24 | March | 2012 | I choose how I will spend the rest of my life

Daily Archives: March 24, 2012

The Market – A Lesson Learned

Posted on March 24, 2012 | 12 comments

Well once again WordPress is playing with my mind. I published the post but now I have only half of it. Where did the rest go?

So here it is again –

It’s Saturday again so here we go. If you would like to participate please either click on the picture above or click this link.

Today I went to the Market.

It was still raining this morning what a surprise! I had arranged to meet a friend for coffee and afterwards I decided to check out the Saturday market in the area. I have seen the notices for the market many times, as it is held in the grounds of the school in the same street as Mary Potter Hospice.

The market was full of stalls selling fresh produce, mostly vegetables and fruit but one had freshly baked bread and bakery items, another was selling gourmet salamis – but the choice of vegetables was outstanding.

I was told that all vegetables were grown organically and had been picked either in the early hours of this morning or else late yesterday. They certainly looked fresher and were somewhat cheaper than those sold in the local supermarket.

I bought far too many vegetables but as winter is almost upon us, what I don’t use this week can be made into soup and frozen. I like making soup so this isn’t a drag for me.

And then of course, I started thinking about markets when I was growing up in London. I have written about street markets before. If you are interested in the ramblings of this ancient mind, click here.

As young girls we accompanied our Mother to the market every Saturday afternoon. It didn’t come with a choice, and until such time as she determined that we were old enough to act responsibly on our own, we had to go with her.

Road sign

The market was about a 30-minutes walk from where we lived and this time was used to talk about all those things that a mother and her three daughters talked about. We each carried a shopping bag mostly containing fruit and vegetables as this was all we ever seemed to buy at the market.

It was our special time together. I clearly remember when I was about 15 and beginning to go out with boys, my Mother ribbing me about my beau. She was ably assisted in this by my elder sister.

I wonder if the memories of those time are sweetened as we grow older. Could our lives have been so special then. As Barbra Streisand sings:

“Can it be that it was all so simple then or has time rewritten every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again tell me would we? Could we?
Memories, may be beautiful and yet what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget
So it’s the laughter we will remember whenever we remember the way we were.”

Mother has now been dead for some 16 years and so I can’t discuss those far off days with her. But I do have two sisters who were there at the time. I wonder if their memories of those times are as vivid as mine.

Mother with her three daughters

So what is the lesson learned? To write my blogs in Word before copying it into WordPress. That way I won’t have to rewrite it. And no doubt if you read the original version of The Market (and I know that some of you did as you have already commented on it) you may see the changes. Obviously, this mind cannot retain what was written just a few hours ago. Oh dear.

As a dear departed friend once told me “Growing old aint for the fainthearted”.

And now I have restored the original so you will be able to read the same post twice. 🙂 🙂 – sorry about that.

William J. Mann: Barbra Streisand: An Icon’s 50th Anniversary In Showbiz (huffingtonpost.com)

12 Comments

Posted in Family, Uncategorized

Tagged Family, Gratitude, growing up, living, London, sisters, Street market, Vegetable

The Market

Posted on March 24, 2012 | 15 comments

It was still raining this morning what a surprise! I had arranged to meet a friend for coffee and afterwards I decided to check out the Saturday market in the area. I have seen the notices for the market many times, as it is held in the school grounds in the same street as the Mary Potter Hospice.

The market was full of stalls selling fresh produce, mostly vegetables and some fruit, but one had freshly baked bread and bakery items, another was selling gourmet salamis – but the choice of vegetables was outstanding.

I was told that the vegetables had mostly been picked yesterday and many were organically grown. What really surprised me was how much fresher they looked and how much cheaper they were than those vegetables currently on offer at the supermarket.

The market was busy in spite of the puddles and the continuing rain; it obviously has a host of loyal followers. The comments among the customers and stall holders suggested that they were on friendly terms which could only be because of their familiarity with each other.

Of course, I bought far more than I should have, but as it’s coming up to soup weather the vegetables will be put to good use.

And then this reminded me of street markets in England when I was growing up. I wrote a blog on this in July last year – if you are interested in my meanderings down memory lane please click here.

I know that as I get older these memories return and I often wonder are these places, sights and people improved with the passing of time?

I do know that we had no choice on Saturday about whether to accompany Mother to the market. And only as we became older and in her considered opinion, more able to be responsible for ourselves, were we able to make a decision as to whether or not to accompany her. But this was a time of sharing for Mother and her three daughters. It took about 30 minutes for us to walk from the market to our house. Walking along, each carrying at least one shopping bag, we discussed all things that mothers and young daughters discussed.

I particularly remember as I reached the ripe old age of 15 and had a boyfriend, Mother and my sisters ribbing me about him. Innocent family fun. Saturday afternoons and Ridley Road market are imprinted in my memory so many, many years later.

Mother and girls

Mother has now been dead for some 16 years and I cannot discuss these days with her anymore. But I can discuss them with my sisters and I wonder if their memories of these days are as clear as mine.

“Can it be that it was all so simple then
Or has time rewritten every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me would we? Could we?
Memories, may be beautiful and yet
What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it’s the laughter we will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were.”