Another day in Argentina : Letter to a Sister

Went to La Recoleta. This is mainly a large cemetery, which is not a place I would usually visit but it featured in all the guide books and was recommended by our taxi driver. We walked there from the hotel. Passed a few people sleeping in the street, whole families in some cases, which is never a comfortable experience. The only other place that I have passed homeless children is Mumbai.

Found La Recoleta, in the middle of a park with market stalls. Was glad the family weren’t with me to complain about me liking spooky places and not being ‘normal’. I thought of you – you would’ve have spent hours taking photographs at strange angles with clever close-ups. I just snapped a few pictures, none of which really captured the atmosphere.

The cemetery is huge, like a small village of monuments and booths. Some had steps leading down, littered with soiled bags, empty bottles, coated in dust and cobwebs. Some had coffins stacked in view of the doorway covered in white lace cloths. Some coffins were crumbling, threatening to spill their contents, others were pristine, polished oak with shiny fixtures. The booths were white marble, grey granite, weathered stone and black steel gates. There were lots of statues and angels and domes. A little like miniature cathedrals, with the dead being worshipped rather than God.

It was a little incongruous, after passing families of homeless people. I am a tourist here, I don’t know what help is available, but at a glance it looked as if the dead have better shelter than the poor.

We saw the tomb where Evita is buried, and several other dignitaries, then we left.

Went to La Biela, a traditional coffee house just outside the cemetery, opposite a giant ancient gum tree. It had a motor racing theme due to being a favourite spot in the 1950’s for drivers and fans. There was memorabilia on the walls and spanners carved into the chair backs. It had a lovely traditional Argentinian feel, we could’ve stayed there for hours.

We drank coffee sprinkled with cinnamon, which tasted almost of oregano and ate ‘alfajores’, which were shortbread biscuits filled with dolce leche. The cafe was empty when we arrived at 9:30 and was full by 10am – lots of well maintained elderly Argentinians and young tourists. You would have liked it there.

Ate a very late lunch in a parilla (name for a steak restaurant.) Walked from hotel heading south, along narrow streets littered with blankets reserving sites for the homeless, dog mess and broken pavements. The houses on either side were a muddle of faded villas with gargoyles and balconies and modern apartment blocks. We passed a burnt out theatre, a derelict mansion and tiny newsagents. It felt real, interesting and full of life. Buenos Aires is growing on me – perhaps you need more than a day here before you notice it properly.

Arrived at Chiquilin in Calle Sarmento. Peered in window and it looked clean, so went in and sat in a corner table, under oil paintings and bottles of wine on shelves below the low ceiling. Ate more steak than the whole family would normally eat at home. All the restaurants here have an abundance of waiters dressed in black and white, most of whom seem to either speak English or understand my very bad Spanish.

Walked back to hotel. Exhausted but pleased with the day. Tomorrow we might go to Uruguay – I’ll let you know what it’s like.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

The Opera House

Probably not the best place to post letters.

The city seemed full of derelict post boxes!

Tango dancing in the street.

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Letter to a Sister : Buenos Aires

Posted by anneethompson

As we flew into Buenos Aires, the horizon was red with dawn. A beautiful end to a 14 hour flight.

I was slightly worried going through immigration as I had been given a form to complete on the plane (at 2am). I managed the name and address bits but when it started asking about the make and series of my mobile, I gave up – ‘iPhone, very old’, was the best I could manage. Husband assured me that we only needed one per household and he had done one. No one ever asked for it anyway, so was an unnecessary worry.

On the way to the hotel, we passed a demonstration. They had blocked two lanes of the road (the roads here are really wide) and they had banners (which were in Spanish, so I couldn’t read them.) People had just abandoned their cars in the road and gone to join them. Our driver said this happens a lot.

The hotel, Park Tower, is right next to The English Tower. Our taxi driver said this was because it was a gift from the English. The guidebook said it was because it looks like Big Ben. It doesn’t.

Opposite is the war memorial for the Falklands War (interesting choice of position.) The politics are complicated, the fact that so many young men died is heartbreaking, whatever your nationality.

We looked around Galerias Pacifico, which used to be an art gallery but is now a shopping mall. The walls were beautifully decorated. The shops were just shops, so didn’t spend long in there.

We ate empanachas for supper. They are like mini fried pasties. Go well with beer.

English Clock and war memorial.

The night wasn’t terrible and I want to keep to UK time as it’s such a short trip. We ordered room service coffee at 4am. The coffee here is very dark, the milk tastes like evaporated milk, so you don’t want much. The room service menu has a separate price list. I’m guessing this is because inflation is currently 25%, so it saves them reprinting the whole menu every time prices go up. It was quite a challenge to get Argentinian currency before we came, and no one will buy it back from us when we go home. Most places accept credit cards or US dollars.

