Fab Foodie
hanging-on in quiet desperation ...
- Location
- Kirton, Devon.
I mean valuable not in financial terms, but something that has stuck with you, been of benefit, created something, sparked your imagination etc.
I was pondering this yesterday - a legacy of this gift materialised in the present (in both senses of the word).
For me it was the gift from my Grandfather of an annual subscription to National Geographic. Probably from the age of 6 or 7 years old. I appreciate that seems rather young but I was a very advanced reader, at the age of 5 a National Geographic was within my capabilities and I was chewing through Mum's Readers Digest at a rate of knots. As my Grandfather worked in a small medical practice (in an administrative role), much to my delight he'd bring home the tatty old copies from the surgery, and every few weeks when we travelled the 25 miles to visit (a long trip in Devon in the 60s) I'd devour them. So he set up a subscription to have them delivered to my home.
The magazine filled me with awe and wonder, instilled in me an interest in travel, nature, photography, travelogue, architecture, mid-century design, Frank Lloyd Wright, Eames chairs. Big glossy adverts for Cadillac and Lincoln cars, Pan-Am to New York, Rothmans and Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes, powerboats, Nikon cameras, Rolex watches and on it went. I wanted to be somehow part of that world.
I smoked the ciggs, drove the cars, owned several Nikons, have my 30 year old Rolex that's used every-day, travelled the world (for work), my Insta-feed is dominated by Mid-century design, Art Nouveau, Art Deco, Brutalism, The Bauhaus, I follow the natural world and climate-change closely. All of these things stem from that simple gift - firstly bringing the tatty copies home for me to gaze over and then that subscription.
Yesterday, some 50+ years after a starry eyed-Devon kid first gazed into this portable paper world of awe and wonder, my journey from that childhood dreamland became complete. Now for the last of my years, I will rest my bones at home each evening in an Eames chair. The sheer beauty of it sitting in the corner of the room actually makes me cry. In a Axminster council house in the 60s, it was all I could do to even dream of seeing one for real, let alone sit on one. I was way into my 30s before I saw one for real in John Lewis - again just a distant dream, a reminder of a fantasy world. And now it's here, and it's mine.
I'm in floods of tears as I write this, remembering my dear Grandfather who died soon after my 7th or 8th birthday, riddled with Cancer. He taught me to fish, buying me my first fishing reel - a bakelite pin-real that still in my office. I have his cherished Abu Garcia fishing reel in it's leather case, and the ashtray that say by his chair, a few of his favourite LPs.
Most of all, I wish he could see how much that simple precious gift of a National Geographic subscription meant to me, how it made such an impact on my world view as a child and how it continues to do so all these years later.
Thanks Grandad, I never missed you as much as I did yesterday. I think I'll go sit down....
I was pondering this yesterday - a legacy of this gift materialised in the present (in both senses of the word).
For me it was the gift from my Grandfather of an annual subscription to National Geographic. Probably from the age of 6 or 7 years old. I appreciate that seems rather young but I was a very advanced reader, at the age of 5 a National Geographic was within my capabilities and I was chewing through Mum's Readers Digest at a rate of knots. As my Grandfather worked in a small medical practice (in an administrative role), much to my delight he'd bring home the tatty old copies from the surgery, and every few weeks when we travelled the 25 miles to visit (a long trip in Devon in the 60s) I'd devour them. So he set up a subscription to have them delivered to my home.
The magazine filled me with awe and wonder, instilled in me an interest in travel, nature, photography, travelogue, architecture, mid-century design, Frank Lloyd Wright, Eames chairs. Big glossy adverts for Cadillac and Lincoln cars, Pan-Am to New York, Rothmans and Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes, powerboats, Nikon cameras, Rolex watches and on it went. I wanted to be somehow part of that world.
I smoked the ciggs, drove the cars, owned several Nikons, have my 30 year old Rolex that's used every-day, travelled the world (for work), my Insta-feed is dominated by Mid-century design, Art Nouveau, Art Deco, Brutalism, The Bauhaus, I follow the natural world and climate-change closely. All of these things stem from that simple gift - firstly bringing the tatty copies home for me to gaze over and then that subscription.
Yesterday, some 50+ years after a starry eyed-Devon kid first gazed into this portable paper world of awe and wonder, my journey from that childhood dreamland became complete. Now for the last of my years, I will rest my bones at home each evening in an Eames chair. The sheer beauty of it sitting in the corner of the room actually makes me cry. In a Axminster council house in the 60s, it was all I could do to even dream of seeing one for real, let alone sit on one. I was way into my 30s before I saw one for real in John Lewis - again just a distant dream, a reminder of a fantasy world. And now it's here, and it's mine.
I'm in floods of tears as I write this, remembering my dear Grandfather who died soon after my 7th or 8th birthday, riddled with Cancer. He taught me to fish, buying me my first fishing reel - a bakelite pin-real that still in my office. I have his cherished Abu Garcia fishing reel in it's leather case, and the ashtray that say by his chair, a few of his favourite LPs.
Most of all, I wish he could see how much that simple precious gift of a National Geographic subscription meant to me, how it made such an impact on my world view as a child and how it continues to do so all these years later.
Thanks Grandad, I never missed you as much as I did yesterday. I think I'll go sit down....
