Put A Fork In It!

Recently I joined my friend, Sacha's allotment plot. I am enjoying it, although I'm clueless about allotment keeping, and I'm learning as we go along. It's been a few weeks since I got up there, but today we went up to measure up the beds for some wood to put around them. It probably has a fancy gardeners terminology but I will call it "wooding up", a term I have used in the past for all things related to planks of wood, or anything to do with sanding.
Pat was required to help measure for the wooding up, but as I had bought a cheap tape measure, it wasn't long enough, as it only went up to 9ft long. It was clearly a girls' tape measure. I have been nagged and lectured about buying tools. I once bought a cheap set of screwdrivers, just for keeping under the kitchen sink, for moments when varying loud and annoying toys ran out of battery power. Pat keeps his toolbox somewhere I can't generally find it, and so having my own tools to hand seemed fine to me. But each time I pointed Pat in the direction of the cupboard under the kitchen sink to use a screwdriver, he would wince. Eventually, I convinced him that they were perfectly adequate for the job in hand. He suspiciously scanned the item, started to use it...and promptly bent it. "You broke my screwdriver!" I accused. "That's because they're made of cheese!" came the reply. "well I've used that screwdriver lots of times, and never had any problems. It's never done that before!" and so it went on. So when I bought a cheap tape measure for me to use when I needed to measure something important, like windows, to measure up for curtains, I felt I had contributed to the face of womanhood. I had a tape measure. And I know how to use it. Yaaay! Today that tape measure let me down, because it just couldn't quite measure up!
I have a bad record with tools, it seems. The fork that Pat is brandishing has just been re-fashioned, having become a victim of my usage. Admittedly, it was Sacha who bought it, but it was me who bent it. One of the prongs was at a 45' angle to the others, after a particularly unforgiving session of weeding, where it struck a stubborn thistle bush. Pat fixed it, and he looked so good holding it, I thought it was only fair that he tried it out, to make sure it worked properly. Half an hour later, and he'd dug over a bed. Although he complained about it, I think he enjoyed it, really - otherwise he wouldn't have finished the job, would he?!

Salamander

Boy have we had some rain, today! It's been incredible. So much for hanging out the washing on the line, or going to the park. Even walking from the door to the car was enough to soak us to the skin. I've read reports of two weeks' worth of rainfall in half an hour, today. Bournemouth had flash flooding and roads were blocked. I had a day with my daughter, today. She wanted to go to the new Sunshine Ceramics shop, so off we went. By the time we got there I needed to wring out my jeans, and the windows of the shop had already steamed up.
We chose a salamander each, and decorated them. I was able to sit and enjoy the time we had together, and create something, too. The salamander reminded me of my trip to Baracelona seven years ago, where I went for my last girls' break away before I fell pregnant. We visited the Gaudi park with the mosaic salamanders. Even though it was really busy, I felt at peace in that park. It was beautiful. It had something special about it. Or perhaps it was just the thrill of being away, seeing something new, and having great fun with my friends! I think there was a part of me that knew it was to be my last holiday before we started a family. I'd love to go back and show the kids, and Pat what an amazing place Barcelona is - especially the bits away from the touristy areas.
Today, I had a girly day of a different kind - and it was lovely to spend time with my daughter, having fun together and chatting away. It would have been nice if the weather hadn't been so rubbish, though!

Making music

My kids love music. They love to listen, to play, and to sing. I have always enjoyed music, and dabbled with instruments, but never really mastered one. I can blow into a flute, and play a few notes, even play a tune if I follow some sheet music (after practicing for several days and getting on everyone's nerves). Playing the piano is another matter. I had a thing for the piano for as far back as I can remember. At every opportunity, I would stand or sit at a piano and try to come out with a tune. However I was about 14 before I was able to have some lessons, but I was restricted by the fact that I didn't have a piano to practice on! I would snatch time at school by using the music room pianos during lunch breaks, and play if there were no other students using one, but even when I did get to a piano, I felt self-conscious about the notes I played and tried to play quietly enough that nobody would hear. By the time it got around to a lesson again, I hadn't progressed any further from the week before. I can't imagine how much of a frustration I must have been to my piano teacher!

