Grounded

Got a date with a sugeon and his knife again in a couple of days so it's busy, busy, busy here as I strive to do in 2 days everything I want to do in the next 4-6 weeks, the length of time I must take it very easy. This time around I'm going to be good, or even more of a pain as far as Worst Half is concerned, no cooking, cleaning or lifting anything heavier than a mug of water, and no driving for at least 3 weeks. I set out to do this last time but things didn't always work out and I just did what I had to. Now I'm having the resulting damage repaired so I've decided that as I don't want to go through this a third time, I might as well be over cautious instead.

Meanwhile, my lovely cleaner Mrs T is having one of those 'special' birthdays so I must be up early tomorrow before her visit to arrange her present. Seeing as she did enough ironing to last half a lifetime last week and I have another mountain again already the gift had better be good. Actually I really can't live without her now and I do feel a bit sorry landing her with all this but I've been sorting out my holiday stuff in advance and also digging out a load of really old favourites which now suddenly fit again, after 6 or so years in the 'just in case box' so of course it all had to be washed and pressed. I am the living proof that saving stuff 'for when I lose weight' does actually sometimes pay off. Now over 2 stones lighter, I have just discovered a long forgotten interest in clothes shopping, trouble is, I don't want to buy too much as at the rate at which I am going none of this will fit again in 3 months time, it will all be too big. Then I really will chuck it out and save Mrs T any more grief.

Shopping however is off the agenda for the next few weeks, even when I can travel there's no dampner like a bored male to stop you looking at anything interesting, as I will have to have a chauffeur for a few weeks more. I'll be living vicariously through those members of the family who can get out and of course there's always the internet. After all, I do have a holiday in a months' time to plan for. Accordingly I have ordered a few little goodies to arrive next week to give me something to look at although I expect I'll be sending WH to the post office to return most of it, especially if he catches sight of the invoices.

Tomorrow I'll be potting up the rest of my herbaceous cuttings ready for the move to the new house. Someone donated about 50 ten inch plant pots so I'm busy filling them with stuff which will grow up over the next few months and then be transplanted in the autumn to create an instant 'mature' herbaceous border. It also means I get to take most of my collection of hardy geraniums which I would hate to lose. We did move a few bits from the new house down to WH's garden prior to us totally devastating the back garden and it's amazing what has come up. Today I spotted a mouse plant and a tiny cyclamen amongst a jasmine we have saved. It breaks my heart that the garden was so overgrown and such a mess that we had no real option but to cut it all back. During our visits this time last year we barely saw much more than weeds and grass and now all these little gems are appearing. In what remains of the garden itself I search every day for seedlings and signs of unusual things. Earlier we discovered at least 20 varieties of daffodils and narcissi, some very old varieties when I looked them up and a row 2 metres in length of what I think must be colchicums but of course we won't know until they flower in the autumn.

Meanwhile I'll be looking at flowers of a different nature later this week, on the TV, and making mental plans of the garden I'm going to make when I've recovered.

See ya!

Cuckoo day

Old English Folk Rhyme (Anon)

In April the cuckoo shows his bill

In May he is singing all day

In June he changes his tune

In July he prepares to fly

In August fly he must

I always think of 24th April as 'Cuckoo Day'. My late departed friend and advisor in all things country would be watching the skies and listening outside her back door round about now for signs of the illusive cuckoo which she swore would arrive in this locality on that day. Some years she was right, others it would be later. The last few years round here cuckoos have been very thin on the ground. Last year she said she had never heard one at all and of course "in June he changes his tune" so the cuckoo may have escaped undetected. My friend died in July, maybe it was an omen that she didn't hear her beloved bird that spring.

So yesterday and today I too watch the skies and listen for sound of the migrant's return. This morning, sitting up in bed, I saw house martins flying over the village, the first time this year and somewhat later than other years. I haven't even seen a swallow this year yet but other years they are earlier too. Maybe the martins came today to make up for the cuckoo's disappearance; maybe they came earlier and I just didn't notice them, unlikely; maybe they have some swallows with them;

Whatever. They are a great herald of the summer and warmer weather.

Celebrations Danish Style

The family meal which took place after our attendance at a Danish Confirmation last Sunday was unbelievable. It's no wonder the Danes have various sayings like "Never trust a thin cook " and "No one ever goes hungry in Denmark".

