I’ve been given a number of letters to write over the last couple of days.  It’s a bit startling, so late in the term, but I’ve got two of them done and the others will be written over the weekend.  It’s an interesting exercise as they all need slightly different styles.  My formal letter-writing is nothing like what you read here, I take a lot of time and trouble over it for a start.  Here, darlings, you get spontaneous (yes, that’s the kind word) writing that breaks as many rules of English as I like.  I’d never start a sentence with ‘And’ or ‘But,’ never end one with a preposition, though nor would I fall into the ‘up with which I would not put’ trap either, not use colloquialisms nor keep reusing the same adjective in a proper letter.

This evening, I raked up the dry grass that had been strimmed from the verge down the drive and dead-headed delphiniums and roses, as well as doing the nightly watering of pots.  It was a mark of relaxation and of having some time to spare – that is, the weather was too lovely to waste by getting on with things indoors.  I did spend a while finding cutlery and utensils for the annexe for when Miriam comes to stay.  I’m still thinking about china and hoping to dig out something suitable from a cupboard.  She could have some of ours but I’d have to borrow it back if the whole family comes for lunch.  I have to admit, this is not very likely while the Aga is off, though I suppose I could do a cold meal with salad.

It’s Ro’s birthday next week and, now he’s a home-owner, I’m buying him a domestic-type present: ie a barbecue.  I’ll pick it up tomorrow, having reserved it in the shop.  As you know (well, most of you do), I’ve resolved to ignore my birthday, which is in about six weeks time.  But I’m weakening a bit and wondering whether to force friends to ‘celebrate’ with me after all.  Not on the day, I’ve got a meeting, though I’ve ascertained that someone will bring CAKE!

I’ve only ever had one birthday party since childhood and that was my fortieth.  I had the urge to celebrate, I’m not sure why.  We’ve only ever had one anniversary party, other than family ones, and that was a surprise one thrown by the children for our 25th.  We ignored our fortieth anniversary – on the whole, it all seems rather artificial and I don’t mark specific dates.  And I really don’t like a fuss being made over me.  I prefer parties that aren’t centred round a ‘me’ occasion.  But I’m a bit conscious of how short-lived my family tends to have been and I know that it’s daft not to grab every opportunity to have fun with friends.

I dunno.  Still undecided.  Still, if you have been, thanks for listening.

9 comments on “Rosebud-gathering

  1. janerowena

    On the night of my 40th after dithering, i panicked and was most upset that I hadn’t organised a party. I went to bed after s long day and Paul stayed up. The next day I discovered during a meal at my favourite pub that he had invited everyone in my phone book by ringing them up until 1am! It was lovely but such short notice that I received some very odd gifts, so funny.

  2. Z

    It takes a well-fitting low-cut dress not to gape when you’re picking rosebuds, LX. I’m guessing there’s deliberate symbolism in the picture of virgins picking roses whilst using nothing to protect their hands…

    I might be in the mood for a burst balloon in an empty honey pot, Roses!

  3. Blue Witch

    *Puts note on calendar to send burst balloon in honey pot to Z’s in early September.*

    Any particular colour choice?

    I think that one’s own birthday parties are only ever any fun if somone else does all the work.

  4. Liz

    I like Roses’ ‘any excuse to celebrate’ motto.
    I had a party for my 40th. I enjoyed it and I’m glad I did it, but I’m in no hurry to organise anything on that scale again.

    I still like to celebrate my birthday; usually by going out for a nice meal, and I insist on doing something to mark Sir Bruin’s birthday too. I think that “I’m still here” is a very good reason to celebrate.

  5. Z

    Blue, of course, BW. And Mike, everyone is, at heart, at least one of the characters from Hundred Acre Wood. I’m a mixture of Piglet (wildly enthusiastic, a bit scared yet brave at heart, quite childish) and Eeyore.

    Liz, having heard of Mel Smith’s sudden death, I think I’d better not wait to celebrate anything.


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