Change...

Yesterday we went up north to visit Son's future in-laws and discuss the wedding. He is is the third and last of our children to get married.

We drove over the Forth Road Bridge. It makes a nasty clunking noise as you pass over the joins. It looks a long way down.

We passed the Lomond hills.

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The in-laws are very nice but discussing one's children's wedding isn't the most relaxing thing to do. We were all trying to be very "Oh, whatever you think" about it.

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Then we collected my brother at the airport on the way back.

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Today the house agent phoned to say that my mum's flat sale has gone through and is now final. Hurray!

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We have till May 4th to dispose of... quite a lot of things.

Corny

I filled up the car with petrol yesterday and went to pay. The two girls behind the counter were chatting.
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One said to the other, "Remember when I had a frozen shoulder and you diagnosed it?"
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The other said, "Aye, and I've got no university degrees nor nothin'."
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The middle-aged man who was paying the second girl for his petrol tried to be flirtatious: "I've got a corn. What would you suggest for that?"
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She didn't look at him. She didn't pause for breath. She said, "Cook it."

Archives and other detritus

The other day, when Mr Life excavated the attic to find our children's old rattles, we decided that we should remove all the other stuff that we were vaguely aware was there, in order to investigate it and probably throw most of it away. So now it's all in Son's bedroom. I've got to the stage of opening plastic bags and going "Umm..." and also taking some of it out and going "Well...".
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It's all stuff that had some sort of sentimental or historical(ish) importance. The trouble is that keeping things for thirty years makes it even harder to throw it out. It now seems more historical than before. In the bottom of the cardboard box above, you see the lowest archaeological layer of random archives: letters, diaries, the pamphlet for the hospital where I had the children with its useful information for expectant mothers... .

This is now in the throw-out pile - it's my record of teaching and observation from when I was a student teacher.

Here is a pile of my school reports. Can't explain why the photo is sideways. When I was six years eight months I got Very Good in most subjects but was "slow in completing her sum cards in her anxiety to produce very tidy work". No. I was slow in completing my sum cards because I was bored out of my mind with them.

Why did I keep three - THREE! - ten shilling notes? They haven't been legal tender since ??? 1971 or something but were worth quite a lot then. You could buy lots of books for thirty shillings.

The first Valentine that Mr Life sent me. 1968.

And one I drew for him, somewhat later.

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And I have about a dozen - maybe more - old newspapers from various points in my life, all rather yellowing and foosty.

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I should just throw it all out without looking at it any further. But... .

And - relax

Isn't my amaryllis looking fine? I can never bear to throw them away after they've flowered so I have a rather large collection and they never look at all interesting for 360 days of the year, so I'm keen to admire their beauty when they are flowering.

Thank you for your suggestions for our viewing. Duly noted. We've now watched three episodes of "Desperate Housewives" and I'm getting sucked in. It's interesting how Americans seem to like "Downton Abbey" and other British things (I couldn't get into "DA" though I didn't really try very hard, being busy at the time) and we're watching American programmes. Part of what I quite like about "DH" is the perfection of their houses and gardens and yes, I realise that it's all completely unrealistic but all the same it's quite beguiling. (Why doesn't my house look like that? And my grass?) And of course I want to know why Mary Alice killed herself and what was in the trunk that her husband threw in the lake. Or was it a river? (Though I could actually - and probably will - persuade Daughter 2 to tell me.)

Gosh, we've had a stressful few days, though, concerning our daughters' work. Daughter 1 got herself all worried about going to meetings today in her place of employment to discuss her going back to work - but it all went well and in fact they've reorganised things to make her job less impossible to do in the time available - which is good. And Daughter 2 may be about to change jobs ... which hopefully will turn out well but ... anyway. As she said in a recent email, Eeeek.

You never consider such matters when you decide to have a baby. You don't envisage any of the real stresses, such as them getting jobs, not getting jobs, finding partners, finding jobs where their partners are ... .

While Daughter 1 was at these three (three!) meetings, I was taking my mother on a theatre visit and Mr Life was babysitting. It's a long time since he looked after a baby all by himself - indeed I don't remember it ever happening very often - but all went well and he's now slumped on the sofa in the recovery position, draped in cats.