We started with glasses of champagne in the garden and then took our places at the long table set with the best china and colour co-ordinated in blue and white. The guest of honour, the Boy, sat in the centre flanked by his parents, other attendees at the ceremony sat around them and then at the farthest reaches of the table visitors who were invited just for the meal. We started with a tart of chicken in a white sauce, quite filling but pleasant enough. Seconds were passed around and most people took them. Wine was served and every few minutes someone raised a glass and said "Skal", the rest of the party following suit.

The main course was an interesting choice for a Danish teenager, a Greek 'gyros' plate. Firstly a huge bowl of tzatziki was passed around, closely followed by marinated and grilled pork strips, salad,2 kinds of salad dressing, bread rolls and a mountain of potatoes in a cream sauce. Again prodigious amounts of seconds were eaten. Each serving dish being passed firstly to our hostess and then passed to left around the table. The wine was flowing freely, conversation was loud and animated and being conducted in at least 3 languages, Danish, English and Russian.

By this time we were quite full up and welcomed the adjournment to the garden for an hour or so to take a break from eating, or so we were told. Our newly-come-of-age Boy then opened his presents and a huge number of cards from everyone from family, neighbours, the school, the housing association and some barely known acquaintances. This done, we were called back to the table for dessert, Orange pancakes in a cream sauce. Again there was far more food than people could eat and second and third helpings seemed to make no dent in the huge platters.

The servers then presented everyone with a sealed sheet of paper containing a song which the family had written in honour of the occasion and which we were now expected to sing. It seemed to be an outline of the Boy's life to date interspersed with funny anecdotes. It ran to 15 verses although 3 of those were in English in our honour and concerned the time we had been neighbours and I had babysat this little boy who spoke no language other than Danish but who now speaks 6 reasonably well. More toasts and wine followed, the guest of honour made his speech thanking everyone for the presents and for coming and the company rose to take coffee in the garden once again. Bearing in mind it was about 10 degrees and very windy I was frozen in my finery and had to resort to wearing a huge thick wrap/cardigan. Others in the party wondered why I was cold. All along, the outside doors had been open and the room chilled to a less than comfortable 15 degrees but the Danes are made of hardier stuff and had removed jackets and cardigans in no time.

After coffee and tea for some we were called yet again to the dining table and the Boy cut his celebration cake a huge confection called Kransekage and very similar to the picture above. It too had the male figure on the top and was decorated with Danish flags and crackers. Made up of rings of a type of marzipan it was delicious, if rather rich. A desultory hour passed in conversation, some outside in the garden others, like me, inside in the slighter warmer room.

Suddenly the table was re-laid and more food was brought out. I thought I was seeing things. This was the 'Going Home' food I was told. Once again we took our places back at the table and were served with frikadelles a type of meatball crossed with a burger, more salad, potato salad and bottles of beer or yet more wine. After this was eaten the hostess announced that that was then end of the party and everyone went home in about 5 minutes flat.

I'm amazed we could even move.

Been there, done that and didn't wear a t-shirt

Just back from several days in Denmark visiting Ms A and her son who had his confirmation in the local church. I admit I was slightly puzzled when we had the invitation and even more so when I was told that no, he didn't want to join the church particularly, he was just doing it with all his classmates. What I failed to appreciate was that just about the WHOLE of Denmark year 9 gets confirmed this month. It was a HUGE event, necessitating 2 church services, 2 days apart in that small town alone. Danish flags were flying everywhere, notably outside every single confirmands house. Huge parties took place too, in local restaurants, marquees and private houses.

The girl's outfits were nothing short of spectacular, 14 year old mini-brides in metres of tulle and lace, bare midriffs and and shoulders notwithstanding. The boys wore 'smart', trousers and ties and ours had a brand new suit which he wore with aplomb as though he always dressed like that. For a chap who doesn't even wear school uniform he carried it well. The guest's attire was another fashion story: Mothers in opera length ball gowns, Danish outfits in Laura Ashley style or just plain smart sat alongside Grannies in their finery. Dads wore suits or smart casual, we wore suits and high heels. Good job too we would have looked well out of place in t-shirts and jeans.

The coming of age theme continued down to the presents too, not for our boy a few t-shirts and the usual teenage accoutrements, no he had credit card holders, hundreds of kroner and not one but 2 expensive watches. Somehow the book of Danish fairy tales he also received, albeit in English, for this is a multinational/multilingual family, totally missed the point.