We walked to Casa Rosada, where Evita made her impassioned speeches from the balcony. I can’t tell you how much it was enhanced by Husband singing all the Lloyd Webber songs in my ear, very loudly and slightly off-key. The palace is pink – according to the guide book this is because it’s painted in cow’s blood. I wish I hadn’t known that, think I will stop reading guide book and make up my own reasons for things.

Crossed several major roads (multi-lane roads are a feature of Argentina. They do have lights to help you cross though.) Saw a bridge which is meant to resemble Tango dancers. Husband suggested we could strike a Tango pose and take selfies. We didn’t.

Walked along a river. Even in quite expensive areas, there are people sleeping rough under blankets. They didn’t ask for money, they were just bundled up under shop awnings. Sad.

We got a taxi to La Boca region. We were told in the hotel that it wasn’t safe for us to wander around, but there was one street, Caminito, which was full of tourists. We saw lots of painted houses, cafes with Tango dancers and singers, lots of street art. It was nice and interesting, though not very ‘real’.

I bought a cushion cover for my collection and a fridge magnet for Mum (I’m sure she’ll be delighted, you can never have too many fridge magnets and this one has a bottle opener attached.)

We got a taxi back to the hotel. We were told to only take taxis that had writing on the doors. If they had writing on both front and back doors, it means they’re owned by a company, so they are the best ones. They have a light at the front which tells you when they’re free. There are loads of taxis, so it was easy.

Went back and showered. The hotel’s bathroom products are called ‘Wine and Beauty’. They smell of wine. It’s not unpleasant, but I do feel a bit like I’ve washed my hair in a bottle of Chardonnay. It reminds me of when, as a teenager, I used to rinse my hair in vinegar because someone told me it would give me ginger highlights, and when it rained I smelt like a chip shop.

Went to bed at 6:30 (10:30 UK time.) Husband has muttered about my time plan very little. I will write again tomorrow and let you know what else we see.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

Casa Rosada

Tango bridge

La Boca

A ‘good’ taxi, with writing on both doors.

You can read my sister’s letter at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/reasons-for-having-messy-house-letters.html

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anneethompson.com

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Letters to a Sister : 51 – London Zoo

Posted by anneethompson

Hello, thanks for your letter. You must be looking forward to ‘At University Always broke’ coming home, even with dirty socks. I am missing my boys now they’re back at uni for the last term. I even miss the mess. Did I ever tell you about our trip to London Zoo? We went during the Easter break. (But my photos are not as good as yours. I do not avoid housework by taking photos, I just point the camera and snap and then try to work out afterwards what I was trying to photograph! I avoid housework by having lots of animals – but that’s another story.)

I was a bit nervous about going up to London – the News seemed to be constantly full of the latest terrorist action. Son 2 tried to reassure me. “Mum,” he said, “What is the most likely – you being blown up by a terrorist or you winning the lottery?” Then he added, “Actually, you never buy lottery tickets do you….” Super.

Made it to the zoo unscathed. It was beautiful weather and all the animals were out, so it was a good trip. We wandered round, staring at bored animals, while the boys mainly discussed their own strategies when playing ‘Zoo Tycoon’ and how they had once made a cage of humans. Hopefully none of them will ever own a zoo in real life.

They were quite taken with the South American anteater, and the fact that there was a rat in the monkey cage. They spent a long time trying to take selfies of themselves and various animals. The animals always moved out of shot, so they had lots of selfies in front of various cages. We looked at the Llamas and spotted that some of them were donkeys – perhaps there was a new employee at the zoo who had ordered the wrong animal by mistake – easily done.

We spent longer than you might expect in a queue for coffee. The boys then talked for longer than you might expect about the extreme incompetence of the coffee shop workers. Apparently, the best coffee shop in the world is the ‘Pret’ in Canary Wharf. There they have a regular influx of 50 customers all at once from the surrounding offices and they serve everyone in a matter of minutes. The boys tell me that this is because none of the staff are English and they probably all have doctorates in their home country.

We sat and watched the penguins being fed. There did seem to be a strong resemblance between the keeper’s appearance and the animals being cared for. But perhaps this was a coincidence (like dog owners who look like their dogs.) The best part of the penguin feeding was watching all the wild birds appear. There were probably as many herons and sea gulls that appeared at feeding time as there were penguins.

The penguin keeper

There was a short talk, which began with the keeper asking the audience what food they thought penguins like to eat. I am sure the extremely loudly shouted answer of “children” had nothing to do with my boys. The keeper in charge also told us that they throw the fish into the water to simulate the penguin’s natural environment. One keeper was clearly not listening.

