When I was about four years old I had a Bontempi piano. It was a four year old's size, of course, keys that covered about an octave and a half, very plastic, and to my very slight annoyance had no stool on which to sit to play it. It was under the window in my bedroom, a house built in 1900 and named as all the semis in our road were (still are), after a Crimean war battle or regiment. I can still see how the Summer light came through that window ; the red patterned carpet ; those dandelion flowers that we used to call fairies floating around my room.
But I digress.
The only - and I mean, the only - tune I could play on my beloved Bontempi was The Carpenters' Close To You.
In the 70s there was a fair amount of so-called Middle of the Road music , easy listening. Deeply un-cool (before people started saying Cool).
By 1979 I had discovered The Boomtown Rats, Squeeze, The Police, Blondie. I heard 'Making Plans For Nigel' and music changed for me. 'Easy Listening' was now complete anathema to me - given I had 'discovered' what I then called 'alternative' music (don't know if anyone else called it that ...)
Anyway, fast forward and many years later Hubby and I, having weathered a difficult year or two together, and somehow both being as lame as each other in the nicest possible sense, I noticed that Burt Bacharach was touring the UK in the Summer. Couldn't afford the premium tickets but booked two up in the Gods anyway.
Hubby has long been a fan of what is known as library music. If you ever saw the Test Card as a kid back in the day, that's what you heard accompanying it. And Burt was sort of part of the deal. So when I realised we could go and see him, well, I couldn't help but book it for us.
Anyway, the day finally came; a steaming hot day on the South Bank; people running in and out of the fountains; cockroach seen at Giraffe (ick) ; and then up several flights of stairs into the Royal Festival Hall.
"There's no interval," said the girl on our way in, so we bought water and I said to Hubby, "That means we'll get an hour. 70 minutes tops."
How wrong I was.
He's not as young as he was (who is) and on he eventually came, in a suit, and trainers, and backed by a full orchestra, and guest vocalists.
Now given everything that's happening in the news lately - when the strings struck up What the World Needs Now - Is Love, Sweet Love ... I realised that tears were streaming down my face.
And I don't think they stopped streaming for the next more than two hours.
I have realised since that what I didn't understand in my formative years when I dismissed the so-called middle of the road stuff like his, was that the music, the lyrics , were so bloody good.
The sweeping strings and the amazing vocalists nearly broke me:
Anyone who had a heart would take me in his arms and always love me ; why can't you ?
God give me strength.
Do you know the way to San Jose?
If you see me walking down the street, and I start to cry each time we meet ; walk on by.
And all the stars that ever were, are parking cars and pumping gas.
What do you get when you fall in love? A guy with a pin, to burst your bubble. That's what you get for all your trouble. I'll never fall in love again.
Even tracks I didn't think I particularly cared for lifted me; the exuberant What's New Pussycat (sing along people - woah awoah woaooh- or something like that !). And I never knew he had written Arthur's Theme.
Even 24 Hours from Tulsa took on a new meaning for me. I always assumed it was about a guy getting back to his beloved. Nope. Listen again, to how he cheats on her a mere day before they are reunited.
At this point or thereabouts I said to Hubby : I used to play Close To You on my toy piano. And I sobbed a bit more.
Then there was Alfie.
This is a track people know because of the Cilla Black version, or Michael Caine's film, or even Jude Law's.
(Now I'm not a Cilla fan in particular, although I will most certainly watch the bio-pic on ITV - but only because I adore Sheridan Smith.)
One does not simply just become Burt Bacharach.
He wrote endlessly when he started out, alongside the likes of Lieber & Stoller, and Goffin & King. And nearly everything he wrote for 18 months was unsuccessful. And then when he was accepted it was for long forgotten stuff like 'Underneath the Overpass'. Most of his contemporaries couldn't handle the endless rejection and gave up. They couldn't afford to carry on; it wore them down.
But he didn't give up.
So, back to Alfie.
He sat down at his piano, in the extreme heat, and played it, and sang it all by himself.
Then he lost his voice a short while in, started to cough. And he said, no, this is too good a song to ruin so he began again. 'From the top'.
And 'What's it all about, Alfie' became amazingly poignant.
The other defining moment of the evening was of all things - and this was a surprise to me - Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.
Now I have traditionally thought this was a horribly cheesy song.
But not that night.
Give it an amazing vocalist and strings ,indeed a full orchestra, and , well, Burt Blinking Bacharach and yes, you have an event on your hands, and ears, and emotions.
After a long long time of feeling lower than low I heard these lyrics & watched Burt absolutely loving the encore:
So - I just did me some talking to the sun - and I said, I didn't like the way it got things done - sleeping on the job!
There's some things I know. The blues they said to greet me won't defeat me.
But - I'm never going to stop the rain by complaining...
And then it was over. Wonderfully over.
It's hard to explain how much this Summer has meant to me. The realisation that my early attempt at playing Close to You on a play piano was actually, strangely, close to connecting with my future husband and what he was listening to as well.
So this concert (or do I call it a 'gig' now ? I don't know) meant such a lot. It was part of my freedom to enjoy life again. It was the knowledge that from that first time Hubby & I went to that Laurel & Hardy screening at King's Cross and laughed so much by the time he walked home he was pretty much Gene Kelly in the rain and I was Debbie Reynolds, we were still as lame as each other.
Love. Sweet love, eh ?
PS. On the way home I Googled how old Burt Bacharach was because we really weren't sure.
He is 86.
A fabulous night and I wish I could re-live it.
Friday, 22 August 2014
Monday, 28 July 2014
Susie: The Comeback
Hello.
I started barely being able to get out of bed in the morning but forcing myself to do it, for my son, because we needed the money. If you know the 'Spoons' idea , well, I was using up my quota far too early in the day, and needed extras. I was screaming inside when I was at work ; I just wanted to be at home, where I felt safe, tucked away. So the day I was pulled aside and reprimanded for sometimes having shut my laptop down (I work in a noisy corridor) seven minutes before I was supposed to finish I was beside myself. I was speechless. Often I work my lunch (three quarter) hour ( for the record I don't mind). I check work stuff from home. That day I was feeling particularly lost and physically very unwell. But that didn't matter. I was devastated; I am a very conscientious individual.
Then we had a set back just before Christmas (now resolved, no-one was hurt in the making of this by the way - it was just something that meant we had to rethink) . Well when I say we, I mean hubby, my Rock. It was Comic Relief Christmas Jumper Day when that happened and there I was in a silly sweater, (bought for me by my Girl) feeling more lost than ever. We had a service at the local Church that afternoon and I just lost it during one of the Carols. Burst into tears absolutely involuntarily and fought to wave it back in.
I was told at the time - 'This too shall pass'.
It did.
We re-grouped; sorted things out; lifted our heads and decided that life was for living and wasn't going to grind us down.
I'm not saying it was an overnight thing - you don't go from feeling lower than low to sky high in a few days. I've had personal mental struggles aplenty-minor by the lives of many many in this world (thinking of the children in Syria, Palestine, heart breaking). I know it's my struggle ; my failure. I still need to break my superstitious OCD about walking on the right side of things(the left, in Medieval literature is sinistra , or sinister = bad luck !). Or picking a shopping basket in Tesco that has the new knobbly handle and not the old style one.
(Yes, I know...)
But I'm getting there.
If no-one reads this I don't mind. I feel better just putting it together. In a way I hope no-one does read it as I feel a bit embarrassed but it's something I felt I needed to write.
Onwards and upwards. And to paraphrase my favourite sit-com character of all time, I wish us all good mental health.
Remember me ?
Probably not. It's been a long time.
Probably not. It's been a long time.
I want to tell you, it wasn't you, it was me. No, really it was. Big-time.
Before I start this isn't meant to be what my daughter calls a 'Poor Me' essay. I haven't written much if anything in a very long time. I'm only just starting to read again. This is a bit of an outpouring; a clarification in words on the screen of how I've felt. I hate to use the cliche but I think it could be (does air quotes) cathartic.
This last school year, and certainly since Girl left for Uni in late September , has been what I choose to call 'challenging'. It certainly has been for many people I know and I feel wrong at times, thinking how I have struggled when I have see people lose beloved family members, jobs, had health problems - their own and those of their nearest and dearest.
Before I start this isn't meant to be what my daughter calls a 'Poor Me' essay. I haven't written much if anything in a very long time. I'm only just starting to read again. This is a bit of an outpouring; a clarification in words on the screen of how I've felt. I hate to use the cliche but I think it could be (does air quotes) cathartic.
This last school year, and certainly since Girl left for Uni in late September , has been what I choose to call 'challenging'. It certainly has been for many people I know and I feel wrong at times, thinking how I have struggled when I have see people lose beloved family members, jobs, had health problems - their own and those of their nearest and dearest.
By November I had hit absolute rock bottom. My new role at work left me isolated and stressed and completely unsupported by management. This is how I felt, I must say, I should probably have gone to them, it might have made things better. I also should probably have seen my GP but no, Susie is too proud, too stubborn, too embarrassed. She decides to try and self manage the situation.
If I had gone to the GP would he have told me I was depressed (again) ? I can't help but feel that would have given me some sort of validation for the mess in my head. Might have meant I could cope with the stress and anxiety I was feeling.
If I had gone to the GP would he have told me I was depressed (again) ? I can't help but feel that would have given me some sort of validation for the mess in my head. Might have meant I could cope with the stress and anxiety I was feeling.
I knew it was bad when I met up with an old school friend and poor thing, burst into floods of tears in her car on the way back from lunch together. Sorry, B. You had enough of your own stuff going on. You've always been so patient with me.
I started barely being able to get out of bed in the morning but forcing myself to do it, for my son, because we needed the money. If you know the 'Spoons' idea , well, I was using up my quota far too early in the day, and needed extras. I was screaming inside when I was at work ; I just wanted to be at home, where I felt safe, tucked away. So the day I was pulled aside and reprimanded for sometimes having shut my laptop down (I work in a noisy corridor) seven minutes before I was supposed to finish I was beside myself. I was speechless. Often I work my lunch (three quarter) hour ( for the record I don't mind). I check work stuff from home. That day I was feeling particularly lost and physically very unwell. But that didn't matter. I was devastated; I am a very conscientious individual.