Magic Moments

Picture from BBC Springwatch

Nelson and I shared a magic moment this morning at the crack of dawn. Well not quite the crack, but a fairly early half-past six. Misty as per usual had woken me up playing with a pencil on the carpet around the bed. This is the regular signal for me to get up and feed the tribe. If that doesn't work then a swift tap on the arm whilst looking into my face does the trick at about the third attempt.

I went downstairs, put the kettle on, fed the cats and made WH some coffee. He wouldn't be up then but it cools nicely by 7.45, he likes to drink it just off cold anyhow. As I opened the living room curtains I saw a female blackbird come and perch on the side of the for-sale board which still adorns our front garden. Nelson was on the window sill. Despite us both remaining there, and the blackbird looked straight in directly at us from only 4 feet away, she sat there preened, looked around and appeared to be singing although I couldn't hear through the double glazing. Nelson continued to watch her and stayed stock still. He seemed bemused that a bird was so close and wasn't trying to escape.

I put down the mug I had in one hand and stayed there for almost 10 minutes next to Nelson, both of us watching this lovely bird enjoying the early morning. Suddenly a car sped down the main road and the magic was over, she flew off to the safety of the oak trees opposite.

The old soldier

This time last week I bumped into a very old friend and colleague I had not seen for about 8 years. At one time whenever we went into Town shopping, we would meet, unplanned but we always seemed to be in the same place at the time. Usually he was going for a sharp haircut at an upmarket salon. He had been a Guardsman, old school, and polished his shoes each night before work until you could see your face in them. He did his own ironing because his wife of 30 years was, in his words, incapable of getting a knife-edge pleat in his trousers and his shirts just didn't pass muster. You get the picture. For all that, he's salt of the earth, warm, funny and has a delicious wit and a disarming smile. He's about 10 years older than me but seemingly from a different generation. In a management meeting years ago I was 'in the chair' and getting stroppy with another colleague about plant efficencies. "Any further questions?" I barked to the room at large.

"Tell me?" pipes up my mate, "Would that be black tights or black stockings you're wearing today?" In those days sexist remarks like that were just banter, particularly as I, a lone female amidst 50-odd men, was in charge.

"I don't wish to answer such an affront to my dignity" I countered, "Clear off back to the coal-face and get working." Only then was it pointed out that I was in fact wearing jeans.

Things changed however, we supported him and his family when he was made redundant at the same time I was and from the same firm. He went on to get another much lower paid job and was made redundant again. His wife who is in the NHS, had job description alterations, changed hours and more damningly, pay cuts. Again we continued to visit, never turning up empty handed, always with a jar of coffee or a treat or a take-away and they struggled proudly on. Eventually on the up again they gave WH an old, unwanted piece of furniture in exchange for some work he had done for them. It fell apart on the way home. After a visit from WH and youngest step-daughter they promised to ring WH the following week about some matter or other. The call never came. Then WH was made redundant in a big factory closure, they must have known but never phoned. So time went on and the ties were lost. Suddenly out of the blue a daughter rang and asked if we would go to a surprise Wedding Anniversary celebration, Yes, love to we said, let us know where and when, we never found out. At a funeral of a mutual friend WH spoke and was ignored. He has never found out why. In the last eight years I have not set eyes on any of the family at all. We presumed they had moved, maybe abroad, Cyprus was a possibility years ago.

Until last Saturday that is. Returning to the car rather overladen with cheap vegetables, I saw this stooped figure shuffle through the doorway of the shopping arcade. He tried to straighten up and then proceeded forward in a really unsteady gait. I surveyed the face. OMG it was my friend. Gone was the sharp haircut which now had a floppy Hugh Grant appearance no longer jet- black but gunmetal grey. The face smiled back, the same big grin but somehow lopsided. He reached out as I approached him and slapped a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. The old soldier would have kissed my hand; he's like that.

In a halting and strained voice he asked how I was, how's the family, how's WH, still running me ragged? I made small talk, I couldn't talk about our ups and downs when confronted with someone whose fortunes had obviously changed a good deal more than mine had. I asked the same questions in return.

The reply struck me like a thunderbolt. He'd got Motor Neurone Disease, had it 3 years, had given up work and driving. The previous week he'd been told the medics could do no more, just wait for time to take it's course. Suddenly the last eight years fell away and it doesn't even matter any more, it's all crap after this revelation. Water under the bridge.

"How's the wife?" I asked, " Same as ever, has to be with me to look after."

We were stood outside a coffee shop by then, "Let's go for a coffee" I suggested, the old phrase we used at work when things were going pear-shaped and we were in the thick of it.

