Monthly Archives: August 2011

Being Granny

The day has rather revolved around Zerlina, but it’s all been very easy.  Phil has taken the last couple of days off, so all three turned up this morning.  I took z off with me to the hairdresser, so she didn’t see her parents leave – although she’d been enormously looking forward to coming for her ‘sleepover.’

She hadn’t been to the hairdresser before, so was very interested in what was going on, though my cut and blowdry wasn’t as exciting as some other hairdos.  Jo asked me what style I wanted.  “Whatever you like, as long as you make me look young and lovely,” I said hopefully … “who laughed?”  Another hairdresser owned up.

Afterwards, we did some shopping, came home and prepared lunch.  She helped me pod peas, which she enjoyed and then found that the tin of tuna I had opened was too tempting, so ate some of it while the pasta was cooking.  We also ate strawberries.  Then we went outside for a bit and she did some drawing before going for her nap.  After that, we made sausage rolls and jam tarts, which we had for tea.  She has fed the chickens, given an apple to Big Pinkie and rambled all over the Ups and Downs looking for cowpats, the largest of which we poked with a stick.  We’ve read books and spent rather a lot of time washing hands.  Squiffany was also fond of having a basinful of warm water and a bar of soap and spending a lot of time washing her hands at this age, too.

After going to bed, she chatted to her toys, Barry Bear, Pillow, Peppa Pig and Spot the Dog (who lives here, he was Ro’s) for a few minutes and we’ve heard nothing further since.  Tomorrow, we have been warned that the electricity may be turned off, as work is being done.  Last time we had such a warning, it didn’t happen at all, but at least we won’t be caught out.

I might take her out for lunch.  It’s such a pleasure taking a child out for a meal.  I remember an occasion when I took Squiffany out for tea and she was so happy, she sat taking tiny, neat bites out of her toasted teacake and sipping milk, on her very best behaviour.

A good innings

Today, I went to a hundredth birthday party.   Florence’s birthday was actually on Saturday, and so far she has had a small family party, one for sixty people and this one, which her lunch club friends put on for her. She looked fabulous.  She walks without a stick and doesn’t wear glasses.  She lives in a nursing home in the Cathedral Close but, apart from having her meals prepared for her, she can look after herself entirely – although, because she recently fell in her room and broke her wrist, she isn’t taking her normal daily walk (uphill) to the city centre for morning coffee at Jarrolds at present.

I’ve remembered the finer points of Jimmy’s look-see.  In fact, that was what he said.  Not “I’ll take a look see”, but “Jimmy will take a look-see,” which was the reason the expression stuck. Glad to have got that one cleared up.  I will come back with more family sayings before long,  I’ll start it off and add yours as they come in – excellent ones already, thank you.

Weeza will bring Zerlina over in the morning.  She can come with me to the hairdresser, then we will have lunch and then do our cooking.  Not quite sure how Sunday will work at present as I have to go to church twice (I’m not that devout, it’s duty calling) and I think that Grandpa will have to be roped in to help out.  Phil and Weeza will come for lunch, assuming that the baby hasn’t put in an appearance by then.  He has turned back to front, unfortunately – or rather front to front – he’s correctly upside down but facing the wrong way so Weeza is uncomfortable.

Yes, Jane

I done a lol (copyright Vicus, I believe, whom I acknowledge with thanks) when I read the comments in Liz’s post about her hamless sandwich.  It reminded me of a story my mother told, when she was a young woman in the Land Army.  Most of the farm workers were called up, and the farmers, who were two brothers, some once-retired men and the Land Girls worked the farm.  One day, they all sat down in the harvest field together to eat their packed lunches (my mother lodged with the farmers and their mother so Mother did the pack-ups) and someone noticed Old Bob gloomily peering between two slices of bread.  “What you got for dinner, Bob?” he asked.  “Piece of bread cut with a hammy knife,” he replied.  Which expression, of course, entered family folklore.

Expressions do, don’t they? Sometimes, it’s something that’s said that strikes someone as funny, sometimes it’s a misused or mispronounced word, especially by a child – if the last of these, you have to be careful where you say it, as outside the family circle it looks as if you don’t know how to say it.

