Plodding

Recently the summer has been less than impressively summery, but today was very pleasant so we went for a walk by the Water of Leith. 

This chap has reappeared since we were last here. He's a self-portrait by Antony Gormley. There are five similar ones, mainly in the water, and they were knocked over by the force of the river in spate (according to the internet) in 2017. They're hinged, and designed to fall over rather than break. I would not myself enjoy seeing lots of me, naked (or even clothed) all over the city, but each to his own.

We've walked here often, but it's always enjoyable.

We came to Stockbridge.

It's nice to be in the city but away from all the bustle and noise.

A big sky in St Mark's Park.

Do you see the swan on its nest?

And then we got to Leith, where the river joins the sea and where we were glad to sit down and have a coffee. We haven't been walking as much as usual recently what with one thing and another, and five miles was enough for today. We need to get fitter!

A bit of hyperbole

 
It's such a lovely time of year - irises in the garden.

On Saturday we visited the Gardening Scotland show and enjoyed the exhibits in the Floral Hall. I love these carnations.

And I have a soft spot for streptocarpus, though this is the reason that I have too many of them... .

Beautiful paeonies, which I restrained myself from buying because my garden is TOO FULL.

On Sunday, the Edinburgh grandchildren were painting in the garden with big brushes. Biggest Granddaughter looked at her brother's creation and said (I wrote it down, so these are her exact words):

"That front bit of your train is so realistic, so unexpected, so elegant, so unique!"

She is a hoot. If possibly a bit over-the-top.

Then today we went up to visit our northern family. Small Grandson slept all the time we were there. So cute!

We went with Son and Middle Granddaughter to the park, where she ran, hopped, bounced, roundabouted and climbed. Son nobly and nimbly climbed after her. This was quite high and she's only 2 and three-quarters, so I'm glad he's fit!

Golden days

It's good to recall lovely days. So here are some pictures of two of them. On Saturday, Mr Life, Daughter 2 and I took Littlest Granddaughter (now a big cousin!) to the Botanics.

She enjoyed running through the willow tunnels.

We enjoyed the mecanopsis. I really must try harder to grow some in my garden. I think they like more space than I ever have to offer them. That blue!!

Littlest and her mum, admiring each other.

On Sunday, I decided to buy Middle Granddaughter a big sister present of a doll and a car seat for it. And very quickly (in snatches between returning home at lunch time, then going to the supermarket and then spending 7.30 - 9.45pm at choir) I rustled up a little quilt to go with it. I mention this not because it's a thing of beauty - which it absolutely isn't - but because I would never have had the confidence to imagine that I could do this in a few spare hours without a second thought before Thimbleanna took me in (mainly online) hand and made me a quilter (of sorts). Thank you, Anna! Mind you, I wouldn't have had the required stash either. Thank you for that too, Anna. (Oops.)

Son and family have two black cats.

We took it up on Monday morning when we met Little Grandson. Middle Granddaughter was quite intrigued, at least while we were there, though I'm not sure that her idea of getting a baby to shut his eyes would actually work for her little brother.

We went for a walk in the wood with Son and Middle.

There's the River Tay with the hills beyond. (The Ochils???)

There were some genuine, non-Spanish bluebells.

Memories to treasure. Count your blessings, Granny.

Lovely little people

Littlest Granddaughter and Daughter 2 were staying with us last week. Daughter 2 was working Monday-Thursday, so we looked after the little one. We did quite a lot of this...

and this...

and she did a bit of this...

and played with the dolls' house

and smiled and had some snacks

and had many cuddles and created much havoc.

Then yesterday they went away again and I was bereft.

Last Friday, Grandson 2 entered the world; our fifth grandchild. Today we went up to see him and his big sister (and his parents). He's a) very lovely and b) unbloggable and now we're home and I'm feeling even more bereft.

Ah well. That's the down side of having such nice children and grandchildren. We're lucky to have them. And I have plenty to do. My quilt and garden have been neglected. And I can tidy the house and retrieve all the things that I put out of Little Granddaughter's reach. Once I find them.

Yellow skirt

I often wonder what the grandchildren will remember of their childhoods. Particularly, in my solipsistic way, I wonder what they'll remember of their time with us. Grandson and Biggest Granddaughter spend a lot of time in our house so I would hope they'd remember quite a bit - they're now 6 and nearly 8. But one of my grandmothers left Edinburgh when I was 5 (I think) and I remember nothing at all of her living here except being at the foot of her stairs, which were quite interesting. (Our house didn't have stairs.) Do I really remember this or am I imagining it?