Then we had a set back just before Christmas (now resolved, no-one was hurt in the making of this by the way - it was just something that meant we had to rethink) . Well when I say we, I mean hubby, my Rock. It was Comic Relief Christmas Jumper Day when that happened and there I was in a silly sweater, (bought for me by my Girl) feeling more lost than ever. We had a service at the local Church that afternoon and I just lost it during one of the Carols. Burst into tears absolutely involuntarily and fought to wave it back in.
I was told at the time - 'This too shall pass'.
It did.
We re-grouped; sorted things out; lifted our heads and decided that life was for living and wasn't going to grind us down.
I'm not saying it was an overnight thing - you don't go from feeling lower than low to sky high in a few days. I've had personal mental struggles aplenty-minor by the lives of many many in this world (thinking of the children in Syria, Palestine, heart breaking). I know it's my struggle ; my failure. I still need to break my superstitious OCD about walking on the right side of things(the left, in Medieval literature is sinistra , or sinister = bad luck !). Or picking a shopping basket in Tesco that has the new knobbly handle and not the old style one.
(Yes, I know...)
But I'm getting there.
If no-one reads this I don't mind. I feel better just putting it together. In a way I hope no-one does read it as I feel a bit embarrassed but it's something I felt I needed to write.
Onwards and upwards. And to paraphrase my favourite sit-com character of all time, I wish us all good mental health.
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Cooking - the 1931 Way
I have lots of recipes in my kitchen cupboard. I have two A4 ring binders of recipes I compiled myself. I even have Steve Davis' 'Interesting Things To Do With...' series of recipe books (I actually sent off for these) -
Published in 1994, these (free) booklets and I quote - 'can turn your dreams into a glorious techni- colour reality.....If you are snookered by cooking, this book will put you on splendid form.'
Steve's Top Tips include: 'Microwaves are brilliant. You can cook things faster and there's less to wash up. So you've got time for a couple of extra frames.'
Also 'If you spill red wine on your carpet, sprinkle it with salt, remember - it's the 'white' that puts the 'red' away!'
Oh dear !
My Bible -pre Internet - was Delia Smith's Complete Illustrated Cookery Course, bought for me when I got married, by my sister in law ("Updated for the Nineties!"). But as I say, now when I want to be reminded how best to cook a paella, say, I'll just Google it, or go to my binder on the BBC food website.
I also still have - somehow after all these years - my grandmother's cookery book.
1/2 lb butter
1/2 lb castor sugar
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 lb flour
3 eggs
6 ozs. glace cherries
a little grated lemon rind
Method- Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, add each egg separately and beat well in. Sift the flour and baking powder together and stir lightly into the creamed mixture. Lastly, add the cherries and lemon rind. Transfer to a tin lined with greased paper and bake for 2 hours with the "Regulo" at mark 3.
TWO hours ?
But it's the 'Meat' section that I find particularly interesting. It shows us that no matter how much we think we cook 'from scratch' nowadays our Thirties forebears had so much more to do in the kitchen ! Be warned, some of this isn't pretty reading !
Calf's Brain Fritters anyone ? 'Wash the brain in salt water. Skin, put in cold water and bring to the boil. When cold, cut into slices 1/2 inch thick. Dip in egg and breadcrumbs and fry in deep fat.'
Don't fancy that ? Try Calf's Sweetbreads (with green peas) ; just boil , cut in half , breadcrumb them and fry. Yum.
Then we get to Sheep's Head Broth
'Split the skull lengthways and remove the brains carefully; place them in cold salted water. Chop off the nose and well clean the head all over with salt. Remove the tongue. Tie the head together and place in a saucpan with the tongue. Cover with hot water, ad 2 tsp salt, and, as the water boils, skim well. Cook for 1 hour. Wash the brains, tie in muslin and cook in the broth for 20 mins. Cut the vegetables into small pieces, add these with the barley and spice to the broth. Simmer for 2 hours. Season, add parsley and the meat from the head cut into small pieces. The head can be served separately with brain sauce.'
Delicious ...
I don't know how people sourced their poultry in 1931 but it seems the butcher had little input aside of actually selling it to you. All the poultry recipes talk about cutting off heads and necks , and trussing.
Roast Pheasant
Ingredients
1oz butter
1 pheasant
1/2 oz flour
1/2 pint good stock
Bread sauce
Fried breadcrumbs
Method - Cut off the head and neck without removing the feathers, and set aside for decoration when the bird is cooked; the tail feathers also should be preserved. Pluck, singe, draw and truss the bird leaving the feet on. Cover the breast with fat bacon. Put a good piece of butter inside and roast for 1 hour. Just before the end brown the bird after removing the bacon . Stick the feathers in the tail and if the head and neck are used for decoration , put a wire through them and arrange as naturally as possible. Serve with fried breadcrumbs.
Yum.
There's lots more in this elderly treasure - Jugged Hare anyone ?
I certainly have a real appreciation of just how different being a housewife was in the 30s - and why it was (is) certainly, a full time job !
Published in 1994, these (free) booklets and I quote - 'can turn your dreams into a glorious techni- colour reality.....If you are snookered by cooking, this book will put you on splendid form.'
Steve's Top Tips include: 'Microwaves are brilliant. You can cook things faster and there's less to wash up. So you've got time for a couple of extra frames.'
Also 'If you spill red wine on your carpet, sprinkle it with salt, remember - it's the 'white' that puts the 'red' away!'
Oh dear !
My Bible -pre Internet - was Delia Smith's Complete Illustrated Cookery Course, bought for me when I got married, by my sister in law ("Updated for the Nineties!"). But as I say, now when I want to be reminded how best to cook a paella, say, I'll just Google it, or go to my binder on the BBC food website.
I also still have - somehow after all these years - my grandmother's cookery book.
It must have come with the brand new state of the art oven she had installed on her marriage in 1931, when she was barely twenty. (She didn't have my Dad til 1938 , her only child, Dad thinks he was only born because she knew war was coming, possibly, she wasn't a pleasant woman, but that's a whole other story).
It's falling apart now, sadly; it was first published in 1927, by September 1931 it had reached its fourteenth edition, and that's the one I have so it is 82 years old.
It's falling apart now, sadly; it was first published in 1927, by September 1931 it had reached its fourteenth edition, and that's the one I have so it is 82 years old.
The first chapter extols the virtues of the 'RADIATION "New World" Regulo Controlled Gas Cooker'. To be fair, it is very concerned with gas wastage. It has 'Vertico Taps - they do NOT leak!' . There are pages of advice on how to use and how to clean. You see, "Ordinary ovens have two burners , one at each side; the NEW WORLD has only one at the back ! ". We are also reminded of The Importance of The Bottom Flue Outlet -the oven is thus kept free from dust. And that pesky browning shelf you've been using ? Not necessary with the RADIATION 'New World' oven. And don't forget, wipe the oven down every time you use it, while still hot.
Not sure about that one.
Not sure about that one.
When I open the book it defaults to the pages I used as a child back in the Seventies, after Grandma's early death aged just 66. We lived with her and Granddad until I was four and my parents could get a mortgage (it is a fact that until the Eighties and the Thatcher years, mortgages were rationed; you had to wait for one). I was an avid baker as a pre-teen. Buns and sponges, Christmas Cakes and even a baked Alaska aged just 11 that my Mum still waxes lyrical about. The Cherry Cake recipe was my favourite and that is where the book opens. It's a standard recipe:
1/2 lb butter
1/2 lb castor sugar
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 lb flour
3 eggs
6 ozs. glace cherries
a little grated lemon rind
Method- Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, add each egg separately and beat well in. Sift the flour and baking powder together and stir lightly into the creamed mixture. Lastly, add the cherries and lemon rind. Transfer to a tin lined with greased paper and bake for 2 hours with the "Regulo" at mark 3.
TWO hours ?
But it's the 'Meat' section that I find particularly interesting. It shows us that no matter how much we think we cook 'from scratch' nowadays our Thirties forebears had so much more to do in the kitchen ! Be warned, some of this isn't pretty reading !
Calf's Brain Fritters anyone ? 'Wash the brain in salt water. Skin, put in cold water and bring to the boil. When cold, cut into slices 1/2 inch thick. Dip in egg and breadcrumbs and fry in deep fat.'
Don't fancy that ? Try Calf's Sweetbreads (with green peas) ; just boil , cut in half , breadcrumb them and fry. Yum.
Then we get to Sheep's Head Broth
'Split the skull lengthways and remove the brains carefully; place them in cold salted water. Chop off the nose and well clean the head all over with salt. Remove the tongue. Tie the head together and place in a saucpan with the tongue. Cover with hot water, ad 2 tsp salt, and, as the water boils, skim well. Cook for 1 hour. Wash the brains, tie in muslin and cook in the broth for 20 mins. Cut the vegetables into small pieces, add these with the barley and spice to the broth. Simmer for 2 hours. Season, add parsley and the meat from the head cut into small pieces. The head can be served separately with brain sauce.'
Delicious ...
I don't know how people sourced their poultry in 1931 but it seems the butcher had little input aside of actually selling it to you. All the poultry recipes talk about cutting off heads and necks , and trussing.
Roast Pheasant
Ingredients
1oz butter
1 pheasant
1/2 oz flour
1/2 pint good stock
Bread sauce
Fried breadcrumbs
Method - Cut off the head and neck without removing the feathers, and set aside for decoration when the bird is cooked; the tail feathers also should be preserved. Pluck, singe, draw and truss the bird leaving the feet on. Cover the breast with fat bacon. Put a good piece of butter inside and roast for 1 hour. Just before the end brown the bird after removing the bacon . Stick the feathers in the tail and if the head and neck are used for decoration , put a wire through them and arrange as naturally as possible. Serve with fried breadcrumbs.
