

There are so many questions and considerations but we have plenty of time to make a decision and one thing I’ve learned is not to sweat this too much, what will be will be and as long as Becca and Jack are safe and happy, that’s all I really need.

Well that and a nice large garden with plenty of shade for good afternoon naps…

Vera, our motorhome, has been an absolute boon this past month or so. We’ve managed to get away a couple of times now, not far but far enough that I can feel the calm release of tension descend upon me as we park up for the night. One advantage of where we live, drive for an hour or so and you can be literally in the middle of nowhere. Glorious.

I joined a new company at the end of last year and it too is going well, I’m starting to get a better grasp on the massive project I’m working on, and don’t quite feel like the ‘dumb’ new guy any more.

We’ve also had the official confirmation that we can sell my Mum’s old flat (which we are still clearing!) so that’s something positive, or at least a bit of closure.. or something. I dunno, it’s just a ‘thing that needs done’ but I know the emotional release when it finally sells will come too.

And given the past few months I’ve started to get some counselling, early days but I know from past experience it will be good for me and no doubt leave me better off than I was in the first place.

Throughout all of this, my little family has been the rock I’ve held clung on to; my amazing wife who has been a constant source of support, silliness, and encouragement and who has gotten me through each day even though I know she’s grieving too. And my beautiful, smart, daring, thoughtful son, a constant tonic who makes me belly laugh as much as he raises my blood pressure as he careers off down another hill on his bike. He is an absolute joy and we know how lucky we are that, on the whole, he’s a very even tempered wee guy who sleeps all night and rarely has a major breakdown/tantrum. 

He’s 3.5 yrs old now, and yesterday I removed all the baby gates on the stairs and his room given that for the past couple of weeks he’s being walking up and down them to go to the toilet (standing up!) all by himself anyway. 

And as usual my friends have been a wonderful constant. A day with my closest friends watching the first F1 Grand Prix of the season was a true tonic for my sould.

So, for the first time in several weeks, I’ve started looking ahead with hope. We have holidays planned, we have a roof over our heads, food in the cupboards and so much love surrounds me that I can’t help but be optimistic.

There will be harder days ahead, but I know I will perserevre through those too.

When my parents announced they were selling the family home and moving to a flat I can remember the feeling of disbelief that fell on me. Their reasoning was sound, it was a couple of years after my Mum had a stroke and she was struggling to get up and down two flights of stairs each day, even getting to the toilet on the half-landing was starting to be an issue.

A ground floor flat made perfect sense.

Dad did most of the clearing and decluttering of the house himself but I helped where I could, including completely emptying the loft on one of the hottest days of the summer, all on my own (my parents were on holiday). By the time they were ready to move they had sold/donated/trashed as much as they could to make their life shrink from a large 3 bedroom semi-detached with a large garage and a shed, into a spacious two bedroom flat with limited storage.

Part of the process included my sister and I taking some items that my parents were happy to pass on – I lay claim to two tapestries of geisha’s my did about 30 yrs ago and that had hung in the living room that entire time – and it was a nice way to take a little of our own personal history with us.

When Dad died, I helped Mum start to clear out his things and we soon figured out who the hoarder of the family was. Driven by pound stores and cheap Amazon deals, we started making little piles of things; 48 pairs of reading glasses, 23 pairs of scissors (varying size), a thin tall set of drawers full of paper and thin card of differing thickness and size (not sure what all that was for), blank DVDs and CDs… and so much more.

The process helped Mum deal with her grief, mostly through shaking her head and laughing at why she’d just found the third set of multi-head screwdrivers, or the second glue gun. Bags of stuff were taken to charity shops, or the dump. And I ended up finding a couple of little reminders of Dad that will mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me.

And now I’m doing the same with Mum’s stuff and the contents of her flat to get it ready to sell.

I’ve taken a couple of small sentimental items, but more important to me was something that I’d never really laid that much stock in before, – or at least not spent much time thinking about them in this way – all the old photo albums.

One photo in particular struck me not because of the composition (it’s a photo of my Dad doing the dishes) but of the instant triggering of memories. I spent about 10 mins just looking at things I’d forgotten all about; the Habitat wallpaper, the wall mounted scales, the old kitchen units with at least 6 layers of paint on them…

It made me think about the photos I take today. It’s so easy to take photos with our phones but I tend to try and make sure to get ‘good’ ones more often than not. Ones that capture the subject well, a nice pose or a smile from my boy, my beautiful wife twirling in her dress, family members framed by the trees as we all go for a walk up the hills.

But I’m realising more and more that it’s the candid ones that show nothing of note that may hold the most value. The memories held in everyday things isn’t something I’d considered until now.

I’ve always been surrounded by photographs. My Dad and my Uncle Bill being keen amateur photographers for a while, I have hazy memories of helping Dad develop some photos at home, and there were slideshows to watch as well. As technology, and life, changed my Dad fell away from the hobbyist approach but still took many photos with a whole host of digital point and shoot cameras over the years.

I too went through a spell of learning how a camera works, trying to improve the pictures I took in the hope that I’d capture great images of landscapes and people. And I took a few good ones but the cycle for me was the same as Dad, once iPhone cameras got good enough it became more of a case of the camera I always had with me, rather than lugging a DSLR around on the off chance of getting a good snap. Add in the whirling dervish that is my son and my iPhone has been my main camera for many years.

I still like to capture ‘good’ images but looking at all the old photos from our family home, I find myself looking more in the background than at the people.

So I’m going to relax a bit and take the photos, capture the every day moments not just when it looks like it might make a good photo (which in my head is loosely defined as, would we print it out and stick it on the wall?).

At the end of all of this though, it doesn’t really matter what the image looks like, how the composition holds up, if the lighting is right or not. Look at the contents of the photo for what they are, memories of times gone by and lives not longer with us.

To trigger any of your richest memories, remember, any photo will do.