Tag Archives: stories

Art Exhibitions:

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Bev’s exhibition

 

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Saturday we went to a friend’s painting show. She was an ex-student of my husband’s, a mature student, as is known in the university realm. Bev Martorana, or married name, Cameron. She still enjoys painting and lives further down the Mornington Peninsula.

Chris is an anti social hermit when allowed to be. The night before he thought of all the reasons why we couldn’t go. When I said,’I think I ate too much butter.’ His immediate response was, ‘Good, we won’t have to go tomorrow!’

Saturday came and we were both well. No excuses left; we arrived at ‘Merricks House’ beside the Merrick General Store, where we later had lunch. Bev had had an unsettling time, as her husband, John, had just had a melanoma removed two days previously. He was there, much to our surprise, but went home early. It was good to see him up and about.

Exhibitions can be deadly, especially if you don’t know anyone. This was so much fun. I met some of Chris’ ex -students, who all have grown families now. We were invited to have lunch with Bev, family and old friends. Long have I known that everyone has a story.

I sat beside John, a film maker, who had worked many years ago with our ‘blogger’ friend Margaret Rose! The world seems to be getting smaller and smaller. He had also worked with my neighbour’s partner, in another film making initiative.

On my other side was Caroline, who no longer paints. Her marriage had broken up after 30 odd years. Eighteen months later, he and his young amore, are in London UK, most unhappy; he’s missing his ex and his grown children. Life is so interesting; bewildering at times, and it does make you wonder why we need to go through the lows to appreciate the highs.

Collections, what makes us do this?

IMG_2211IMG_2215Collecting things has been something in my blood. From the shells that I constantly filled my pockets as a child, to the buttons, stamps and swap cards. There’s an endless list. Today I’m going to share with you my blue bottle collection.

Each bottle has a story, history, if you like: who gave it to me? where it was purchased? which town or country? and the associated memories. This is the trouble when you get old, the memories accumulate. What do we do with them? Some live inside these bottles! Perhaps a short story lies within?

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Some chillies and herbs from the garden. The little teapot, with ‘I love Mother’ came from a wall cavity, when my son was renovating their flat in Sydney!

I would love it if you would share some of your collections. Then I might be brave enough to show you some more….

Perhaps my failing now is for plants; such temptations lie at the local nursery. What tempts you?

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