Yum.
There's lots more in this elderly treasure - Jugged Hare anyone ?
I certainly have a real appreciation of just how different being a housewife was in the 30s - and why it was (is) certainly, a full time job !
Sunday, 29 September 2013
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Sunday, 22 September 2013
A Letter to Amy
My dearest darlingest ...
You went to Italy, to Spain, all over the place with us, our bella bambina! oh the adventures we had, the fun in St Marks Square, the chicken pox in the Balearics, but oh, how everyone loved you. You have climbed a volcano and swam in Oceans with me, you even phoned me once from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
"What can you see?" I asked.
"Everything," you said.
Which is what I want for you.
You were always a strong, intelligent personality. I have too many tales to tell to praise you. You absorbed information, the alphabet, colours, numbers. But you were a little reticent at Reception stage and your horribly inexperienced teacher didn't recognise your talents. She didn't last long at that school. By Year 2 you achieved Level 4 Literacy SATS. You have always been an amazing writer. Every Christmas I ensure I buy you a page -a - day diary and you write every day and have done so for at least 5 or 6 years now maybe and probably more.
You performed on stage for the first time aged five. I gave you a little bouquet; I will never forget your face when you saw those flowers. Are those for me ?
When it came to Secondary School I instinctively knew you needed to stretch your wings , stretch yourself; I wasn't wrong. Eleven years old and you got a train and got yourself to school miles away. And then you grew, musically. Personally. Made lifelong new friends, and no it wasn't at all easy but my goodness, you were amazing.
Then you needed an operation on your spine. RNOH Stanmore. A six hour scoliosis and kyphosis op. A term off school as a result. Again, you were the better person, even at the age of 14, on morphine, in pain; you taught me how to be be strong.
Fast forward, how many people have been a leading lady in a musical ? Especially a musical they love ? You have. How proud am I ? I would give anything to watch you as Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors one more time.
You are an amazing young woman. So beautiful and so strong and witty and ...and ...
I will miss you very much. I love you more than you know.
I hope you have a wonderful time and just like your first day at nursery school, I know that when we drop you off next Sunday, that you won't look back x
All my love
Moz
To my wonderful Amy.
You are about to leave us for University life. You're going away. Yes, only 50 miles, it could have been further. I am grateful for that. I really am.
You have no idea how much I love and admire you, young lady, you really don't.
You were due to be born on your dad's 30th birthday but there was no way you were ever going to share the limelight, and you rocked up 4 days later, on a sunny October Sunday. You were the first baby the student midwife had ever delivered solo and you were so pretty she cried.
You are about to leave us for University life. You're going away. Yes, only 50 miles, it could have been further. I am grateful for that. I really am.
You have no idea how much I love and admire you, young lady, you really don't.
You were due to be born on your dad's 30th birthday but there was no way you were ever going to share the limelight, and you rocked up 4 days later, on a sunny October Sunday. You were the first baby the student midwife had ever delivered solo and you were so pretty she cried.
I didn't know for sure I was having a girl - they didn't tell you the gender in Redbridge back in those days- but at the same time, I knew I was having a girl. The walls of your room remained the pink they were when we moved in and I only had one name for my unborn baby - there was no doubt to me that you were female: Amy (after Amy from Little Women - much as I admired Jo's stoicism, it was Amy, in my favourite childhood novel first read aged 9 and beloved ever since and to this day, who was the strongest, most successful March girl...I wanted you to have those traits ... you did ... you do).
You went to Italy, to Spain, all over the place with us, our bella bambina! oh the adventures we had, the fun in St Marks Square, the chicken pox in the Balearics, but oh, how everyone loved you. You have climbed a volcano and swam in Oceans with me, you even phoned me once from the top of the Eiffel Tower.
"What can you see?" I asked.
"Everything," you said.
Which is what I want for you.
You were always a strong, intelligent personality. I have too many tales to tell to praise you. You absorbed information, the alphabet, colours, numbers. But you were a little reticent at Reception stage and your horribly inexperienced teacher didn't recognise your talents. She didn't last long at that school. By Year 2 you achieved Level 4 Literacy SATS. You have always been an amazing writer. Every Christmas I ensure I buy you a page -a - day diary and you write every day and have done so for at least 5 or 6 years now maybe and probably more.
You performed on stage for the first time aged five. I gave you a little bouquet; I will never forget your face when you saw those flowers. Are those for me ?
When it came to Secondary School I instinctively knew you needed to stretch your wings , stretch yourself; I wasn't wrong. Eleven years old and you got a train and got yourself to school miles away. And then you grew, musically. Personally. Made lifelong new friends, and no it wasn't at all easy but my goodness, you were amazing.
Then you needed an operation on your spine. RNOH Stanmore. A six hour scoliosis and kyphosis op. A term off school as a result. Again, you were the better person, even at the age of 14, on morphine, in pain; you taught me how to be be strong.
Fast forward, how many people have been a leading lady in a musical ? Especially a musical they love ? You have. How proud am I ? I would give anything to watch you as Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors one more time.
You are an amazing young woman. So beautiful and so strong and witty and ...and ...
I will miss you very much. I love you more than you know.
I hope you have a wonderful time and just like your first day at nursery school, I know that when we drop you off next Sunday, that you won't look back x
All my love
Moz
Monday, 2 September 2013
Life Audit
It's the start of a new school year this week. Once the training days (I will be re-educated in CPR and recovery positions by this time tomorrow) are over , the kids will be back and I will have if all goes to plan, a new role as a TA, which I've been tentatively excited about.
I read a couple of blog posts today , initially the lovely
http://plasticrosaries.com/life-audit-september
I read a couple of blog posts today , initially the lovely
http://plasticrosaries.com/life-audit-september
but also her inspiration-
http://www.brocantehome.net/life-audit/
http://www.brocantehome.net/life-audit/
A Life Audit - what a brilliant idea.
So here's mine for September 2013.
TODAY I AM...
...quite frankly in a bit of a tiz. It's back to work tomorrow after just short of 6 weeks off school (I do not get paid for this time as just a lowly TA by the way!).
I am going to miss my time off. The weather's been on the whole, just lovely, and my early morning meetings with 'Frasier' and coffee and a wander to the shop before it gets busy, and just well, having to time to just be on top of the washing and ironing pile for once - it's the freedom I'll miss.
I'm not sure I won't feel like I am having some sort of out of body experience tomorrow when I actually have to concentrate on anything other than what to read on my Kindle in the garden ...
FEELING...
...trepidatious (is that even a word? ) I have this tendency to want to just be home, safe, I've always been that way, I am amazed I made it through Uni to a job to a husband and family to be quite honest ! The idea of going to work not just tomorrow, but the day after that and the day after that until late October without a day off (the weekends are catch up time, not time off!)
At the same time I should be starting a new TA role this term; I don't yet have my timetable but I have been excited at the prospect; I hope things haven't changed in my absence.
I am also feeling nervous and yet cautiously hopeful. We are hoping to re-jig our finances and it is FINGERS CROSSED (I can't say that loudly enough) set to happen on 30th September. One more month of stressing and then...well...things should be better.
So here's mine for September 2013.
TODAY I AM...
...quite frankly in a bit of a tiz. It's back to work tomorrow after just short of 6 weeks off school (I do not get paid for this time as just a lowly TA by the way!).
I am going to miss my time off. The weather's been on the whole, just lovely, and my early morning meetings with 'Frasier' and coffee and a wander to the shop before it gets busy, and just well, having to time to just be on top of the washing and ironing pile for once - it's the freedom I'll miss.
I'm not sure I won't feel like I am having some sort of out of body experience tomorrow when I actually have to concentrate on anything other than what to read on my Kindle in the garden ...
FEELING...
...trepidatious (is that even a word? ) I have this tendency to want to just be home, safe, I've always been that way, I am amazed I made it through Uni to a job to a husband and family to be quite honest ! The idea of going to work not just tomorrow, but the day after that and the day after that until late October without a day off (the weekends are catch up time, not time off!)
At the same time I should be starting a new TA role this term; I don't yet have my timetable but I have been excited at the prospect; I hope things haven't changed in my absence.
I am also feeling nervous and yet cautiously hopeful. We are hoping to re-jig our finances and it is FINGERS CROSSED (I can't say that loudly enough) set to happen on 30th September. One more month of stressing and then...well...things should be better.
READING......looking at a first draft by my amazingly talented friend Ian Ayris
http://www.ianayris.com/
Be warned his stuff isn't politely phrased but he's an amazing writer who has had me in tears (in a good way !) ; highly recommended. And no, he's not paying me ...
While in Tenerife I caught up with an old friend who is thinking of making the Santiago di Compostela pilgrimage next year and in support I am ..well... reading Tim Moore
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spanish-Steps-ebook/dp/B003XVYF0O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378126500&sr=8-1&keywords=spanish+steps
He's my favourite travel writer by, well...miles.
EATING...
...apple crumble. Mum in law brought some cooking apples over and although I am a rubbish dessert cook, I have to say my crumble wasn't too shabby.
While we were away we had many lovely meals out (we chose self catering as although we knew we probably couldn't afford it - and we couldn't! - we love eating out, and we only ever do that on holiday). A highlight was a lunch at a beachside restaurant - gorgeous grilled sardines with Canarian potatoes and fabulous sauces. I can't cook that one to my disappointment... but one meal we had was a pork Mexicana. I have managed to replicate that one successfully at less than £5 for four people. Yay me, eh ?
PLANNING ...
...this is something that teachers do for lessons. I daren't plan ahead, not further than my next group of kids, or payday. Maybe if we get ourselves straight I can do that more?
The nearest I can come to planning is thinking about Girl's departure to Uni on 29 September ...
...but I can't. Not yet.
DREAMING OF...
...a time when money isn't an Issue. And I can treat my family as much as I want. This is on-going.
COVETING & WISHING & DREAMING ...
...see above.
WORKING ON ...
...at home - a few cross stitch projects, and still aiming to not be scared of that sewing machine !!!
