Continuing my journey back to the images of childhood, before setting out for six months on the road at 62, I can’t resist posting a couple of evocative pictures from the very early years, at Duckshole Farm near Holt in North Norfolk – causing my brother Hugh early grief, but already displaying the instincts of the traveller.
Looking at these pictures for the very first time 60 years on does make me reflect on how memory is constructed.
The picture above might in fact illustrate what I’ve always thought of my first memory, setting off down the lane at Duckshole to the gate onto the road to Holt, wanting to follow my father into town. Clearly preparing to a grown-up and set off on my own… Continue reading
Having begun seriously to spread the word about the bike trip, including newsletters to EMDR colleagues and the Cantores Choir mailing list, I guess I need to start registering how the preparations for my own journey starting early April are coming along.
Curious how looking back helps with the looking forward.
As I peruse Google Maps for the exact route to Moscow, and remember I’ve forgotten to do my morning stretches, and adjust my spokes to stop Raven’s front wheel binding on the brake block, I’ve been scanning in hundreds of old photos from my/our late father’s family albums.
Curiously, he never showed them to us when he was still alive, so considering all the psychotherapy of the past 20 years exploring and healing (largely) parental legacy, it’s been quite a journey into the past. Continue reading