Past lives of a house

When we first bought our house, and were feeling exuberantly pretentious about it all, we banged on about giving ‘her’ a name.  We decided on Gypsy Rose or Olive Martini.  I’d forgotten about all that nonsense until today.

The house is very much like a glamorous Swanson-like film star, faded in an old lipstick and face powder sort of way but with great presence.  A friend described the house as ’swellegant’ and it is particularly true once you have stepped into her skin and bones.

In some ways we feel as if the original and only owners, prior to us, Kathleen and John, were minding this old art-moderne steamship (she has many curves, double swing kitchen diner doors, and portholes) until we were able to come on board and take up her custodianship. She has also provided us with some adventure and insights into the past.

The reason I am reminded of all of her previous whiskey-sour bar allure and cigarette-smoke elegance today is due to the latest momento we have uncovered in the pantry.  Gypsy occasionally throws up relics and glimpses of old times. Actually, the most recent find is far from elegant at first glance.

I found junket.  I had to ask what it actually was.  Doesn’t sound elegant or like a something a french-rolled dame (I mean that in a pulp fiction sense) in velvet and diamonds would serve up.  It’s all in the name though.  Merry Widow.  Aha, the manufacturers might as well have called the junket “Farewell my Lovely’.  That’s  right, the previous minders of the house stocked the most exquisitely packaged fake foodstuff named after something that sounds like it’s from a Dashiell Hammett short story.  I though we had cleaned Gypsy out (or should it be Barbara after la Stanwyck in Double Indemnity) very well but many things are hidden in this house only to be uncovered at odd moments and offer us an insight into the lives of a swellegant 1940s, 50s, 60s Melbourne housewife and her shaker-mover Rotarian husband.

I love the old black and white ghosts and their worn and feathery keepsakes, as well as their touches of old-world glamour (gotta see the bar and inbuilt clock) and moderne mod-cons.  What’s that line:  The past is a different country, they do things differently there.

Merry Widow junket - let me stick my finger down my throat

Beefcake photo

American name, Melbourne made

San Fran 70s sticker

Letter on hotel stationary left in the loo paper dispenser

What’s goin’ on?

Nothing.  Nothing.  Seriously.  Not for me anyway.  I’ve really lost my mojo when it comes to this blog.  It’s not that it’s a chore because I do like it when I actually complete a post; mostly I just hate writing late at night which is the only time I get to think.  I also blame wordpress and hated the way photos were uploaded as I just put off contributing anything further to the blog. It’s a dreadful state of being.   Excuses, excuses. I’m stuck in a big sticky stew of excuses.

It’s dreadful mostly because I do this with everything.  It’s as if my expectations and standards are so high that I can’t even begin a task as I won’t be happy with the outcome.  This not-so-useful procrastination tool can be applied to most thing for me. Any hobby I might be ‘researching’ but never actually follow through with the required output such as learning how to sew, knit, and bake.  Too hard, as I can’t seem to think I’ll do better than simply buying the things which really isn’t the point, plus you can only can better with practice (but I look for excuses). My career.  Very, very down on myself about this one.  The house list which keeps growing.  It’s house stuff, big and small, that irritates me the most .  Do we renovate?  Do we stage the works?  Do we sell up instead?  Do we just underpin and fix roof of the basic existing shell and not worry about the addition?  Do I get a job so we can pay for some of this house stuff.  Now this category is obviously a subset of the whole career thing which confusingly  interlinks with perhaps returning to study and gaining a hefty HECS debt or starting a new career.  Do I ever consider the possibility of doing some housework (small house stuff but I can’t make a move on any of it for the most part)? Of course, there’s also the lofty idea of starting a small business that will make ME squillions of dollars.  I have many business ideas  but the risk of not actually making those squillions (what are the chances hey?) acts as a wonderful deterrent for me to actually ever do anything about them.

There’s more sticky and inert lists of tasks and projects and ideas left unattended.  I want to scan all the old photos from both sides of the family.  I want a holiday and need to plan it.  I need to jump on that garden some more.  More craft with Ginger and Peta.  Give away, sell, release, much of what we own.  Learn how to swim.  Lose weight.  Not be grumpy so much.  Make some money (it’s recurring).  Hang out with my mum.

That felt good.