At work - I am compiling a dyslexia/phonic handbook with links to a particular piece of software, for my colleagues. This makes me happy.
GRATEFUL FOR ...
...all of the above. My family. And yes, they deserve more from me. But I am trying really, really hard, my lovelies.
Gosh this audit was a good idea !
TOMORROW I WILL BE ...
Positive. No, really. I will be all Carole King - look up 'Beautiful' - I don't think there's an original version on YouTube but the Tapestry LP means a lot to me.
ON MY TO DO LIST THIS MONTH!
Getting to payday without going broke!
Supporting Girl as she leaves home for University
Getting a grip back at work without being completely useless
Thanks for reading this far !
http://www.ianayris.com/
Be warned his stuff isn't politely phrased but he's an amazing writer who has had me in tears (in a good way !) ; highly recommended. And no, he's not paying me ...
While in Tenerife I caught up with an old friend who is thinking of making the Santiago di Compostela pilgrimage next year and in support I am ..well... reading Tim Moore
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spanish-Steps-ebook/dp/B003XVYF0O/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1378126500&sr=8-1&keywords=spanish+steps
He's my favourite travel writer by, well...miles.
EATING...
...apple crumble. Mum in law brought some cooking apples over and although I am a rubbish dessert cook, I have to say my crumble wasn't too shabby.
While we were away we had many lovely meals out (we chose self catering as although we knew we probably couldn't afford it - and we couldn't! - we love eating out, and we only ever do that on holiday). A highlight was a lunch at a beachside restaurant - gorgeous grilled sardines with Canarian potatoes and fabulous sauces. I can't cook that one to my disappointment... but one meal we had was a pork Mexicana. I have managed to replicate that one successfully at less than £5 for four people. Yay me, eh ?
PLANNING ...
...this is something that teachers do for lessons. I daren't plan ahead, not further than my next group of kids, or payday. Maybe if we get ourselves straight I can do that more?
The nearest I can come to planning is thinking about Girl's departure to Uni on 29 September ...
...but I can't. Not yet.
DREAMING OF...
...a time when money isn't an Issue. And I can treat my family as much as I want. This is on-going.
COVETING & WISHING & DREAMING ...
...see above.
WORKING ON ...
...at home - a few cross stitch projects, and still aiming to not be scared of that sewing machine !!!
At work - I am compiling a dyslexia/phonic handbook with links to a particular piece of software, for my colleagues. This makes me happy.
GRATEFUL FOR ...
...all of the above. My family. And yes, they deserve more from me. But I am trying really, really hard, my lovelies.
Gosh this audit was a good idea !
TOMORROW I WILL BE ...
Positive. No, really. I will be all Carole King - look up 'Beautiful' - I don't think there's an original version on YouTube but the Tapestry LP means a lot to me.
ON MY TO DO LIST THIS MONTH!
Getting to payday without going broke!
Supporting Girl as she leaves home for University
Getting a grip back at work without being completely useless
Thanks for reading this far !
Sunday, 1 September 2013
Wednesday, 14 August 2013
Sun, Sea and Stevie
It's late at night and the sky is ink black dark. The Atlantic waves are still crashing onto the volcanic rocks and sands. The air is humid, salty. I can hear Stevie Wonder's I Wish being played brilliantly live by a trio of young musicians in the adjacent bar to this one. I have a full, cold glass of Cava. My boys are with me. I listen to the ocean and to the music (serendipitously , one of my very favourite tracks) and I wish that this moment would never, ever end. A tear rolls down my cheek. I have to go back to reality tomorrow.
We are on holiday in Tenerife.
It's a holiday we shouldn't really have booked, as money is tight, but when an unexpectedly high share-save payment matured R said, "Look, we need something to look forward to, it could be our last holiday all together-" (daughter turning 18) "-I can get a free child place for Boy for the last time, let's just do it ! "
So we did.
I am a worrier (you may have noticed). Worrying was my dark cloud over my holiday and for that I am supremely sorry, for my family more than for myself.
But now I have the perspective of home I can feel how happy I really was, under the Canarian sky of almost perfect unbroken azure blue.
The approach to the airport was let's say, a tad scary. We were about to land when - UP! - the pilot aborted the landing and round we went again, to much consternation. Apparently a strong crosswind caught the wing and we weren't guaranteed a safe landing, so we had to try again. So that was nice.
Anyway- landing safely, by mid afternoon - we're in our apartments - sleek and well furnished. I approve. Our holiday begins. The early mornings ... waking up to look out on a clear sky, and heading off to the little hotel supermarket to buy freshly baked croissants, eaten with fresh coffee and jam. Then down to the pool, quiet and still and the water cold but not too cold to swim in, before all the other holidaymakers emerge.
I rediscovered the joy of the cryptic crossword; I never read a newspaper ordinarily but I suddenly recalled all those hints Dad used to to tell me about when I was little and I used to look at his crossword. I didn't complete one but I will certainly try to do cryptic crosswords again.
And the clarity of thought one gets when almost meditating laying on a sun bed. There is time for thinking, wondering, setting one's head in order when on holiday. Dragonflies swoop and children play and then it's beer o'clock from the Pool Bar.
And every afternoon at around 4:30. the swifts began to fly, swarms of them; there must have been insects up there, as they seemed to feed on the wing. They never settle, never perch; and I think, I'm like a swift, never really still ;only I can't fly away.
And I swim. I swim a lot. I love the water. And this is in a pool that is outdoors. I can just jump into an outdoor pool and not shiver my bits off.
The upper pool (there are two) is quieter and has a line of rocks that mark a fountain on the other side , when I am swimming in it all I can see are the rocks and the bluest of skies beyond. I float on my back and see how long I can keep my feet above the water. I stay in 'til my fingers start to prune.
At the beach the flag is yellow, which at first I don't think means much; and then I get into the Ocean and ... wooosh. I am knocked from my feet by an Atlantic roller.
Emboldened I wade further into the water; it is waist high (I am not tall) and I feel confident. I see the wave rolling in and think I am ready. I time it - just- as the swell hits and I leap into it and it carries me towards the shore and I am deposited on the sand, bumping along on my behind in a very un-lady like, fill-the-bikini-with-sand fashion.
I go back , and back , and back. More than once I misjudge the swell and on one occasion am unceremoniously dumped under the water; I think I am drowning (I'm not). I have so much sea water in my nasal passage it doesnt stop dripping for hours. And I go back again, and again.
"You're like a little girl out there," says R, watching me with affectionate amusement.
Then there's the evening walks, down to the restaurants all touting for business in the most friendly of fashions. Our favourite was here -
http://eatintenerife.com/martini-restaurante/
There seems to be a vogue for sandcastles now out there ... there were many to see , this is my favourite-
Dear Tenerife; thank you. I Know your landscape may not appeal to everyone -
We are on holiday in Tenerife.
It's a holiday we shouldn't really have booked, as money is tight, but when an unexpectedly high share-save payment matured R said, "Look, we need something to look forward to, it could be our last holiday all together-" (daughter turning 18) "-I can get a free child place for Boy for the last time, let's just do it ! "
So we did.I am a worrier (you may have noticed). Worrying was my dark cloud over my holiday and for that I am supremely sorry, for my family more than for myself.
But now I have the perspective of home I can feel how happy I really was, under the Canarian sky of almost perfect unbroken azure blue.
The approach to the airport was let's say, a tad scary. We were about to land when - UP! - the pilot aborted the landing and round we went again, to much consternation. Apparently a strong crosswind caught the wing and we weren't guaranteed a safe landing, so we had to try again. So that was nice.
Anyway- landing safely, by mid afternoon - we're in our apartments - sleek and well furnished. I approve. Our holiday begins. The early mornings ... waking up to look out on a clear sky, and heading off to the little hotel supermarket to buy freshly baked croissants, eaten with fresh coffee and jam. Then down to the pool, quiet and still and the water cold but not too cold to swim in, before all the other holidaymakers emerge.
I rediscovered the joy of the cryptic crossword; I never read a newspaper ordinarily but I suddenly recalled all those hints Dad used to to tell me about when I was little and I used to look at his crossword. I didn't complete one but I will certainly try to do cryptic crosswords again.
And the clarity of thought one gets when almost meditating laying on a sun bed. There is time for thinking, wondering, setting one's head in order when on holiday. Dragonflies swoop and children play and then it's beer o'clock from the Pool Bar.
And every afternoon at around 4:30. the swifts began to fly, swarms of them; there must have been insects up there, as they seemed to feed on the wing. They never settle, never perch; and I think, I'm like a swift, never really still ;only I can't fly away.
And I swim. I swim a lot. I love the water. And this is in a pool that is outdoors. I can just jump into an outdoor pool and not shiver my bits off.
The upper pool (there are two) is quieter and has a line of rocks that mark a fountain on the other side , when I am swimming in it all I can see are the rocks and the bluest of skies beyond. I float on my back and see how long I can keep my feet above the water. I stay in 'til my fingers start to prune.
At the beach the flag is yellow, which at first I don't think means much; and then I get into the Ocean and ... wooosh. I am knocked from my feet by an Atlantic roller.
Emboldened I wade further into the water; it is waist high (I am not tall) and I feel confident. I see the wave rolling in and think I am ready. I time it - just- as the swell hits and I leap into it and it carries me towards the shore and I am deposited on the sand, bumping along on my behind in a very un-lady like, fill-the-bikini-with-sand fashion.
I go back , and back , and back. More than once I misjudge the swell and on one occasion am unceremoniously dumped under the water; I think I am drowning (I'm not). I have so much sea water in my nasal passage it doesnt stop dripping for hours. And I go back again, and again.
"You're like a little girl out there," says R, watching me with affectionate amusement.