In particular, we use expressions that refer back to old friends of my mother’s, who lived in Wrentham (really can’t be doing with putting that backwards) when she did.  Jimmy and Ruby.  Ruby loved to come up behind you, put her hands on your waist and give a tickle.  I loathed it, I have to say, and she finally stopped doing it when, overwrought one day, I cried.  Yes, I was nearer 40 than 30, but it just got too much.  Anyway, now, a little tickle is called Rubying.

Jimmy boasts two expressions, one bearing his name.  If asked a question that involved some checking – for example, the time, if there was a car outside, who was at the door, he’d offer to take a look-see.  So this became a Jimmy-look-see, shortened to Jim.  We all say it – ‘I’ll just go and have a jim, I’ll let you know.”

He also rather loved home-spun philosophy, and would treat the most trite expression as worthy of great respect, especially when uttered by my mother, of whom he was very fond.  Whatever she said, he would ponder for a while and reply, simply but meaningfully, “Yes, Jane.’  So, if you ever tell me something pretty obvious or come out with a cliché (not that my mum often did, but the expression exaggerates for effect), expect me to say, with just a hint of sarcasm, “Yes, Jane.”

Terribly tempting to come back to family sayings, I probably will before long.

It’s only fair to give you a picture of Jimmy and Ruby, in celebratory mood.

Nearly a baker’s dozen

I thought that you might like to see the cupcakes.  Here you go…

I apologise for the unseemly amount of leg on display; I wasn’t wearing that short a skirt but it seems to have gone for a ride.  Weeza’s sitting room floor is not on the huh, it’s the way she took the photo.  And Zerlina was allowed a dummy, which she normally only has in bed, because we thought she still might have a short nap – she didn’t.

I’m also reposting a picture of the figs I picked from our tree a few years ago, I think it would have been in September.  I probably ate nearly all of them myself in two or three days.  I like fresh figs.

I’ve been debating with Dave, in the comment box, whether it is a greater show of self-discipline to refuse a cupcake altogether or to accept it but leave the icing, assuming you like icing.  For me, it would be the latter (although not in the case of a cake, because I am not bothered about icing, not having a very sweet tooth).

I have no difficulty with leaving food on my plate; once I’m full I am unable to eat more.  If that means that food is wasted I can’t help that; eating food I don’t want would still be wasting the food, it’s just treating my stomach as a dustbin.  I’d rather not do that.  But leaving something that is both tasty and moreish, that I could manage, is not that easy.  I can refuse chocolate, leave it unstarted or eat a single chocolate (from a box or a square broken from a block).  But eating half a Crunchie/Mars/similar ‘one serving’ bar, I find extremely difficult, even though I’m not very fond of them – too sweet, and I prefer dark chocolate anyway.  I can cut it in half, share it and not miss the uneaten part, but breaking it in two, eating some and leaving the rest is a real test of willpower for me.

I only ate one cupcake, by the way.  Weeza said she had one of them for breakfast this morning – she recommends.  I have suggested that Zerlina come to stay on Friday for the weekend.  I thought we could make sausage rolls, with jam tarts from the pastry trimmings, perhaps.

Labourer in waiting

I spent the day with Weeza again.  It was the same when she was expecting Zerlina, she was glad of maternal support.  Last time it was her first baby, this time she has a nearly-three-year-old (and the childminder on holiday) to look after.  This morning, Zerlina and I made cupcakes.  Yes, I know that I normally say fairy cakes, in the proper, traditional manner, but they were made using a Hummingbird recipe, so I will call it what the shopkeeper calls it, because that’s only fair.  Admittedly, we only made half the given quantity of icing.  The big thing about the cupcake fad is the quantity of icing.  More than cake.  Huge.  Tasty, but too much.

It all went very well and we each ate a cupcake after lunch.  Then Zerlina went for her nap, but she was too cheerful to sleep and she sang and talked to herself for nearly an hour.  Weeza gave her an early supper and I trust there were not tears before bedtime from anyone.

I offered to have Zerlina to stay, but I hadn’t really thought it through.  The childminder returned from holiday today, and z is due to go to her tomorrow and Wednesday.  Those were the nights I’d meant to offer; I’m busy on Thursday.