"Can't," he said, "I'm going to get my hair done, I've got an appointment." Some things never change.

"Same place?" I asked, "up the stairs?"

"Well yes, but I have to go up in the goods lift now." And some things do change.

"Come and see us," he said, "it will be like old times." We're going next week to try and re-create some.

Bye Bye Birdie

Yesterday when I opened my back door first thing in the morning it was noticeably quiet outside. The bird feeders were devoid of all activity and a lone goldfinch sat on the fence looking around. The silence was deafening. Even WH noticed and he IS deaf.

The reason for all this is that the flock of siskins which have been in residence since early December have all gone, presumably to their breeding grounds in the pine forests of Northern Europe. I have spent many wasted minutes this winter watching their acrobatics on the feeders and marvelled at them feeding upside down, often in the howling gales we have had lately.

Now I have to keep looking upwards for the first signs that the summer visitors are arriving, the house martins, swifts and swallows. Spring will really be on it's way when they appear.

The joys of spring

I did something today which I had not been able to do for 16 years, since I was first ill. I went to Exeter shopping on my own. I had a good reason to go, I got my ring back, fixed. It's smaller and looks great, especially since they seem to have cleaned it and made it look ever more sparkly.

Exeter has always bothered me as far as driving there alone goes. I don't know the road system too well, I never know where to park that isn't a two mile hike to the shops and then I get lost. Since they opened the Princesshay shopping centre and another new car park it seems easier, so today I took the plunge. It was great, it was warm,19 degrees C when I left which was not bad for April, there were no big crowds and best of all I went in new shops and bought new clothes and a handbag and generally had lovely time. Later on I went to see a friend who owns a shop in the city and had a coffee and sit down with her and then went back and did a bit more window shopping before driving home.

So far this week I've been really busy, have been out every day, done loads of gardening too, and still feel fitter than I have done for more years than I want to count. Granted the weather has something to do with it but I just feel alive right now. Hopefully I can improve more in the next couple of weeks before I go to Denmark and then on my return I am scheduled for surgery again, afterwards I have 4 weeks to recover then it's the Great Corfu Holiday. Time flies when you're having fun.

Crush: a temporary infatuation

Nelson is fickle in his infatuations. He hates most people with a vengeance, avoiding all contact with anyone he doesn't know well and running off at the sight of strangers. Children freak him out completely, he can't stand the unpredictable nature of their movements and if they tried to stroke him he would surely die. He does like some men though, WH's weirdo friend, JohnnyB a longtime close friend of us both and the depressed painter to name but three. WH he can take or leave and only makes a fuss of him if he is very hungry and knows he will get short shrift from me, usually because we have tried 4 different meals that day and he has refused them all, much to Misty's delight as he gets to eat the cast -offs. Only for me does he reserve his deep rumbling purr as I give him his bed-time cuddle, tickle his fluffy little tummy and scratch his ears, and of course all this is in the privacy of my bedroom, public affection he can't take at all.

Latterly he was in love with a bag. Now he's fallen out of love with that and transferred his affections to something else, a really naf, shell-suit-type body-warmer which WH's mother insists on buying him annually to keep him warm in the winter. This one had been worn for plastering and was abandoned on the floor in front of the heater. No particular reason, but you know what men are, never, ever, put anything away for at least 3 days unless under extreme sufferance, so I just leave stuff and if it still remains after 48 hours or so, it then gets washed and put in it's rightful place, prior to this time it's quite likely to be retrieved for a further wearing in which case I'm accused of hiding "all his stuff". This time though Nelson had collared it so to speak and made a nest in the centre, his face peeping out of the armhole whilst he luxuriated in it's nylon warmth and softly padded surface.

Of course for the house viewings and other estate agent related visits the body-warmer is removed and hidden in a cupboard as are all the cat related accoutrements of this house. Never let a prospective vendor know that you have an animal in residence let alone three, the property must be bright, shiny, clutter and most importantly, animal free. The last viewing was cancelled, just at the point the house had been restored to show-home squeaky-cleanness. I swore silently at the estate agent on the other end of the phone and out loud to my vision of the unknown prospective purchaser who had caused me 3 hours housework for no good reason at all. Life returned to normal except for one unhappy, permanently shrieking cat. It's taken me 4 days to realise that his latest love was still in the cupboard. Now he's pawing his love object with wild abandon and telling it he loves it. Until the next time he finds something else he loves more.