Then there's the evening walks, down to the restaurants all touting for business in the most friendly of fashions. Our favourite was here -
http://eatintenerife.com/martini-restaurante/
There seems to be a vogue for sandcastles now out there ... there were many to see , this is my favourite-
Let's not forget , Tenerife is a volcanic island. Mount Teide is twelve thousand feet about sea level and is active. Up near the summit one can feel the heat through the ground, smell the sulphur. This is how it looks near summit, after dark -
I am fortunate enough to have a lovely friend who knew me back in my dorky school days, who now lives in Los Cristianos, and we met up, and set the world as we know it to rights over a few Cosmopolitans. Thank you, Jean.
While out there we celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. We had dinner on the beach front , watching the sun set (it sets quickly that far south!) and I was with the people who mean the most to me -
While out there we celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. We had dinner on the beach front , watching the sun set (it sets quickly that far south!) and I was with the people who mean the most to me -
Dear Tenerife; thank you. I Know your landscape may not appeal to everyone -
but I love it.
I don't know when I'll be back ; but I will back.
In the meantime my head is in a better place than it was when we left just 12 days ago. I can see the chaos I left at home and am ready now to tackle it, to clarify home as well as mind.
Thank you, Tenerife.
I don't know when I'll be back ; but I will back.
In the meantime my head is in a better place than it was when we left just 12 days ago. I can see the chaos I left at home and am ready now to tackle it, to clarify home as well as mind.
Thank you, Tenerife.
Wednesday, 24 July 2013
The Kindness of Strangers
I am back in the Orthodontic Appointment at Whipps Cross Hospital cycle.
We have been free of hospital appointments for daughter for a long time, both orthodontic and orthopaedic, but now, we're back in the system for Son (fourteen and a bit) . He needs braces, no two ways about it.
There is an element of reduced stress in that it's not entirely new to me at least (although I know Son is uncharacteristically concerned about it all) .
We were seen promptly by a lovely young orthodontist, taken good care of, casts taken, and then sent down to Junction 8 for dental X rays.
We sat there for a while, getting bored , and just as Son was about to switch his 3DS on- as he predicted, he was called for his X ray, so I waved him off on his own ...
Anyway I waited with his next appointment details on an A4 bit of paper in one hand and beta reading a friend's prospective novel on my Kindle in the other.
As I sat there an elderly lady came in, sat on the far side of the pink sofa, and then three women - a nan, a mum & a daughter ( who as it happened had Downs Syndrome) so I thought, ooh , they should sit together so I moved one seat along to the furthest seat on the edge of the sofas.
We sat there for a few minutes in silence then I realised my A4 Next Appointment bit of paper had disappeared suddenly between my seat and the wall !
Son is away having his X-Ray on his teeth at this point. I get on my knees and I'm peering at the tiny gap tp try and see where the paper is. I can just about see it. I try to fish it out with my arm, but can't.
Nana Patient offers her daughter's assistance. "She 's got skinny arms, she'll get it ! "
Her arms weren't much if anything smaller than mine so she doesn't retrieve it.
"Here!" says older lady in the corner. "Try to get it out with this pen - it belongs to them!"
It didn't work.
I get a 2010 copy of Country Life which is the only magazine there, and poke around with that and yes!!! I retrieve something.
"She's GOT IT!" says Mum, all excitedly!
"No," I announce, "But I do have someone's lost orthodontic advice leaflet..."
There is disappointment.
"USE YOUR SANDAL!" says elderly lady in pink.
"But then I might lose it as well and I'll only have one shoe..." I say, and the waiting room , full of strangers , nod and agree.
So then Son returns and is given his dental X-rays and it is time for us to be sent on our way back to the orthodontic department.
The Nana says to my son - and we don't know each other, never spoken til 30 minutes before...
"Eh Tom- I wouldn't trust those X rays with your Mum , she might lose them down the side of a sofa!"
We all fell about-strangers the lot of of us - and I passed the document wallet to Son to much merriment.
And so passed what would have otherwise been a very dull minutes in a waiting room.
People are lovely, people are funny, strangers are fab, I Like to think that tonight a lady has gone home and told a story of how a nutty mum lost her hospital form and how everyone tried to help her retrieve it.
All these little things X
We have been free of hospital appointments for daughter for a long time, both orthodontic and orthopaedic, but now, we're back in the system for Son (fourteen and a bit) . He needs braces, no two ways about it.
There is an element of reduced stress in that it's not entirely new to me at least (although I know Son is uncharacteristically concerned about it all) .
We were seen promptly by a lovely young orthodontist, taken good care of, casts taken, and then sent down to Junction 8 for dental X rays.
We sat there for a while, getting bored , and just as Son was about to switch his 3DS on- as he predicted, he was called for his X ray, so I waved him off on his own ...
Anyway I waited with his next appointment details on an A4 bit of paper in one hand and beta reading a friend's prospective novel on my Kindle in the other.
As I sat there an elderly lady came in, sat on the far side of the pink sofa, and then three women - a nan, a mum & a daughter ( who as it happened had Downs Syndrome) so I thought, ooh , they should sit together so I moved one seat along to the furthest seat on the edge of the sofas.
We sat there for a few minutes in silence then I realised my A4 Next Appointment bit of paper had disappeared suddenly between my seat and the wall !
Son is away having his X-Ray on his teeth at this point. I get on my knees and I'm peering at the tiny gap tp try and see where the paper is. I can just about see it. I try to fish it out with my arm, but can't.
Nana Patient offers her daughter's assistance. "She 's got skinny arms, she'll get it ! "
Her arms weren't much if anything smaller than mine so she doesn't retrieve it.
"Here!" says older lady in the corner. "Try to get it out with this pen - it belongs to them!"
It didn't work.
I get a 2010 copy of Country Life which is the only magazine there, and poke around with that and yes!!! I retrieve something.
"She's GOT IT!" says Mum, all excitedly!
"No," I announce, "But I do have someone's lost orthodontic advice leaflet..."
There is disappointment.
"USE YOUR SANDAL!" says elderly lady in pink.
"But then I might lose it as well and I'll only have one shoe..." I say, and the waiting room , full of strangers , nod and agree.
So then Son returns and is given his dental X-rays and it is time for us to be sent on our way back to the orthodontic department.
The Nana says to my son - and we don't know each other, never spoken til 30 minutes before...
"Eh Tom- I wouldn't trust those X rays with your Mum , she might lose them down the side of a sofa!"
We all fell about-strangers the lot of of us - and I passed the document wallet to Son to much merriment.
And so passed what would have otherwise been a very dull minutes in a waiting room.
People are lovely, people are funny, strangers are fab, I Like to think that tonight a lady has gone home and told a story of how a nutty mum lost her hospital form and how everyone tried to help her retrieve it.
All these little things X
Monday, 1 July 2013
Up and Down
Now you see there are days - sometimes many, many days in row - that I feel so very low I can't see the wood for the trees.
Some of you may know that historically I have suffered from depression, not treated medically until after my son was born but I believe that it started when I was 17.
The thing about depression is that people even in this enlightened day and age, think it's about just being a bit unhappy. "It's Monday - I'm so depressed!" for example. What really gets me is people who think that having depression is a choice .
Choose to be happy.
Choose to smile.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone.
Choose to be positive.
You might not have shoes but there's someone out there with no feet.
Yes, all true.
But.
But.
Do you wear glasses ? Are you say, diabetic ? Do you get sea sickness ?
What if I told you you could positively think your way out of your short sightedness ? Or the non functioning of your pancrveas, or your inner ear messing you about ?
You can't do it.
I can't either.
I stopped taking the Citalopram some time ago because I wanted to fight this on my own and to be honest, I think I manage pretty well on the whole, given the tightness of money and the stress of having teenage children. I don't tell myself Well Done enough I reckon (no-one else will !) .
Today has been a Good Day. I think that warm sunshine always helps that process. I have made paper plate lion heads in Breakfast Club ; got overly enthusiastic about Prime numbers with my maths group (yes, 73 IS the best number, thank you Dr Sheldon Cooper ! the kids now think I am actually a lunatic) ; heard all about their trip to the local adventure centre (sleepwalking, nudity, incontinence and laser tag - all human life apparently was there !) . In between all the other daily tasks - yes - the ironing is up to date, and the pork chops are looking good for dinner when Mister Champers eventually turns up (the Man With No Mobile has gone to the dentist for an emergency appointment. Oh. Pork chops maybe not such a good dinner choice ...)
Yes; today has been a Good Day. And although it is true that smiling and just plain being nice to people, and genuinely interested in them , is a good way to make yourself feel good, some days, if I'm grey of face and down turned of mouth, it's because I am silently crying. (Sometimes I am actually crying ...sorry!)
But.
Today has been a Good Day.
Some of you may know that historically I have suffered from depression, not treated medically until after my son was born but I believe that it started when I was 17.
The thing about depression is that people even in this enlightened day and age, think it's about just being a bit unhappy. "It's Monday - I'm so depressed!" for example. What really gets me is people who think that having depression is a choice .
Choose to be happy.
Choose to smile.
Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone.
Choose to be positive.
You might not have shoes but there's someone out there with no feet.
Yes, all true.
But.
But.
Do you wear glasses ? Are you say, diabetic ? Do you get sea sickness ?
What if I told you you could positively think your way out of your short sightedness ? Or the non functioning of your pancrveas, or your inner ear messing you about ?
You can't do it.
I can't either.
I stopped taking the Citalopram some time ago because I wanted to fight this on my own and to be honest, I think I manage pretty well on the whole, given the tightness of money and the stress of having teenage children. I don't tell myself Well Done enough I reckon (no-one else will !) .
Today has been a Good Day. I think that warm sunshine always helps that process. I have made paper plate lion heads in Breakfast Club ; got overly enthusiastic about Prime numbers with my maths group (yes, 73 IS the best number, thank you Dr Sheldon Cooper ! the kids now think I am actually a lunatic) ; heard all about their trip to the local adventure centre (sleepwalking, nudity, incontinence and laser tag - all human life apparently was there !) . In between all the other daily tasks - yes - the ironing is up to date, and the pork chops are looking good for dinner when Mister Champers eventually turns up (the Man With No Mobile has gone to the dentist for an emergency appointment. Oh. Pork chops maybe not such a good dinner choice ...)