In the garden, I noticed ripe figs dangling over Weeza’s neighbour’s fence over the footpath that separates their two gardens.  I mentioned them.  Weeza said that she had left them the first year and they had dropped, unpicked.  Since, she has rescued them.  We saved seven figs and I brought two of them home.  Well, *home* – they didn’t last the journey, I’m afraid.  The Sage is not fond of figs, though I suspect it is only because he expects the hard seeds of the imported sort.  He did go out to check our fig tree and found that none was ripe, but eleven of his apples were.  He was very pleased.

I received several emails during the day = that is, several that counted as letters, so are very welcome.  I have to reply to the business ones tonight, but others will be answered, with much pleasure.  Thank you.

Dainty Z

It seems that it’s my tiny little delicate paws that are the difficulty.  I simply wasn’t pushing the end of the pump hard enough on to the valve on the bike tyre.  The Sage has succeeded in pumping up the tyre now, and so I can go out and do my shopping by bicycle.  Yay.

You can probably tell, that was a yay said without much enthusiasm.  It’s only because I wish to support my local shops that I don’t buy everything on the internet.  It was jolly useful when Al had his shop, I could ring him up and ask him to bring stuff home with him.  He did deliver in fact, and one of his customers used to phone all the local shops, get them to deliver what she wanted to him and then he would take it all to her.  She was elderly and couldn’t get out easily and it was ideal, saving time and trouble for everyone.  Everyone for Al, that is, but he was going to her anyway so it was little more bother.

I was talking to Weeza tonight on the phone.  I rang to see how she is: fine, still pregnant.  It’s Zerlina’s birthday in less than two weeks and we were talking about her presents and what to get her that she will be able to use with little or no help.  Weeza was a bit rueful about the thought that she won’t get all the attention for much longer.  “You might not have thought much about having siblings when you were young,” I said.  “You must be glad of them now though.  Just think, otherwise, your father and I would be your entire responsibility.”  She acknowledged that it is a burden she is glad to be able to share.  Especially now that we realise how puny my finger muscles are.

Out of puff

My mother always professed herself unable to deal with any sort of technology.  “Not if it’s got more than two working parts, darling,” she would say.  She confided once that this started as a self-defence mechanism.  When she and my father were first married, they ran a hotel and, when short of staff, took over whatever job needed to be done.  She said that she would do anything except work behind the bar, and he had done everything short of chambermaiding.  She made sure that she wouldn’t be expected to work machinery, however, by pretending not to understand it and, in time, became actually unable to cope with it at all.

I generally quite like getting on and having a go at such things – even with teenagers in the house I was first to learn how to programme the video, for instance – but pumping up a bicycle tyre has defeated me again.  I  used to have difficulty with car tyres, but finally mastered the machines at a petrol station through necessity.  However, today I set out to do my shopping and decided, by the time I got to the end of the drive, that the tyre was a bit soft.  Getting off and prodding it confirmed that, so I went back home and got out the foot-operated pump.

Ten minutes later, all I had achieved was letting all the air out.  The only consolation was that, when the Sage got home, he was unable to work it either.

I feel such a fool.  Last time I had the same problem, I tried to look it up on the internet, but it was too basic.  It’s so simple that there are no instructions.  Indeed, when Phil showed me, I was able to do it easily, but there’s evidently something vital I’ve forgotten.  I’ll have to take the bike over in the car when I next go to Weeza’s and get him to do it for me.  I have got a hand-operated pump of course, though I’m not sure where it is right now because, although I can attach it all right, my puny little arms can’t actually put enough air into it to inflate it from scratch.

Seems that I may have to put one foot in front of the other for the next few days.  I don’t mind walking, if I have to, but I can’t be doing with carrying a whole lot of shopping about.  Either I drive or we go hungry.

Yew think about it

What happens in this household is, one of us has an idea and we all get quite excited.  Then we think about it and, indeed, sometimes the mere verbal expression of thought (impulse, quite often) makes the speaker pick all the required holes in the idea and it goes no further … except that it forms a series of links and it is not uncommon for a more practical idea to come out of it at the end.  Once in a while, the first idea is the best.

I took Weeza to show her where we are thinking of putting the summerhouse.  It is not in a good position now.  It was all right when the laurel hedge was by the lawn, but since we removed that, three or four years ago (one of our better decisions, beastly thing) it has just looked odd.  And, to be honest, we never used it much because we prefer sitting on the lawn itself. Mostly it was used for storing lawn furniture, until the Sage started to put in old bikes and stuff too.  Anyway, moles have undermined its foundations and it needs to be taken apart, refurbished and re-erected, so that would be a good opportunity to move it altogether.