Big Bang - gone!

Here's the young man today in his new jacket. I do hope that he retains his sunny outlook. It's so wonderful to come into the room and be greeted by a big smile.
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Disaster! Mr Life and I have come to the end of our little festival of "The Big Bang Theory" viewing. We've watched series 1-4 on DVD and the five episodes of series 5 that have been broadcast here so far. I'm bereft. Daughter 2 has lent us her box set of "Desperate Housewives" so we're trying that - two episodes watched so far. It seems a bit complicated but we'll persevere.
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It's the first time in my life that I've been able to watch something on tv every night. It's a strange feeling. I keep feeling that I must have marking to do. However, I do have piano practice - three new tunes! - goodness! - so I must go and make a start.

The boys

Today we went to Perth to visit Son in his newish house. Grandson sat in a chair like a Big Boy.

Then he sat on the floor. Note the classic rattles. (Son and his future wife haven't yet had time to do any decorating or to demolish the rather horrid "stone" wall in the living room.)

Grandson admired Son's trainers.

Naturally, Son tried them on him.

Just a bit big.

Then Son made a phone call. I fear he may be a bad influence on his nephew - note the sticking-out tongue.

Later we went out to lunch and they behaved themselves.

Pom POM, pom

Mr Life and I went to the Botanics this afternoon and strolled around in a retired sort of way. The daffodils were very pretty.

As were the hellebores.

And the camellias.

And here's pretty Mr Life in front of some rhododendrons.

Then we came home and he sat at his miniature railway workbench to ... not very sure ... make little holes in bits of plastic, or at least that's what he was doing when I took the picture.

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And so another day passed. Oh, and I did quite a bit of piano practice (well, several lots of ten minutes) because my lesson is tomorrow. My teacher told me last week to practise my ragtime pieces of music and "make them into party pieces". Hmm. Not sure I'd invite anyone to this party, but I'm improving.

Retro rattles

What have we been doing this weekend? Well, I decided that it was time to unearth from the attic what I remembered to be one of the world's largest collection of rattles. Daughter 1 particularly, as a baby, took a lot of entertaining if I were ever to succeed in doing the dishes or changing the beds. Above, you see some of the items with which I used to attempt to divert her. Since I hoped to be a granny one day, I didn't get rid of these once the youngest (Son) had passed the rattle stage. These are only the small baby toys. I have lots more for later stages of development.
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I spent quite a long time washing them.

Grandson tested them out today. That yellow one beside his foot is Daughter 1's very first rattle. I referred to them as "antique" rattles but she took slight exception to the term and suggested "retro".

He had fun with them, whatever they are.

Meanwhile, Mr Life began tackling my list of Things I Want You To Do Once You Retire by making a door for this shelf. It holds our hats and scarves and gloves and can get rather messy in the winter, when we keep going in and out, taking such items on and off the shelf. I didn't take a "before" picture but you can imagine what it looked like: a shelf.

And now look: a wee cupboard. There is a slight unforeseen snag, which is that since the door folds down to be horizontal and sticking outwards (see first shelf picture) and I am not as tall as Mr Life, I now can't quite reach the back. But a plaintive cry brings Mr Life running, so that's ok.

Then, neatly swerving from my List, he made himself a little work station (this is it folded up, but it's like a little desk with a light) for working on his model railway layout (not that he has one yet but he has ambitions. No, I don't really understand why either, but you know. If it makes him happy.). As you can see, this doubles as a cat lookout station.

And my amaryllis is flowering nicely.

As are my supermarket daffodils.

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I sometimes wonder how we cope with the excitement.

That little chap again

Today I volunteered (I'm so kind) to go over to Daughter 1's and entertain Grandson while Daughter 1 got on with stuff. I found him sitting on his mat, playing very busily with his toys. I love watching him examining everything and experimenting to see which bits he can twiddle, rattle, press and so on.

After a bit, we went for a walk down to Duddingston. Yes, it did rain for a while, but you know: it's winter. Actually it was very mild and the air was soft and fresh. We passed the new Holyrood School building, which looks out on the view in the photo above, only from higher up because the school building is taller than I am.