It didn't stop her trying to boost me (or humiliate me, as she had unitentionally managed to do, on several occasions) by entering me into her periodic concerts, showcasing her pupils' talent and progress. I had started having lessons within a few weeks of one of these shows, which, on this occasion,was held up at the church in Kingston. She taught me how to play the opening bars of Crockets theme: quavers, as I recall, with notes an octave apart, lasting for about 12 bars. I can't remember for sure - I've blocked a lot of the detail out. Being 14 and shy, I was nervous and feeling sick at the thought of playing in front of so many people. At the church, a boy of about 8 or 9 preceded me with some piece of music, probably Bach or something impressive, and been given a rapturous applause. I went to the piano, sat down, and positioned my awkward fingers on the keys. I played my 12 bars, and then stopped. There was stony silence. I looked up to the teacher, who stood there smiling at the audience, and then at me. Those few seconds dragged for an eternity before someone realised that I had finished, and began a polite clap, which was followed by a lethargic patter of applause. I wanted to crawl into the inside of the piano and hide, but instead I stood up and scurried back to my seat, feeling angry and embarrassed. The audience were expecting me to launch into the main theme of the song, but as I had only had a couple of lessons I hadn't learnt that bit, by then, and that was why I stopped. Those listening had no idea! It didn't stop me from learning, though, and I successfully managed to go on to grade 8.

...Actually that bit is a lie...

But I do still play, although I never did learn the rest of the song, and actually I never want to hear Crocket's theme ever again! Now we do have a piano that we're looking afterfor my sister-in-law and her family. I am planning to have some piano lessons with a music teacher I loved to learn with at school, but never seem to have time for. Maybe I will, one day. My kids have no fear or embarrassment over music, they both become engrossed in their playing, and it's lovely to hear their creativity, too. Having said that, I've hidden the symbols and the tambourine from them, to avoid early enthusiastic wake-up calls!

Quiet Time

My Son is poorly. He has been awake half the night, and so were we. He just couldn't settle, and so I have been feeling like doing nothing, today. But that wasn't possible. I was reminded by my daughter's incredulity at my not having planned or provided an endless stream of entertainment for her benefit for today, that I am in fact here to make sure that she has a Good Summer Holiday. I tried reasoning with her. "You can go and do something by yourself, you know. Why don't you draw? Read? Play with your toys? Listen to your talking books? Do some writing?" Each suggestion was met with a squeal and a cross face. OK, I thought. It's going to be A Long Day. In the end, we went to the post office, and then ran a few errands in town before going back home because my son was asleep and I needed to sit down for 5 minutes' rest. My daughter was good, actually. She played on her games console and then tried to teach me how to play one of the games.
I arranged for the two of them to lie on the sofa, watching a bit of CBeebies whilst I made some lunch, allowing them a bit of chilling out time together.
 I asked my daughter to look after her little brother and make sure that he was OK. They gave eachother a big hug, a kiss, then snuggled down on the sofa to watch Something Special. Then we watched Shrek. I don't feel guilty anymore when I use TV for chilling out time, although I used to. We do so much other stuff, including a very healthy dose of running about in fresh air and sunshine, that to have a half day on the sofa for poorly and tired time is just what's needed, once in a while! I know I did well today, because by 8pm I could still hold a conversation, see straight, and felt fairly human and intact. There have been days when I'm so tired I see the world in a parental haze!

Everything Stops For Tea!

I am soooo English. I didn't realise HOW English I was until we started hosting foreign students. Tea, I have discovered, is a way of life for us, and without it - even if you don't even like or drink the stuff - we'd have a hole in our being. In the mornings, I have to flick the kettle on and pour water onto a teabag before I can even begin to think about getting breakfast sorted for the kids. If I haven't got a brew going by the time I am ready to sit at the table, there's something afoot. I realised my English-ness when I asked one of our students if she would "...like a cup of tea...?" It was the way I pronounced the word, "Tea" - said "Teee", I felt almost embarrassed to have heard it said that way, as I'd never noticed before! Needless to say, most of my offers of "Teee" have been turned down in favour of coffee.
OK, I have to admit that for the past 3 years, I haven't had caffeinated tea, preferring rooibus, chamomile, or good old decaff teabags to my old favourite Yorkshire Tea (strong, splash of milk, no sugar), but I began getting frequent migraines when I was pregnant with my son so cut out caffeine which helped a bit. And I don't drink cow's milk anymore, either: my son developed a cow's milk protein allergy when he was 3 months old and as I was breastfeeding him I cut out dairy to help ease his symptoms. Now I can't stand cows milk, cream or yoghurt, and I feel a whole lot better for it, too.
This, you might think, is not English. Rooibus tea with soya milk? What are you thinking?! But it's the ceremony of tea-making, the act of drinking it, and the passion we have for positioning our routines around the drink that makes it a way of life in England. If there are problems to be shared, decisions to be made, revelations to absorb, a gossip or a catch-up, tea is the ever-present, loyal companion. I even remember my St John's ambulance teacher telling me that a "strong cup of tea with two sugars" was a good remedy for shock. As an 11 year-old I had to take her word for it!

