Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Son has gone. Sigh.
Daughters have returned. Hurray!
Guinea pigs have been reunited with their loving owners. Good.
I've lost my camera. In the house (I think). This seems impossible, but I've done it. You'd think we lived in a mansion. I'm so frustrated by this. You haven't seen it, have you?
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
We were at a wedding on Saturday, which didn't help the preparations but which was a very happy occasion - and yet in some ways a sad one.
The bride's mother died about 18 months ago and her father made a very emotional speech in which he kept breaking down.
The groom, N, is the lovely, lovely son of a friend I met at teacher training college in 1972. He's the same age as Daughter 2 and just exactly the sort of young man I'd like for a son-in-law (though I love my actual son-in-law). His father died in tragic circumstances when he and his brother were, I think, 11 and 10, and my friend, who's a wonderful, positive, inspiring person with a huge enthusiasm for life, has brought up these two fantastic boys. The younger son, D, was the best man and made the most hilarious best man's speech I've ever heard. His comic timing was superb. Yet it was touching too: he paid tribute to his father and to the fact that, as he said, his mum had "shown [him and his brother] how to be men". Then, as an example, he quoted her saying, "N - teach D to shave!"
And I had such mixed emotions - the young couple are both very clever, very good-looking, very loved and very much in love. I hope life is wonderful for them. And yet, as the groom said, you don't know what lies in store and you must seize your happiness when you have the chance.
There were lots of handsome chaps dancing in whirling kilts, Anna.
I think this is the first wedding I've attended of a young man whose nappy I've changed.
Friday, December 18, 2009
I was at a dance. It was my sixth year (ie final year at school) dinner dance - the one and only social occasion organised by the school. I went to an all-girls' establishment so of course we had to invite boys as our partners to this dance. It was the greatest topic of conversation for months among all the girls: whom we'd ask, what we'd wear, what table we'd sit at for dinner and with whom.
Fashion was much more standard then. We almost all bought long, Empire line sleeveless dresses and low heeled shoes, usually silver or gold. Considering that we had to wear uniform to school, it seems strange now that most of us wore such similar styles to the dance; but we were fairly conformist young ladies. My dress was turquoise and my shoes silver with rosettes on the front.
I asked a young man whom I'd had my eye on for more than a year. At nineteen, he was a couple of years older than me. He was tall, quiet and good-looking, with beautiful thick black shiny hair. I knew him through the church; he was one of the young group who met at church activities and also did some things together in the evenings: played rounders in the local park and so on. I was kind of on the fringes of this group, being slightly younger than most of them, going to a different school and being very shy. However, I had to ask someone to this dance and so, too shy ask him directly, I wrote him a letter. And he accepted.
Had I known that, one evening 42 years later, he'd be sitting at his desk alongside mine in our study, I would have been extremely surprised. Yes, it was young Mr Life himself. He then asked me to his work dance a couple of weeks later; and we've been together ever since.
It astonishes me that this was 42 years ago. 42!
I'd also have been surprised to know that I'd be sitting here sadly missing three young people (though they'd have seemed pretty ancient to me at the time) - a thirty-year-old, a twenty-eight-year-old and a twenty-five-year old whom I'd never (at the time of the dance) met or even really imagined meeting. One of them, Daughter 1, is with her husband about a couple of miles from where I lived then; the two others are currently in Glasgow where Daughter 2 is visiting Son for the night.
I wouldn't have been so surprised to know that we now have cats. It's a chilly night. You can tell from Cassie's body language, can't you?
Well, well. All very astonishing. But it's worked out surprisingly well. I clearly had good taste when I was seventeen.
I love you, Mr Life.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
From a student, discussing a writer's style : "The writer uses a long list to emphifly the dangers of overeating."
"Emphifly" is a good word, don't you think? Sort of a mixture between "emphasise" and "exemplify", maybe? By the look of him, my Santa is a fine emphiflication of the dangers of too many mince pies.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
What are you / should you be doing?
And what would you rather be doing? (No scandalous answers, please.)
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
This week, for example:
* Like - I - like, don't even - like - like him.
* His reaction to any problem is to take his shirt off.
* I'm so excited. My brother's coming up from London and we're getting fake tans together. Well, not together. One at a time.
* I was lucky enough to be born cynical, so I'm never disappointed.
(I hardly ever react to problems by taking my shirt off, and though my brother sometimes comes up from London we've never shared a fake tan - not even one at a time. Maybe I should suggest it next time.)
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Tara! The lucky winners are Thimbleanna (the tree decoration), Loth (the elf) and Lesley (the wreath).
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Mutter mutter. Why can't I be one of the idle rich?
Still, I've started my Christmas shopping. Just. Now don't tell me if you're one of those people who have all theirs wrapped because I've got my fingers in my ears. Lalalalala - can't hear you.
Better get on. Reports don't write themselves.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Now, for once I'm having a little giveaway. No, sorry - you can't have one of my quilts. I'm not that generous. I've never been able to think of anything to offer before and my offers aren't terribly impressive since (hangs head in shame) I didn't make them. But still. It's the thought that counts. (Or so I tell myself.)
Here's the first little prize - no, it's not my son-in-law, who photographed himself at arm's length on his mobile phone in the car, modelling it. He doesn't look his best here. He's a handsome lad. Personally I don't think that the purple shiny thing adds much to the beauty of the prize (I'm not a great fan of purple and it doesn't match the wreath) but it makes a nice tinkly noise and you could always remove it.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Earlier in the week, a card had been put through our door saying that we should go and collect a parcel at the depot, since we'd been out when the deliverer had tried to deliver it. We couldn't think what it could be since we hadn't ordered anything and it was a bit early for a Christmas present. So we assumed it was something uninteresting such as a catalogue we hadn't requested for things we didn't want.
Anyway, this morning I was rapidly throwing some soup together (so that it would be ready at when we came home again at lunch time) when Mr Life returned from the depot with the parcel. For me. It had a return name and address and I recognised the name as belonging to Linds (http://lindslangdon.blogspot.com/).
But how did she know my name and address?? I opened the parcel and found...
... this. (Not the sofa. The quilt.)
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Lullaby by Rosemary Norman
Go to sleep, Mum,
I won't stop breathing, suddenly, in the night.
Go to sleep, I won't
Climb out of my cot and
Mum, I won't swallow
The pills the doctor gave you or
Put hairpins in electric
Sockets, just go to sleep.
I won't cry
When you take me to school and leave me
I'll be happy with other children
My own age.
Sleep, Mum, sleep.
Fall in the pond, play with matches,
Run under a lorry or even consider
Sweets from strangers.
No, I won't
Give you a lot of lip,
Not like some.
I won't sniff glue,
Fail all my exams,
Get myself /
My girlfriend pregnant.
I'll work hard and get a steady /
Really worthwhile job
I promise, go to sleep.
I'll never forget
To drop in / phone / write
I need any milk, I'll yell.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
And tonight? She's asleep in it. She and Cassie the Cat. Her lodger (a friend of a friend; no romantic involvement) went out of town to visit his parents tonight so she came home.
Yes, two nights away and one here. We might just about manage if it's a pattern like that.