Changing Times
I recently found an old watch in my garden and guess it belonged to the wife of the previous owner of my house. After he passed, I bought the house. Finding the watch caused me to reflect upon the changing nature of the neighbourhood in which I live. So I wrote down my thoughts...
CHANGING TIMES,
Over the past week certain events have reminded me more than once of the transience and brevity of our lives, and how what seems significant today as we go about our daily business can become completely meaningless with the sudden impact of a road accident or a senseless suicide nobody saw coming. We may or may not have a personal connection to these events but it seems to me that they often remind us to hold dear our family and friends, and our own lives. And perhaps, to remember the past lives of others who once walked where we walk today. For once we are gone we are gone. Never to be seen again. A friend said to me the other night, it’s like a person disappears. She is right. It is exactly like that when somebody we know dies, whether they were close to us or not. Because indeed we do... just... disappear!
When out in the garden today I caught sight of something glinting in a flower bed near my front gate. I’d given the bed a massive cleanout a couple of weeks earlier, removing a large number of Agapanthus plants that had been there for years and a bunch of weeds. Yet I hadn’t seen what was half buried in the soil at the time. I pulled the shiny object out of the ground and found, to my surprise, that it was a watch. A ladies dress watch. It looked to be of reasonable quality, though it was obviously damaged as it must have been lost and buried there for years. The watch was a Canon and looking at the clasp, I guessed it could have fallen from someone’s wrist as it was not very secure. It was still shiny, even after being buried under the Agapanthus for so long. I was sure that with a clean up it’d look pretty good again. The watch was still sealed and the face looked in fine condition. I wondered if a trip to the watchmaker could even see it working again.
So whose watch was it?
A mystery. One that was probably quite easily solved, for no doubt it had belonged to a lady that lived in my house before me. And as only one family owned the house until I bought it, that narrowed the watch owner down to one lady and her two daughters. Best of all, I was sure I’d be able to return it to the family. A neighbour had their current address.
I stopped for a while to think of the former owners of my house and imagined that a watch like this would belong to the mother, rather than her girls (though of course I could be wrong). But somehow, I felt I was right. My house was built by old Ronnie, as he was known in our street, back in 1965. I have the original documents because the family kept them and gave them to me when I purchased the house. My three bedroom grey brick flat-roofed beach house was Ronnie’s dream home. He was a fireman with the MFB, working long hours for a middling wage, supporting a wife and two young daughters, and a son. The kids were teenagers by the time Ronnie’s dream home was finished and they moved in.
In celebration of moving into their new home, Ronnie’s daughters each planted a Jade plant at the front of the house, outside a large picture window in my lounge room. They gave the plants names – something I will ask them about when I call to tell them about the watch. I’d love to know what the names of these old plants are. Today they are enormous for this type of plant. And they certainly seem to bring me luck! Ronnie also planted the wonderful huge Liquid Amber tree in my back yard, the year they moved in. This tree creates its own microclimate in summer, keeping the air cool and damp. In winter the leaves fall and sun streams into the rear patio at the end of the day, as well as opening up the whole back yard somehow. So the family held my house very dear and at the present time, as I am looking to the future and to sell the property at some point, I must say that it makes me feel a little guilty. Almost as if I am breaking a trust, because it is almost certain my house would be bulldozed and the land broken up for the fashionable units that are popping up in every street, where I live. But everything changes. That is the way things are.
From all accounts Ronnie’s wife was a lovely lady. Very quiet. Very well respected in the street. As I looked at the watch I felt more and more that it had to be hers, rather than her daughters. I hoped it would bring a smile to her daughters’ faces to have her watch back if indeed that was the case.
Ronnie adored his wife, so the neighbourhood gossip goes. She passed away in 1992, in the master bedroom of the house – the bedroom I now use. Poor Ronnie loved his wife so much and he felt he could no longer sleep in the room he’d shared with her, after her passing. The kids had long since left home and he was alone, so he moved to the second bedroom at the back of the house. It has a sliding door out into the back garden and is bright and cheerful. I must admit I’ve considered moving down there myself at times.