Yes; today has been a Good Day. And although it is true that smiling and just plain being nice to people, and genuinely interested in them , is a good way to make yourself feel good, some days, if I'm grey of face and down turned of mouth, it's because I am silently crying. (Sometimes I am actually crying ...sorry!)
But.
Today has been a Good Day.
Wednesday, 19 June 2013
Bubbles and Bloggers
On Sunday, which was of course Father's Day, I thought a little about my nephew and my nieces.
Due to family circumstances , I haven't seen my elder niece since 1996, never seen my younger, and saw my nephew once, I think about five years ago.
But on Father's Day I thought about my brother, and how he has missed out by not being the person he ought to be, and how the one time I met my nephew we played with bubbles. I had one of those battery operated things that if you pour bubble liquid into it, it will constantly send bubbles into the air, pretty bubbles ... He loved it.
I haven't seen him since and I may never see him again.
Anyway in other news I know that it is BritMums this weekend and many of my Twitter friends (and I count you, yes you - as such - Pretend Internet Friends - or PIFs as I have come to call you over the years) will be gathering in London to meet each other for the first time.
I've done a couple of Meets like this myself. Ten years ago, the first one was. I was privileged enough to later attend the wedding of two of the wonderful people who were there that night who had never previously met. To still be friends with others. To later attend a Meet and and be with two people who took the trouble to drive me all the way home ; and who married and fought and died of individual cancers within months of each other.
There are so many warnings we rightly give to our children about Internet Stranger Danger. Quite right. But my experiences have been nothing but positive. One PIF is now my ' Northern Twin' as we are alike in everything but geography !
Joining Twitter has enriched my on line life. And starting ridiculous diaries like this which have been supported and re-Tweeted by lovely Followers has been fabulous and for someone with pretty low self esteem, life enhancing.
And I have been thinking about BritMums and all of the lovely clever wonderful talented mum bloggers who will be there. How they will all embrace each other when the "OMG it's YOU!" moment happens and they start talking as if they had always know each other face to face.
So to Aimee, Sam, Jennie to name just three, and all of you going to BritMums, have a wonderful supportive, happy time and tell us all about it when you get home on a high when the weekend is over !
Due to family circumstances , I haven't seen my elder niece since 1996, never seen my younger, and saw my nephew once, I think about five years ago.
But on Father's Day I thought about my brother, and how he has missed out by not being the person he ought to be, and how the one time I met my nephew we played with bubbles. I had one of those battery operated things that if you pour bubble liquid into it, it will constantly send bubbles into the air, pretty bubbles ... He loved it.
I haven't seen him since and I may never see him again.
Now there are some Blogs that you take to heart more than others and recently I have been reading one by a lady who lost her baby to SIDS earlier this year.
My own family isn't a stranger to loss; my eldest niece died aged two of heart failure after an op in GOSH on 30 May 1994. I was pregnant at the time. I know that this isnt in any way akin to the loss of Matilda Mae. But I have been thinking of both of them specially as the anniversary has just passed.
My own family isn't a stranger to loss; my eldest niece died aged two of heart failure after an op in GOSH on 30 May 1994. I was pregnant at the time. I know that this isnt in any way akin to the loss of Matilda Mae. But I have been thinking of both of them specially as the anniversary has just passed.
Anyway today I read a related Blog that said Matilda Mae would love to see bubbles. And I thought of J, my never seen nephew again, and the mini bubble machine.
And here's the weird thing. Hubby's off work this week (aaargh!) and wanted window cleaning stuff so I delved under the sink to see if I could find some Windolene.
I didn't find any cleaning fluids but what I did I find at the back of the under sick cupboard (and I wish I had a Smartphone now so I could ad a photo!) instead were... five.. count 'em FIVE long forgotten bottles of unopened 'Rainbow Bubbles'. Bubble blowing liquid in pink and purple and lime green bottles.
So I have taken the first bottle I reached for (and it's bright pink) and after
And here's the weird thing. Hubby's off work this week (aaargh!) and wanted window cleaning stuff so I delved under the sink to see if I could find some Windolene.
I didn't find any cleaning fluids but what I did I find at the back of the under sick cupboard (and I wish I had a Smartphone now so I could ad a photo!) instead were... five.. count 'em FIVE long forgotten bottles of unopened 'Rainbow Bubbles'. Bubble blowing liquid in pink and purple and lime green bottles.
So I have taken the first bottle I reached for (and it's bright pink) and after
almost spilling the lot trying to peel back the foil on top I have blown a satisfying number of bubbles up to Matilda Mae and all the babies just like her.
xxx
xxx
Anyway in other news I know that it is BritMums this weekend and many of my Twitter friends (and I count you, yes you - as such - Pretend Internet Friends - or PIFs as I have come to call you over the years) will be gathering in London to meet each other for the first time.
I've done a couple of Meets like this myself. Ten years ago, the first one was. I was privileged enough to later attend the wedding of two of the wonderful people who were there that night who had never previously met. To still be friends with others. To later attend a Meet and and be with two people who took the trouble to drive me all the way home ; and who married and fought and died of individual cancers within months of each other.
There are so many warnings we rightly give to our children about Internet Stranger Danger. Quite right. But my experiences have been nothing but positive. One PIF is now my ' Northern Twin' as we are alike in everything but geography !
Joining Twitter has enriched my on line life. And starting ridiculous diaries like this which have been supported and re-Tweeted by lovely Followers has been fabulous and for someone with pretty low self esteem, life enhancing.
And I have been thinking about BritMums and all of the lovely clever wonderful talented mum bloggers who will be there. How they will all embrace each other when the "OMG it's YOU!" moment happens and they start talking as if they had always know each other face to face.
So to Aimee, Sam, Jennie to name just three, and all of you going to BritMums, have a wonderful supportive, happy time and tell us all about it when you get home on a high when the weekend is over !
Tuesday, 31 July 2012
Ibiza Rocks !
Sorting through my dressing table top drawer the other day I came across a buff coloured piece of crumpled paper tucked up into a small square. It must have been torn from a sketch pad as it was bigger than A4 when unfolded.To my delight it was in GirlTeen's childish handwriting, fairly neat and in ink.
It was long forgotten ,short account of our trip to Ibiza, a full ten years ago from now. She was 7. Illustrated in places with pictures of variously a jacuzzi (I think that's what it is) and pieces of luggage, she reached Chapter 2 before she bored of the project.
Here it is reproduced as she wrote it. For my own amusement and hopefully, yours; an insight into the funny little way a 7 year old thinks.
CHAPTER 1
On Saturday 24th August I was going to Ibiza. I was very excited but worried that I would get shingles. I always get a virus or dessiece when it is an eccation*. Last time I went to Ibiza 2 years ago was when I got chicken pocks.When I went to Menorca I almost caught Singles. At 7:30pm my granddad but not the one who said his hair came of on his milk float,took us to Gatwick Airport. We waited a whole hour to get to the front of the que so we could get our flight tickets.Then we found out 1 of our cases was to heavy so we had to go to letter H and a lady put a sticker that said heavy on it.
*I think she means 'occasion'
At this point there is a an aside in a bubble that says :
Forgotten Message: Mum thought our heavy case would go to Malta.
We got in the britannia and flew off to Ibiza.Mum cried because she hates flights. We arrived at Ibiza and we took a coach to Hotel Presidente in Portanax resort.
Hotel Presidente, Portinatx, Ibiza (as seen on the Thomson website)
We got in the hotel and we were in room 28 on the 1st floor. It was 4.00am.
CHAPTER 2
We woke in the morning for our breakfast got dressed and then went to the welcome party it was boring and now mum wants to go to the market in Ibiza town <these next two words in red with jagged lines drawn round them> I dont!
At least I got a kidsclub teashirt and cap. After that we went to the swimming pool until 4.00pm and the welcome party finished at 11.00am.
FORGOTTEN MESSAGE: We met Sophie at breakfast
<Sophie was her classmate. To my horror, one of the more judgemental Mums From The School Playground was holidaying there at exactly the same time as us. Luckily I was in her clique (with gritted teeth most of the time) but I didnt really want to spend my away -from-all-that time with her. We quickly established different daily routines to the family without being entirely unsociable. It helped however that I knew I looked better in a bikini than Sophie's mum did ... >
Me and my mum went back to the hotel presidente and we both had showers.at 6:00pm we went to find my brother and my dad. We found them.
Now soon I hope we go out to tea
After dad showers if he dosent diasagree.
There is unfortunately, no Chapter 3.But that's a crumpled piece of paper I will always keep and cherish; it brings back many memories that seem like yesterday despite being a decade ago.
Now she's nearly 18, a grown up, headstrong and determined. In a lot of ways though she's still that skinny 7 year old. Well, she always will be to me.
Sunday, 17 June 2012
Father's Day
It's Father's Day.
And the first time ever that the car wouldn't start.
It's a four year old Ford Focus, for Heaven's sake. It's just been serviced.
I mention this because R & the Boy were trying to get to Boy's cricket match ten minutes drive away in it and it let them down.
And here's the thing:
I am in tears over this.
But R ? He will do what he needs to do. He will find the money we really don't have at the moment to sort it out.
He always does.
He's my rock.
We met at work in 1989. It was my first proper job after Uni, a temporary one you understand, while I decided what it was I really wanted to do. We were on different sections at the time but there was a major reorganisation following the implementation of a new computer system and our sections merged . R was in charge of the seating plan and he and I ended up sitting opposite one another.
He had a girlfriend at the time, of four years standing. Became engaged to her a couple of months after I met him. I was infatuated with the very aloof Goth guy who was charged with the task of training me. He thought I was 'twee'. I tried wearing black all the time but when Goth Guy's mate suggested I in fact looked like 'Heidi going to a funeral' I realised that was a non starter.
Although he was engaged to someone else we started seeing each other. I'm not proud of that, but they weren't even living together, he'd been half-heartedly rail-roaded into it, and the thing was, we just clicked. It just made sense. They say, you'll know when you meet The One and I had always wanted to believe that and it turned out to be true. I just Knew. And so did he.
