My Home Town.
This past week has been a bit nostalgic for me.
I’ve spent the Easter break back in my home town revisiting old haunts and catching up with people I haven’t seen in a very long time.
The most important person though, has been my Mum.
Every time I visit my home town, there’s something different in the neighbourhood; new road markings, new proprietors at one of the local shops, an old house demolished with a block of flats in its place.
One thing that stays constant though, is the house I grew up in.
Mum has done her best to keep it all together since Dads passing, and I’m proud of her for being so strong and managing so well these past few years.
She has some great neighbours surrounding her too, people I grew up with. Most have been here for more than 50 years and they all look out for each other.
There is a real sense of community, even though the neighbourhood is in constant change.
Sometimes I can’t help thinking back to “the good old days”
Mrs “H” and her sandwiches with home made chutney. Messing around on Mr “G’s” old Bedford flat bed truck.
Getting into strife for setting fire to Mrs “W’s” shade house after a wayward sky-rocket found its way onto it’s roof.
Climbing trees, the Tarzan swing at the local creek, walking the railway line to school.
The list goes on.
Sadly by the time you read this I’ll be on my way home to Brisbane, to my kids, my neighbours. Back to work.
Believe me when I say leaving will be bitter-sweet.