This is a large space overall, and you would think there would be a good choice of sites, but there isn’t.  It could go on the edge of the lawn, but a lot of work would have to be done on levelling the site.  The Sage came up with an idea which was rubbish.  Then I suggested somewhere else, which might do, but isn’t ideal for various reasons, mainly because it would mean removing a wall containing a raised bed; no great loss, but a lot of work.

So, being a sensible Z, I asked Weeza what she thought.  She suggested another situation which we are quite taken with – but it would be very close to the yew.  This is the yew.  The summerhouse would be just to its right, where the log pile is (that’s the logs from the dead oak that fell down a year ago, waiting to be split).

If the yew were well sited in the first place, that would be one thing.  But you can also see the reason for it being cut hard back to the trunk on one side.

It’s right by the drive, and has broken the edging.  I’m not quite sure why it was ever planted there, right by the kerb.  Or possibly, left there when the kerb was put in.  It has to be cut right back periodically, the last time was three or four months back.  It grows slowly, but all that bare wood will be covered in new growth by next year.

From the other side, this is how it looks –

In the foreground, the dead wood is a rosemary which, after twenty years, finally died back in the spring when it was so dry.  I didn’t notice until it was too late.

There is about half a mile of hedge around our fields, all native British species and we leave it to grow naturally as far as possible, just cutting back as necessary against the road.  It really goes against the grain to consider cutting down a healthy tree, but sometimes it can be the most sensible action.  If we decide to leave it, it will need some more pruning to improve its shape.

Actually, I wish people wouldn’t plant trees in the wrong place to start with.  My mother used to do that, she never took growth into account.  I used to point out how large one would be after twenty years, and she’d say that she would be dead by then.  I’d say that, even if so, that would mean that a healthy tree in its prime would have to be cut down because it was too close to the house.

Anyway, no hurry.  I’m going to keep looking for a good site for the summerhouse.

Questions, questions

Now, I should like to conduct a short questionnaire, if you would be so kind as to give me your opinions.

1. When you give their origin a few minutes of careful thought, which of these is the most gross?

a) eggs

b) milk

c) honey

If you would care to explain your reasoning, I should be most appreciative.

2. Today, it has been mostly rainy.  Still, it’s good for the garden, innit?

3. We’re considering cutting down the yew tree and re-erecting the summerhouse in its place – or rather, right next to it.  The reasons for cutting down the tree are that it would keep light from the summerhouse, the pollen is very dusty, birds eat the berries and there are really messy droppings in the area and that yew is extremely poisonous and I’d worry that needles might be accidentally ingested in our picnic.

Is this cruelty to trees and does it matter?

Little girl in waiting

We have seen Weeza several times this week already and she will probably come over here again tomorrow.  Less than a fortnight before the baby is due, with a very energetic toddler and the childminder on holiday, both she and Zerlina want distractions.

I’m wondering how you manage with the birth of your second child when you haven’t got family on hand to look after the first.  Zerlina knows that she may be packed off for a day or two to us because Mummy will be busy having her little brother, and she’s looking forward to it.  She is also looking forward to being a big sister.  Weeza has been putting in some work on that!  There had been a few ‘incidents’ recently, when Zerlina was reluctant to leave what she was doing to use the loo, so a star chart was drawn up and it’s been quite a hit.  The only reward is stickers, but that’s fine.  As well as the lavatory, tidying things away and lovely behaviour are mentioned, and it’s having an excellent effect.  When I was there on Monday, she suddenly announced that she would tidy up all her toys and did so, and she didn’t even ask for a sticker.  She already eats pretty well anything put in front of her, tidily and with cutlery, and she makes no fuss about bed or nap times.  It’s pretty impressive parenting on Weeza’s part, I think.

Having said which, she is very strong willed and sometimes, because she gets that from her mother, there are some battles of wills going on.   She was a little fractious this afternoon because she had got too hot while she was asleep.  Weeza went off to the hairdresser and z was a little querulous until I took her out into the garden, where she went on her swing.  She loves that.  Later, she did some painting, mostly on her tummy.

It has rained this evening.  It’s still warm though.  I’m not complaining about the heat, at least it’s seasonal.  I’ve done most of my work on the iPad, sitting outside in the shade.