I now use this room to store all my books and papers but it is under-utilised. The master bedroom stayed empty for years until I bought the house and Ronnie’s daughters had to remove all their mum’s clothes, as they were kept there by Ronnie until his own death. He could not part with anything that had belonged to his wife.
I guess he’d be glad her watch had been found too, if he were alive.
Ronnie died in 2007 after a short illness and a few months in a nursing home. They took him from his dream home because he could no longer look after himself, and he went downhill quickly as is often the case. Poor Ronnie. His family then sold the house to me. I was living next door at the time and considering purchasing the property I’d rented for some time (it was originally rented with a view to the tenant purchasing but it was nowhere near as nice as Ronnie’s place).
The house next door to where I live now also had a wonderful elderly lady living in it before me. Mrs Heckle died in her sleep in that house too. A 1930s fibro beach house, the place was a ruin. Yet I loved it because I felt as though I was on a permanent beach holiday while living there. And indeed, where I live one can hear the sea at night, if the wind is from the south west.
Three streets away from me, an old wooden Dutch style house that stood next to the park was removed last week. I went out in the morning and when I returned... it was gone. A vacant block was in its place. The elderly folk who had lived there moved out around twelve months ago and it’s been empty since then but for one young man who may have rented it for a time. They were very frail and the house was run down. Now there is nothing. No reminder of their lives there at all.
It is very normal and right in the nature of things for places to change, people to come and go, nothing to stand still and stay the same. Most people, indeed, do not leave a significant mark on the world but simply live their lives the best they can, from birth to death. Just like all the other species on the planet. We aren’t so different. Yet on a personal level it is sometimes good to look back. Interesting. And it helps us to understand the future in some ways, I suppose. Because we are always moving forward – or we should be.
Carpe diem
Seize the day. For indeed, the day is short.
I hope Ronnie’s family is pleased to have the watch back. Have something that was precious, perhaps, to their mum. I’m so pleased I found it!
CHANGING TIMES,
Over the past week certain events have reminded me more than once of the transience and brevity of our lives, and how what seems significant today as we go about our daily business can become completely meaningless with the sudden impact of a road accident or a senseless suicide nobody saw coming. We may or may not have a personal connection to these events but it seems to me that they often remind us to hold dear our family and friends, and our own lives. And perhaps, to remember the past lives of others who once walked where we walk today. For once we are gone we are gone. Never to be seen again. A friend said to me the other night, it’s like a person disappears. She is right. It is exactly like that when somebody we know dies, whether they were close to us or not. Because indeed we do... just... disappear!
When out in the garden today I caught sight of something glinting in a flower bed near my front gate. I’d given the bed a massive cleanout a couple of weeks earlier, removing a large number of Agapanthus plants that had been there for years and a bunch of weeds. Yet I hadn’t seen what was half buried in the soil at the time. I pulled the shiny object out of the ground and found, to my surprise, that it was a watch. A ladies dress watch. It looked to be of reasonable quality, though it was obviously damaged as it must have been lost and buried there for years. The watch was a Canon and looking at the clasp, I guessed it could have fallen from someone’s wrist as it was not very secure. It was still shiny, even after being buried under the Agapanthus for so long. I was sure that with a clean up it’d look pretty good again. The watch was still sealed and the face looked in fine condition. I wondered if a trip to the watchmaker could even see it working again.
So whose watch was it?
A mystery. One that was probably quite easily solved, for no doubt it had belonged to a lady that lived in my house before me. And as only one family owned the house until I bought it, that narrowed the watch owner down to one lady and her two daughters. Best of all, I was sure I’d be able to return it to the family. A neighbour had their current address.