Memory is so odd. We all remember lots of things that we wouldn't think worth putting in a memoir - I remember getting a new school uniform cardigan and quite looking forward to going to school, wearing it. Why do I remember that? It doesn't seem very interesting. I also remember sitting on the top of a bus at Jock's Lodge and looking across at the people on the top of a bus waiting at the traffic lights beside us and thinking: I must remember this when I'm older. I wish I'd made more effort to fix in my mind more significant moments.

The other day, Biggest Granddaughter and I were discussing scissors with zig-zaggy edges. I told her that they were called pinking shears, and also that the flowers called pinks were called that because of their zig-zaggy petals, not because they were pink. (Always the teacher...) And then suddenly, from the very depths of my memory, I thought about a play - a musical play, I think - that my elder brother was in at school when he was a small boy. I remember going to it. I think it was just in a classroom rather than a big hall - but I might be wrong. Perhaps we were just in the classroom to get him dressed for the show. Anyway, it was a boys' school so my brother - who must have been about 7 or 8 - was in the chorus as a girl. He wore a yellow skirt - and here's the relevant bit - with a pinked, rather than sewn, hem. He also had a yellow mob cap, also with a pinked edge, and I think there was an actual pink-coloured bow on it. Was there also a pink bow on the skirt? I think some of the other boys had pink skirts with yellow decoration. Seems like cruelty to small boys but I don't remember my brother complaining.

I believe my mother had to make this costume, with material supplied by the school. I don't know whether the pinking was just her short-cut or part of the brief. Anyway, I think it may have ended up in my dressing-up box, where I wore it for a few years.

I hadn't thought of this for ... half a century? What else is lurking there in the recesses of my mind, ready to pop up? And in yours?

Walking in the sun

It's been glorious weather recently - too hot for serious walking really, at least for weedy Scots. (In the 20s! or mid 70s!). But on Monday we took a load to a charity shop in Stockbridge. We're forever doing this but still seem to have far too much Stuff. Still, we will continue trying to purge our possessions, at least a bit, and try not to acquire too much else for the offspring to deal with once we're gone.

Then we had a walk along the river bank.

The pink campion was particularly pretty.

And then yesterday was Mr Life's birthday so because everyone else was busy, we took ourselves out to lunch at Swanston. Then we went for a walk up the hill, past the village.

Swanston means Sveinn's tun (enclosure or farm) and first appears in documents in 1214.

I don't imagine that it was as tidy as this in 1214.

The gorse, or whin, was a blaze of colour

Edinburgh isn't far away - there it is, with the hill, Arthur's Seat, sticking up and the sea in the background. But if you turn your back on it, you could be deep in the country.

It was hot, though, so after a bit we turned back and went back downhill to the car.

He's 71 now. His father died at 64, his mother at 71 and two months. I was always keen to get him past 64 (success) and now I want to get him past 71 and two months (and I'm fairly confident). After that, it's all a bonus.

Visitor!

Well, on Friday something very interesting happened. A bloggy friend from Northern Ireland (her blog is "Fraise") came to visit. As always happens when I've met bloggy people, it was lovely - people are just as they sound in their blogs. She bravely came in the evening on her way from the airport, despite her friends' misgivings that I just might be a serial killer.... (ah, the non-bloggy world just doesn't understand us bloggers).

She brought some Irish shortbread. Well, who knew that the Irish made shortbread? - apart from millions of Irish people, of course. I thought it was a Scottish thing, like whisky and... oh, right. Heather? (No, remember The Lake Isle of Innisfree, with its "noon a purple glow"?) Thistles? - no one else has thistles, do they? Hmm.

She also brought this book, which she co-edited. It's the reactions of 31 women to Proverbs 31 - the one about a good wife being above rubies - and it's touching and also funny. This good wife sets the bar rather high! She gets up when it's still dark, she buys fields, she's vigorous, she trades profitably, she spins, she makes coverings for her bed, she doesn't eat the bread of idleness, her children and husband call her blessed...

She probably doesn't waste time blogging either.

The sweet thing is that M was excited to be in our sitting room, because she's seen it on the blog! She said, "I'm in the blog!" I felt like Elton John or someone.

Grandson is compiling a large poster, a sort of Key to All Transport (well, in London and Edinburgh so far). He loves the London tube (very much the opposite of his granny) and knows all about the routes and colours.

He keeps adding to it.

It's been a lot of work but he's very happy doing it.

Much like me and my patchwork. I imagine that good wife might have done a bit of that, in her thrifty way. Mine's not actually very thrifty despite the occasional bit of old shirts or spare curtain material, but I'm enjoying mindlessly sewing strips of fabric together. Who needs a mind?