Wandering lonely as a couple of clouds

Like the rest of Britain, we're having a heat wave after a very cold spring. Of course one should be pleased, but actually it makes it difficult to do things outside. The sun has made my face go all red itchy blotches - so attractive. It's too hot to garden with any energy or walk during the day with any speed. However, Mr Life and I went for a wander along the nearby cycle path, which is a former railway line. The first picture here could be the middle of nowhere, don't you think? But actually on the other side of that field is the main road to Glasgow and the west and the city centre is only a couple of miles away.

(Oh, grrr, I do find this new Blogger arrangement difficult. I have to keep struggling to get the words anywhere near the right pictures.) Here you can see what used to be the platform for the trains. Mr Life and I were once cycling here with the children when he rode up on to the platform and managed to fall off, ripping his shorts from back to front on a shrub (no longer there) and transforming them into a sort of kilt. Quite hard to cycle home thus attired.

But here he is now, quite respectable.

I love the scent of hawthorn - it reminds me of my youth.

These are - what are they? Celandines? Sort of buttercuppy things, anyway.

Cow parsley - sweet-smelling and pretty in flower arrangements but, in my experience, somewhat covered in greenfly. Bring it inside at your peril.

And these... I used to be a Girl Guide and knew wild flowers quite well. Now most of them have entered the category of Things I Used To Know. I've just tried Googling "purple wild flowers", found a picture of them and clicked in triumph. They were labelled "purple wild flowers". Thanks, Google.

(PS On trying harder, I think I've established that the purple flowers are annual honestry, lunaria annua. And the buttercuppy things are.. buttercups.)

 

A night out

My computer is being glacially slow tonight. I don't know whether it's the computer or Google, but things are taking ages to load (do I mean load?) and though pictures claimed to be loading, they never did. So I've given up.

I've just come back from seeing my friend D in the chorus of a production of "Carmen". The chorus are amateurs but the principals are all wonderful young professionals who take part for no fee, just the exposure. It was very well done but it's possible that some of the chorus were slightly elderly for their parts. Soldiers doddered around, hopefully ogling the 22-year-old Carmen with their ancient rheumy eyes, and holding back with their spindly arms the crowd of (in some cases) rather solid lady pensioners in the part of cigarette girls who smiled seductively with a few more wrinkles than Bizet may have envisaged.

Well, I might be exaggerating a bit and it sounded great. They all gave it ladly, as we say in Scotland: threw themselves into it. D, who's slightly older than me but slim and doesn't allow herself to have grey hair, looked impressive. She has a striking face and could easily be Spanish.

I shall probably be singing "Toreador" around the house for some days. Lucky Mr Life.

Baby love

When you're a parent, you can't really boast too much about your child's beauty/intelligence/virtue, can you? You know in yourself that your child is the most amazing infant ever produced, but you have to be a bit modest about this.

However, when you're a grandparent it's much more socially acceptable to pontificate about your grandchild's amazing qualities. Or at least, I'm hoping it is... . Grandson is such a sweetie. His skin is so peachy soft and his smile is so bright and his giggle is so giggly and he's so cute when he waves his hands and bounces up and down with excitement. I'd half forgotten the physical pleasure of being around small babies - it's almost like being in love and you adore the round little arms, firm bouncy cheeks and shiny eyes.

It does make me a bit sad to realise that when he grows up, he'll only ever think of me as an old lady. When he's 15, I'll be 76. When I was 15, my grandmothers were 70 and 80, and even the 70-year-old seemed ancient and a bit wobbly to me (though lovely).

Still, at the moment I imagine he sees me as big and strong and able to do things for him. And he's much too small to object to being picked up and cuddled. I shall continue to take advantage of this as long as possible.

Cassie the stop-out

This is Cassie Cat at the weekend, having a snooze on snoozing Son-in-Law 1's legs. What a gift it is to be able to relax with a clear conscience.

Which I can't do at the moment because it's 11.45 pm and she's not in for the night yet. Usually we shut the cat flap around six, but it was a beautiful day today (the first for some time) and I yielded to her indignant request to go out again once she'd had a snack at 6.30. I knew I'd regret it. And I'm regretting it. I expect that she's fine and will come in safe and sound in her own good time, but meanwhile I'm imagining her being chased by foxes and badgers.

PS - I switched off my computer, walked through to the living room and there she was, sitting on the footstool. "I wish you wouldn't worry," she said calmly. "I can look after myself."

90 again

Yesterday we had the third and final celebration of my mum's 90th birthday - and her third cake. First one at Crieff, before the actual day, with my brother and family; second on the birthday with Daughter 1, Son-in-Law 1 and Grandson; and third yesterday with all the offspring, SIL 1 and future DIL as well as Mr Life's aunt, uncle and cousin. For some reason I decided not to do the buffet salad that I usually put together when entertaining largish numbers. I felt I should be a bit more ambitious. So as part of my menu I picked two recipes that I'd never done before - WHY? - and cooked for about 36 hours.

We're complicated to feed because SIL 1 eats fish but not meat, my mum also likes fish, Mr Life doesn't and prefers meat, the girls and I are vegetarian... . I was also aiming to do all the preparation in advance so that I could just calmly whip things out of the oven when it was time to eat. And this did indeed happen, but there was a vast amount of washing up beforehand in preparation for what I fondly saw as one-dish choices. So we had one pot chicken casserole (yes, you end up with one pot, having used every pot you possess as you go along), easy salmon with broccoli (the word "easy" is slightly misleading there) and chick pea fritters (yup, a serious fiddle, just as you would think, though I'd made them before so you'd think I might have known better.) And raspberry choux ring and chocolate mousse, which are standbys but don't exactly make themselves.  

Anyway, it was fine and seemed to go down well and there are a lot of leftovers (because you have to cook enough so that the omnivores can have whatever they like), which is good because if I never have to cook again in my life, that'll be splendid.

Daughter 2 introduced Grandson to some Weebles - wobbly men. He liked them a lot. (Do you see that black thing in his left hand, Ali Honey? That's one of your coasters!)

He played with his squeaky carrot, a firm favourite.

It was so nice to have Son and Daughter 2 together. He lives up north, she lives down south and their visits don't often coincide.

On the other hand, it's so horrible once they go away again.

Tomorrow I take my mum to the oncologist to discuss the bits of cancer which appear to remain in her innards. Hmm.

Wearing Mummy's hat

Oh, the joys of simple fun!

When I get older...

I have never been much of a fan of pop music, but quite liked the Beatles in my youth and used to sing along to songs such as "When I'm sixty four". Of course, I was never personally going to be sixty four. And indeed I'm not there yet, but Mr Life achieved this age yesterday. Very astonishing. I do still need and feed him and he is handy from time to time - mending a fuse and other such activities.

Grandson, Daughter 1 and SIL 1 helped us to celebrate. Goodness, the boy does manage to scatter his toys over a wide area.

We gave him a phone that doesn't work. He was pleased to add it to his toy collection. What a jolly chap he is - very cheering.

Someone on the radio this morning said that Greece's economic situation is like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff - and that the rest of Europe isn't far behind Greece. Let's hope that someone knows what to do about this. So far it's not looking terribly like it.