I stopped for a while to think of the former owners of my house and imagined that a watch like this would belong to the mother, rather than her girls (though of course I could be wrong). But somehow, I felt I was right. My house was built by old Ronnie, as he was known in our street, back in 1965. I have the original documents because the family kept them and gave them to me when I purchased the house. My three bedroom grey brick flat-roofed beach house was Ronnie’s dream home. He was a fireman with the MFB, working long hours for a middling wage, supporting a wife and two young daughters, and a son. The kids were teenagers by the time Ronnie’s dream home was finished and they moved in.
In celebration of moving into their new home, Ronnie’s daughters each planted a Jade plant at the front of the house, outside a large picture window in my lounge room. They gave the plants names – something I will ask them about when I call to tell them about the watch. I’d love to know what the names of these old plants are. Today they are enormous for this type of plant. And they certainly seem to bring me luck! Ronnie also planted the wonderful huge Liquid Amber tree in my back yard, the year they moved in. This tree creates its own microclimate in summer, keeping the air cool and damp. In winter the leaves fall and sun streams into the rear patio at the end of the day, as well as opening up the whole back yard somehow. So the family held my house very dear and at the present time, as I am looking to the future and to sell the property at some point, I must say that it makes me feel a little guilty. Almost as if I am breaking a trust, because it is almost certain my house would be bulldozed and the land broken up for the fashionable units that are popping up in every street, where I live. But everything changes. That is the way things are.
From all accounts Ronnie’s wife was a lovely lady. Very quiet. Very well respected in the street. As I looked at the watch I felt more and more that it had to be hers, rather than her daughters. I hoped it would bring a smile to her daughters’ faces to have her watch back if indeed that was the case.
Ronnie adored his wife, so the neighbourhood gossip goes. She passed away in 1992, in the master bedroom of the house – the bedroom I now use. Poor Ronnie loved his wife so much and he felt he could no longer sleep in the room he’d shared with her, after her passing. The kids had long since left home and he was alone, so he moved to the second bedroom at the back of the house. It has a sliding door out into the back garden and is bright and cheerful. I must admit I’ve considered moving down there myself at times.
I now use this room to store all my books and papers but it is under-utilised. The master bedroom stayed empty for years until I bought the house and Ronnie’s daughters had to remove all their mum’s clothes, as they were kept there by Ronnie until his own death. He could not part with anything that had belonged to his wife.
I guess he’d be glad her watch had been found too, if he were alive.
Ronnie died in 2007 after a short illness and a few months in a nursing home. They took him from his dream home because he could no longer look after himself, and he went downhill quickly as is often the case. Poor Ronnie. His family then sold the house to me. I was living next door at the time and considering purchasing the property I’d rented for some time (it was originally rented with a view to the tenant purchasing but it was nowhere near as nice as Ronnie’s place).
The house next door to where I live now also had a wonderful elderly lady living in it before me. Mrs Heckle died in her sleep in that house too. A 1930s fibro beach house, the place was a ruin. Yet I loved it because I felt as though I was on a permanent beach holiday while living there. And indeed, where I live one can hear the sea at night, if the wind is from the south west.
Three streets away from me, an old wooden Dutch style house that stood next to the park was removed last week. I went out in the morning and when I returned... it was gone. A vacant block was in its place. The elderly folk who had lived there moved out around twelve months ago and it’s been empty since then but for one young man who may have rented it for a time. They were very frail and the house was run down. Now there is nothing. No reminder of their lives there at all.
It is very normal and right in the nature of things for places to change, people to come and go, nothing to stand still and stay the same. Most people, indeed, do not leave a significant mark on the world but simply live their lives the best they can, from birth to death. Just like all the other species on the planet. We aren’t so different. Yet on a personal level it is sometimes good to look back. Interesting. And it helps us to understand the future in some ways, I suppose. Because we are always moving forward – or we should be.
Carpe diem
Seize the day. For indeed, the day is short.
I hope Ronnie’s family is pleased to have the watch back. Have something that was precious, perhaps, to their mum. I’m so pleased I found it!
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