It is 20 years in August since he asked me to marry him, at dinner in an open air restaurant in Artist's Square ,Montmartre, Paris, in the shadow of the Sacre Coeur, apt as they nickname that beautiful building the Wedding Cake on the Hill.
I am not easy to live with. I am up, and down. I cry. I love. I feel things too deeply. I get frustrated and that can be mistaken for anger. I worry - oh Lord how I worry. But R is my rock.
He is always there, not just for me (God knows I need it) but most importantly for our children.
I am happy I have given him a son who shares his love of cricket. I know that seeing Boy in his whites even if he does get out for a golden duck, makes him very very happy too.
He may never have done an early hours of the morning bottle feed, or changed many (any?) nappies. He may have said to me - when in the throes of chronic pregnancy sickness "I'll help you!" by bringing a chair to the kitchen for me to sit on while I cooked... But.. I can see him now, with our first born, who arrived just over a year after we married, a bit of a shock to us , neither of us with any idea what to do with babies, singing over and over and over as he rocked her in his arms-
We all live in a yellow submarine
A yellow submarine
A yellow submarine
Repeat as necessary.
And when years later, she was in hospital, on morphine, in pain, telling us she wanted to die, he was there and far far better than me at soothing her. He has one of those voices; he should be a continuity announcer. It was why I think, he was so good when briefly in charge of a call reception unit. He always made the customers listen and you can never win an argument with him. he has this way about him. The kind that gets Jehovah's Witnesses nodding in agreement with him on the doorstep. Of course that means I often get annoyed with him because I know I can't win.
But ultimately that doesn't matter at all.
I cannot express how proud I am of him as a Dad. Calm, rational - infuriatingly so ! - generous, in control even during this bumpy patch we have inexplicably hit. He's not one of those dads who over do it by trying too hard. He's the moral confident silent backbone to our wonderful son and daughter.
And they love him. And so do I.
But ssshhhh - don't tell him ;-)
And the first time ever that the car wouldn't start.
It's a four year old Ford Focus, for Heaven's sake. It's just been serviced.
I mention this because R & the Boy were trying to get to Boy's cricket match ten minutes drive away in it and it let them down.
And here's the thing:
I am in tears over this.
But R ? He will do what he needs to do. He will find the money we really don't have at the moment to sort it out.
He always does.
He's my rock.
We met at work in 1989. It was my first proper job after Uni, a temporary one you understand, while I decided what it was I really wanted to do. We were on different sections at the time but there was a major reorganisation following the implementation of a new computer system and our sections merged . R was in charge of the seating plan and he and I ended up sitting opposite one another.
He had a girlfriend at the time, of four years standing. Became engaged to her a couple of months after I met him. I was infatuated with the very aloof Goth guy who was charged with the task of training me. He thought I was 'twee'. I tried wearing black all the time but when Goth Guy's mate suggested I in fact looked like 'Heidi going to a funeral' I realised that was a non starter.
Although he was engaged to someone else we started seeing each other. I'm not proud of that, but they weren't even living together, he'd been half-heartedly rail-roaded into it, and the thing was, we just clicked. It just made sense. They say, you'll know when you meet The One and I had always wanted to believe that and it turned out to be true. I just Knew. And so did he.
It is 20 years in August since he asked me to marry him, at dinner in an open air restaurant in Artist's Square ,Montmartre, Paris, in the shadow of the Sacre Coeur, apt as they nickname that beautiful building the Wedding Cake on the Hill.
I am not easy to live with. I am up, and down. I cry. I love. I feel things too deeply. I get frustrated and that can be mistaken for anger. I worry - oh Lord how I worry. But R is my rock.
He is always there, not just for me (God knows I need it) but most importantly for our children.
I am happy I have given him a son who shares his love of cricket. I know that seeing Boy in his whites even if he does get out for a golden duck, makes him very very happy too.
He may never have done an early hours of the morning bottle feed, or changed many (any?) nappies. He may have said to me - when in the throes of chronic pregnancy sickness "I'll help you!" by bringing a chair to the kitchen for me to sit on while I cooked... But.. I can see him now, with our first born, who arrived just over a year after we married, a bit of a shock to us , neither of us with any idea what to do with babies, singing over and over and over as he rocked her in his arms-
We all live in a yellow submarine
A yellow submarine
A yellow submarine
Repeat as necessary.
And when years later, she was in hospital, on morphine, in pain, telling us she wanted to die, he was there and far far better than me at soothing her. He has one of those voices; he should be a continuity announcer. It was why I think, he was so good when briefly in charge of a call reception unit. He always made the customers listen and you can never win an argument with him. he has this way about him. The kind that gets Jehovah's Witnesses nodding in agreement with him on the doorstep. Of course that means I often get annoyed with him because I know I can't win.
But ultimately that doesn't matter at all.
I cannot express how proud I am of him as a Dad. Calm, rational - infuriatingly so ! - generous, in control even during this bumpy patch we have inexplicably hit. He's not one of those dads who over do it by trying too hard. He's the moral confident silent backbone to our wonderful son and daughter.
And they love him. And so do I.
But ssshhhh - don't tell him ;-)
Friday, 8 June 2012
Stanmore No More
Re-published for Scoliosis Awareness Day 29th June 2013
Last week Teen came to the end of a road she (with us along for the ride) has been travelling for about five years. Which given she is 17 is a fair chunk of her life.
In late 2007 I started to notice her posture wasn't what it could be. She'd just turned 13 and at the time was spending many hours on her PC playing The Sims, so I put it down to too much time leaning over a hot computer game. Just the August before we had been to the Canaries and she had seemed all right then.
But one day in November she came to me and said, "Take me to to the doctor's, I have a hunchback!"
Of course being me my first reaction was denial. "You're fine," I probably said; but looking at her in her dressing gown I knew that something wasn't right. I had probably seen it but not seen it, if you know what I mean. Her right shoulder did indeed protrude more than her left.
With typical procrastination, borne of fear, we didn't see our preferred GP until after Christmas. I sat there (as I always do in GP surgeries) worried that we were either wasting his time, or that it was going to be really bad news.
He made her bend forward, looked her over, and then went to his desk.
The verdict came in.No doubts. It was scoliosis, a curve of the spine into an S-shape, and she would have to be referred to a hospital consultant.
I didn't immediately come home and Google the condition. I accepted that she had a curved spine and that was enough for now. We had to wait for the referral and I would take it from there.
Ah, the Choose and Book system !
When the paperwork came through - I had just two 'choices'. Bear in mind we live on the NE London borough of Havering/Essex border. We had expected to be offered GOSH, or a specialist place. No. My 'choices' were Addenbrookes in Cambridge (a fine hospital but too far away and we had no confidence that the spinal unit was specialist enough) or Wrexham. Yes, Wrexham. In Wales. In another country.
So it had to be Addenbrookes. I picked up the phone to 'Choose'.
And was casually told that as they 'didn't have the paperwork yet', I should call again 'in about two weeks'.
To say I was frustrated is an understatement.
But there was a lifeline.
One of the more sensible things I did when I started work was to sign up with my company's private health scheme. I did it mostly because they gave you a cute Teddy bear just for joining. As time went on the policy incorporated my children too. It wasn't a comprehensive private scheme, but it would be enough to get Teen a private consult. The proviso was that the the referral had to be to a private consultant with an NHS practice.
R was immediately on Google, researching scoliosis specialists, and he found what turned out to be the perfect man for the job.
A referral letter and a few weeks later, we found ourselves in a different world; the Private Health Sector, at the Wellington Hospital in St John's Wood, right next to Lord's cricket ground. A land where there is coffee on tap, satellite TV in the waiting area - not that 'waiting' is a verb known in this amazing place.
Teen was whisked through for her X-ray and then we were in the office of the amazing, matter of fact, dry humoured and incredibly talented Mr Stuart Tucker, spinal adviser to the Royal Ballet School.
He looked at the (immediately returned) X- ray results.
"This," he said, "Isn't something that can be cured with a pill."
We were faced with the reality of the situation.
This is a 'normal' spine.
This was Teen's X-ray.
Last week Teen came to the end of a road she (with us along for the ride) has been travelling for about five years. Which given she is 17 is a fair chunk of her life.
In late 2007 I started to notice her posture wasn't what it could be. She'd just turned 13 and at the time was spending many hours on her PC playing The Sims, so I put it down to too much time leaning over a hot computer game. Just the August before we had been to the Canaries and she had seemed all right then.
But one day in November she came to me and said, "Take me to to the doctor's, I have a hunchback!"
Of course being me my first reaction was denial. "You're fine," I probably said; but looking at her in her dressing gown I knew that something wasn't right. I had probably seen it but not seen it, if you know what I mean. Her right shoulder did indeed protrude more than her left.
With typical procrastination, borne of fear, we didn't see our preferred GP until after Christmas. I sat there (as I always do in GP surgeries) worried that we were either wasting his time, or that it was going to be really bad news.
He made her bend forward, looked her over, and then went to his desk.
The verdict came in.No doubts. It was scoliosis, a curve of the spine into an S-shape, and she would have to be referred to a hospital consultant.
I didn't immediately come home and Google the condition. I accepted that she had a curved spine and that was enough for now. We had to wait for the referral and I would take it from there.
Ah, the Choose and Book system !
When the paperwork came through - I had just two 'choices'. Bear in mind we live on the NE London borough of Havering/Essex border. We had expected to be offered GOSH, or a specialist place. No. My 'choices' were Addenbrookes in Cambridge (a fine hospital but too far away and we had no confidence that the spinal unit was specialist enough) or Wrexham. Yes, Wrexham. In Wales. In another country.
So it had to be Addenbrookes. I picked up the phone to 'Choose'.
And was casually told that as they 'didn't have the paperwork yet', I should call again 'in about two weeks'.
To say I was frustrated is an understatement.
But there was a lifeline.