Pat hates tea. I think it goes back to his childhood in West London, where he would go to his Indian friend's houses and there would be a pan of tea on the hob, left all day: a teabag, spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk added frequently throughout the day so that the mix would become progressively more stewed as the day went on. On entering the house, he would be expected to take a drink of the tea whether he wanted to or not! I've tried to convert him, but he's a strict coffee man, nowadays...
Today I went to Holmes For Gardens with the kids for a bit of fruit-picking. We stopped in the cafe to give the kids some lunch, but as I wasn't feeling that hungry, I had a cup of tea, instead. I couldn't help but give a little "ahhhhh!" after a sip or two, mostly as I appreciated a chance to have a few minutes' rest before carrying on! As the saying goes, "everything stops for tea"!

Making a reappearance

Well, this is all very familiar...it's been a while and I'd almost forgotten how to use this site!

A number of friends have been asking me if I was going to take this up again, but I'd resisted because I've been rather busy. I've been busy with the kids, the house, hosting foreign language students (which has been a lot of fun!), running and training for a marathon to raise money for Quest4Change - I raised over £1000 for the Villa Maria school in Peru by taking part and completing the Brighton marathon in April. This is one of my proudest achievements and I am planning on taking it further by forging some links between the Villa Maria preschool, and one of the preschools in Swanage.
I am also studying to become a breastfeeding counsellor; and I am embarking on a new business venture which I will write about more when I have got to grips with it all! So to add a photographic blog on top of all this would have required nothing less than superhuman strength on my part to keep on top of everything! Having said that, I do find myself thinking, of an evening, how I should get back into the blogging world again and write about stuff. So here I go again - I don't think I'll manage a daily blog, and I definitely won't be able to provide good quality pics as I can't keep carrying my big camera around with me every day - my little boy is too active and too big for me to cart my DSLR around with me all the time - but I will hopefully write something interesting and occasionally raise a chortle out of you if possilbe! Above all, please enjoy, and come back!

My vegetarian friends may want to ignore this bit - my apologies to you!

I love cooking. I find it very good for working out problems, mulling over decisions, thinking about life in general - it's an almost meditative process for me at times (though bunging some frozen chips in the oven doesn't have the same effect), and one of the best things about cooking for me is listening to a bit of radio 4. Pat can't bear it, but I love it! For me, it's a chance to get a bit of "me time" as I go into my own little world whilst chopping, stirring, mixing or whisking.

Today I made a roast leg of lamb. I have learned how to make gravy, mostly through trial and error (lots of errors, some of which were traumatic for all involved). For me, one of the best things about making gravy is that it's the calm in the middle of the mayhem when cooking a roast. There's a relatively calm bit at the beginning when the meat is prepared and put in the oven, and the vegetables are peeled and chopped; then there is the mad bit where the timings have to be perfect or the whole thing goes badly wrong: but there is the calmness of gravy. My gravy-making involves me stirring and adding the starch water from the potatoes a splash at a time. As I stare at the bubbling liquid and absent-mindedly stir, I become contemplative, reflective. Some of my better ideas have been borne out of making gravy. In some way I view the making of gravy to be a little bit like life: all around there is chaos but to make the gravy is to have a piece of time with which to mull and plan the next step, a chance to be in touch with my Self and to feel the hunger, the desire to continue on my way in life.

Either that, or I need to get out more...!