Here's the school. It has balconies, presumably for appreciating the view (which looks better in sunshine, like most views). I was a teaching student at Holyrood School in 1973, in the old building, which was relatively new then (and was a nice building, unlike many 60s buildings which I would be happy to see demolished). I remember a class in which the teacher got the kids to study the Beatles' song "Eleanor Rigby" as if it was a poem. I think he thought he was being very trendy but in fact, in 1973 the Beatles probably seemed a bit old hat.

Today I felt very happy to be outside, looking at the school, rather than inside, facing a class.

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Then we walked on and into Doctor Neil's garden, which I've blogged about before. There were in fact two Doctor Neils, married to each other, so it really ought to be "Doctor Neils' garden" but that's not what it's called. The doctors are now dead and the garden is open to the public, but Grandson and I were the only members of the public there today, possibly because of the rain (though it was no longer raining by the time we got there).

(I would find this post much easier to write if Cassie were not sitting on my knee and Sirius were not intermittently jumping up on my back. Ow.) You can just see the school at the top right hand side of the bush to the left of this picture. It must be nice for the teachers as well as the pupils, having something lovely to look at in that dead time between a teacher asking the class a question and... someone answering.

The garden is beside Duddingston Loch and Arthur's Seat, our city hill.

You can see - not in my photos but along a bit - the remains of terracing cut into the hill by Iron Age farmers over 2000 years ago. And Bronze Age artefacts - about 4000 years old - were found in the loch in 1778.

The heather is more recent, though.

I just love this place. I love the hill and the loch. I even like the soft smirr of rain which makes the grass so green. You wouldn't think you were in a city.

How nice for Grandson to enjoy such beauty.

Except that he... kind of missed it. I'm sure the fresh air did him good, though.

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The survey on my mum's flat was satisfactory, hurray hurray. You may now partially uncross your fingers - thank you.

Wolfgang Amadeus Life

Yes, I realise that this post has far too many almost identical pictures of Grandson, but I couldn't decide between them and anyway, the Other Grandparents (hello!) like to read this blog. They do so not to admire my prose style or my photos of crocuses but to see pictures of this little chap. Like us, they are his devoted fans. In the photo above, you can see him ignoring the many rattles on which I have squandered my meagre pension and instead playing with the plastic bowl from a mini Christmas pudding.

He also likes his shoes and has ambitions to eat them.

This is a favourite toy. When his mum was a baby, she liked chewing the telephone cord and for some reason now forgotten, we got the cord replaced (possibly because she chewed it) and I rescued this bit. Amazingly, we still have it. (Actually it's not amazing at all because with great foresight and a certain amount of indolence, I've failed to get rid of lots of the children's toys, hoping that I'd one day have grandchildren to play with them.)

And now he's got one of those plastic shapes, some of which you'll see in the pink bowl at his feet (another Christmas pudding leftover - does this family do nothing but eat supermarket pudding?). These shapes also used to belong to our children.

One day I will possibly regret revealing to him that you can make a noise on a piano.

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(I wonder how long it'll be before he's better at playing it than I am? At the moment, this is not the case.)

Crocuses again

After my piano lesson today, I walked across Bruntsfield Links, among the crocuses.

I wouldn't care for a purple and yellow dress, but it does look good as a spring splash of colour.

Then I crossed the Meadows on my way down to Princes Street. As I did so, I thought of my maternal grandfather, who lived near here as a boy and played various sports in the Meadows. (The sporting gene didn't come down to my brother and me.) It's a wonderful green space which, in warm weather, is full of young people playing games or sunbathing or picnicking - it's near university buildings and residences. Not that my grandfather was able to go to university, though he was a clever man. He became a compositor - printer - the person who set the type, in mirror image; so he had to be able to spell backwards. He would have liked to be a doctor, but there was no money in the family for education past the age of - I don't know - fourteen, I imagine.

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Mind you, he was a bit grumpy and opinionated. Not sure that he would have made a very soothing doctor.

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The potential buyers are sending a surveyor to inspect my mum's flat tomorrow. Let's hope he doesn't see any snags.