One of the more sensible things I did when I started work was to sign up with my company's private health scheme. I did it mostly because they gave you a cute Teddy bear just for joining. As time went on the policy incorporated my children too. It wasn't a comprehensive private scheme, but it would be enough to get Teen a private consult. The proviso was that the the referral had to be to a private consultant with an NHS practice.
R was immediately on Google, researching scoliosis specialists, and he found what turned out to be the perfect man for the job.
A referral letter and a few weeks later, we found ourselves in a different world; the Private Health Sector, at the Wellington Hospital in St John's Wood, right next to Lord's cricket ground. A land where there is coffee on tap, satellite TV in the waiting area - not that 'waiting' is a verb known in this amazing place.
Teen was whisked through for her X-ray and then we were in the office of the amazing, matter of fact, dry humoured and incredibly talented Mr Stuart Tucker, spinal adviser to the Royal Ballet School.
He looked at the (immediately returned) X- ray results.
"This," he said, "Isn't something that can be cured with a pill."
We were faced with the reality of the situation.
This is a 'normal' spine.
This was Teen's X-ray.
As our health scheme did not cover the actual op being done privately, we had to be referred back to be seen at the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital at Stanmore (near Elstree/Mill Hill in North London) so that Teen could be operated on by Mr Tucker under the NHS.
After the verdict I was in a daze. It took me about two days for it to sink in. My baby girl, my perfect girl, needed a major operation. Two in one, to be precise, as she also suffered kyphosis (ie, the 'hunchback'). This stopped her going to her dance classes as she was expected to wear a leotard and she was too embarrassed to go anymore.
It would be another 8 months of waiting and worrying and a postponed holiday before the operation actually happened. She was never in any pain, thank goodness, but I suddenly understood the breathlessness she occasionally complained of. Looking at how her lungs must have been compressed it's little wonder.
We grabbed a week away together in late October after our pre-op visit to the adolescent unit which promised internet and DVD players and so on. Teen was asked by Mr Tucker if she had any questions. She said,
"What are the chances of death?"
I hadn't even contemplated that one.
"A million to one," he replied. And believe me, you don't disagree with Mr Tucker. He has an omniscient air about him.
The idea that as he operated on her spine paralysis could ensue fleetingly crossed my mind but I dismissed it. I had faith.
So in November 2008, in a chilly, post war, in need of rebuilding hospital, in only five hours, Mr Tucker rebuilt her spine and shaved her shoulder blade, to fix her. Ten days later she was home.
I'll write about the op and the stay itself in detail another time. But what I will say now is that if anyone is reading this and is in any doubt about having an operation like Teen's, don't worry. Do it. I'm not sure that back braces and physio are the answer. They certainly weren't in Teen's case. And I look at her now, her 'growth lines closed' as Mr Tucker said just a week ago, beaming and admiring his work and her 'lovely posture' , it was worth the tough time we all went through.
Shame she can't bend over quite enough to tidy her bedroom properly though isn't it ?
After the verdict I was in a daze. It took me about two days for it to sink in. My baby girl, my perfect girl, needed a major operation. Two in one, to be precise, as she also suffered kyphosis (ie, the 'hunchback'). This stopped her going to her dance classes as she was expected to wear a leotard and she was too embarrassed to go anymore.
It would be another 8 months of waiting and worrying and a postponed holiday before the operation actually happened. She was never in any pain, thank goodness, but I suddenly understood the breathlessness she occasionally complained of. Looking at how her lungs must have been compressed it's little wonder.
We grabbed a week away together in late October after our pre-op visit to the adolescent unit which promised internet and DVD players and so on. Teen was asked by Mr Tucker if she had any questions. She said,
"What are the chances of death?"
I hadn't even contemplated that one.
"A million to one," he replied. And believe me, you don't disagree with Mr Tucker. He has an omniscient air about him.
The idea that as he operated on her spine paralysis could ensue fleetingly crossed my mind but I dismissed it. I had faith.
So in November 2008, in a chilly, post war, in need of rebuilding hospital, in only five hours, Mr Tucker rebuilt her spine and shaved her shoulder blade, to fix her. Ten days later she was home.
I'll write about the op and the stay itself in detail another time. But what I will say now is that if anyone is reading this and is in any doubt about having an operation like Teen's, don't worry. Do it. I'm not sure that back braces and physio are the answer. They certainly weren't in Teen's case. And I look at her now, her 'growth lines closed' as Mr Tucker said just a week ago, beaming and admiring his work and her 'lovely posture' , it was worth the tough time we all went through.
Shame she can't bend over quite enough to tidy her bedroom properly though isn't it ?
Thursday, 31 May 2012
The Out Laws !
"Don't look at his feet, he's wearing his paper shop shoes!"
Yes, my Mother in Law (MiL) and Father In Law (FiL) have arrived.
Every Thursday afternoon for quite a few years now, more or less without fail, my In Laws have come to visit.
As you may recall I cannot drive and we live just over a mile from the Primary school the kids used to go to. When they were both there and I was working mornings only in the school office, I was there, and back, and there , and back, and if one or other had after school activities I was there, and back again. I once walked the best part of 10 miles in a day...although I have to say having a buggy to push is a great aid to walking long distances, speeds you up.
So once a week, having their grandparents pick them up was a blessing.
They even used to have them for weekend sleepovers while R and I went out for a meal & a film, or up West,or even on a city break. I can remember the very first time we left Teen -then about three- for just one night. Oh, the exhilaration !
I am eternally grateful to the In Laws. They looked after the kids so I could go back to work part time without paying for child care. Yes,Nana sent Teen to preschool more than once with her shoes on the wrong feet (Teen that is, not Nana, although sometimes I wonder). Yes, Granddad actively encouraged Boy to 'hit someone if they piss you off'. But it was all done with love.
The kids are older now. Teen is practically an adult, and Boy will be a Teen in a few weeks.
But Nana and Granddad are pretty much still the same.
And every Thursday they come around.
Most of the time Teen isn't even here to see them. She has a life now. Boy accepts their lift from school lazily and gratefully and once home, promptly makes himself scarce. As I am working full time I'm not even home so I have to ensure before I leave for work at 8am that the kettle is full,and the mugs and teabags and spoons are ready.
They can't function unless they have tea.
Funnily enough, the teabags they offer at their home are PoundLand sawdust, but when they're here, they quite like my Finest Assam teabags.
"We made ourselves cups of tea," says MiL. I can tell they have , there are tea stains all over the worktop. "You over filled the kettle, you know."
I ignore this.
Teen has usually - if she's even there - disappeared after ten minutes to her room leaving me and Boy to it.
MiL tells very long and ultimately rather dull stories at great length.
"Elsie knocked on the door yesterday," she'll begin, and I know we're in for a long haul ride.
"She's the one who got all the trees planted. You know, the one that lives with Ken." (Big Ken the Cowboy Plumber as I know him). "She sent Amy that bracelet that time. Anyway, she knocked on the door, and I said <insert anecdote about someone I don't know of> and that was that...so we had some tea. And Elsie said, what about <I leave for kitchen to start the kids' dinner and make interested noises occasionally>..."
Me(from kitchen): "So how did that work out?"
MiL: "Well, Elsie said that Ken said it couldn't be done. So that was that. And then Phyl's son John turned up so we all had some biscuits."
Once, to please Teen (then a pre-teen) she changed their home answer phone message. It should have been based on Queen's We Will Rock You , except singing "We Will Call You Back ." (I think Teen had seen this on Friends ). It recorded as "We Will/We Will/Rock You Back". Trust me a 70+ year old lady singing this down the phone has to be heard.
She's a Spurs supporter, loves a flutter on the horses, and today bought an obelisk for her sweet peas. This caused friction with FiL since he didn't actually know what an obelisk was and anyway , what was wrong with the rusty metal spear and strings he'd already put in place?
In her late Sixties she upped and went on a tour of Australia with her daughter. FiL wouldnt go. She didn't care. Off she went. Helicopter rides, boats to see the coral reef, the lot. Didn't appreciate any of it, if truth be told, but she did it, and at least has fond memories of visiting the Gabba Ground.
I can understand why FiL wouldn't go. He likes routine. They eat the exact same meals on every day of the week. Sunday is of course, roast dinner day (dinner = lunch by the way. Caused me some confusion when I first started going to their house for meals). Monday is Left Overs , bubble & squeak. Tuesday is pie day. Wednesday is lamb chops. Thursday a roast chicken. Friday is , of course, fish and chips. They go to Billingsgate and buy in bulk to freeze and MiL deep fries her it herself. Saturday is steak. And so it goes, like clockwork. They buy massive sacks of potatoes from the local farm shop just for the two of them and they use them all. Pasta and rice don't figure; the only rice FiL acknowledges is Ambrosia Creamed.They tend their own vegetable plot in their tiny back garden and their carrots really, totally taste like carrots ought to; their radishes are hotter than the sun.
They aren't keen on immigrants. I think this is not because they are actually racists, more something that is typical of their age group (70s), and because they have seen their local area change dramatically in recent years (high Asian population). That said they live in a street which does a very good street party (although no word on a Diamond Jubilee one which is a shame, I'd trade our Sunday lunch there Jubilee weekend for going to one). All ethnicities come together and FiL's Daily Mail streak vanishes.
They even attended the gathering that Julio and Georgio from around the corner (from the pink and lime green painted house) held to celebrate the marriage of their cats, Prince Lupin and Princess Petunia Sophia. There was a laminated order of service and everything.
Sometimes FiL is Alf Garnett and I play Una Stubbs. He's far right, I am somewhat left. We do not always see eye-to-eye. He's dogmatic, and stubborn. He always think he's right. R and I do not always agree. It's caused a few ructions. But he's mellowing now I reckon, particularly since stomach surgery he had in February, after never, ever , being ill.
They drive me mad sometimes. Sundays at their house is mind numbingly boring.
But they are wonderful warm loving caring people who treat me like their daughter and I can be open, honest and rely on them in a way I no longer can with my own dad in particular.
So much as it frustrates me to come home and find them here, I hope that I find them here for many years to come.
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