We saw a hippo, that was renamed to various friends’ names by my family (I won’t list them, just in case) and hyenas pulling apart a dead rabbit. My personal favourite was the giraffes who were trotting round their cage and then stopping to touch noses. Very sweet.

Walking round zoos is very tiring. We walked back towards Camden Tube station and ate burgers in Hache (camden@hacheburgers.com 020 7485 9100) Nice food, brilliant banoffee pie.

A fun day.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

You can read my sister’s letter at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/reasons-for-having-messy-house-letters.html

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Letter to a Sister : 50 -Will Todd

Posted by anneethompson

Thanks for your letter, I was so glad to hear that my nephew is like me (and I expect that he is delighted too.) I was a bit surprised to hear that you were eating sandwiches at the airport though. When I got home I checked how many scones were left in my freezer…….hmmm, hope you enjoyed them.

Have you had any good laughs lately? The funniest thing I saw recently was a friend’s post on Facebook. A lot of churches at Easter like to do feet washing (reminds them that Jesus taught us to be humble, serve others, etc. Has never appealed to me.) Anyway, one church decided to change it slightly, so decided to wash wellington boots instead. Unfortunately they got the sign wrong and advertised to do “Willie Washing”! Made me laugh for ages. There are a number of jokes that could be added to this, but Mum reads these letters, so I’ll hold back.

Do you remember listening to Dad play the piano at night while we were trying to go to sleep? – I could always tell what kind of day he’d had by what he chose to play! I love it now when I hear the kids playing the piano, it takes me right back.

Last week we went to cousin Will Todd’s music performance. He is quite well known now amongst people who like classical music (he composed the music for the Queen’s Jubilee, stuff like that.) Our children seem to have inherited something of the music gene, though it bypassed husband and me.

I have evidence of this in husband’s case, because we own a cassette recording from his childhood, when his talented cousins came to visit. They are all playing various instruments. Husband is playing the drum/biscuit tin. You hear the adults dutifully applause and say how good it was, then one tactfully wonders if “we could hear it again without the drums….?” Will is now an (almost famous) composer, husband is an accountant. Figures.

I didn’t really know Will until we were living in the US and he came to visit. We had just bought a clunky old piano for Daughter to have lessons on. Will arrived and started to play and the three children all crowded round him. They asked him to “play something happy/sad/princess music/tree music,” and Will dutifully modified his tune to whatever they called out, composing as he played. It was brilliant!

The recital in London was lovely. We started with champagne, so I was slightly worried that Husband might become talkative or (worse) fall asleep during the performance. But he behaved very well. Actually, falling asleep was unlikely because the seats were very hard. Uncomfortable seating is a feature of music concerts I feel. They tend to be held in over-crowded school halls or stuffy concert halls. Perhaps it’s done on purpose to stop reluctant fathers from having a sneaky snooze.

I do think that singing at that level must be the MOST scary job ever. They stand there, watched intently, and they have to just open their mouths and blast forth the correct note. Sometimes two of them started at once, no accompanying music, nowhere to hide if one of them was slightly off key. They weren’t, it was perfect, but I cannot imagine the pressure that they must be under. Such potential for big time embarrassment.

It must also be difficult to know what facial expression to adopt. The men tended to go for serious expressions, only their eye-brows really changing. The women tended to more ‘act’ the music, their whole posture reflecting what they were singing. Difficult to not over-do it I would imagine.

Being a conductor must also be a bit weird. Everyone watches your back. I must mention this to Will next time I see him – checking your face in the mirror is fairly unnecessary, much more important to ask someone to check that your collar is straight at the back. And that you have combed the back of your hair.

Not that I am ever likely to be asked to do either. I well remember that sad day when my daughter grew old enough to appreciate music and whispered, “Please don’t sing mummy.”

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS. Some eggs hatched. The ‘early cracker’ actually took two days to hatch. The duckling then helped the next one out of the egg, lots of cheeping and pecking. So cute. They look much bigger than the eggs when they dry off and fluff up a bit.

They are folded up so tightly inside the egg, it takes them a while to straighten up.

They look a bit dead when they first emerge.

Two ducklings fluffed up after an hour and started running around.

Two chicks hatched the following day.

I think the other eggs had died, so I waited a day and then threw them away.

You can read my sister’s letter at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/airports-delays-and-flying-letters-to.html

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Henry Wants a Fight

Posted by anneethompson

It was a beautiful summer’s day. Annie was in the aviary, feeding the chickens. They all crowded round her, pecking at the corn and kicking it around. They were very messy eaters! Annie sat on the clean hay and watched them. It was a very happy group.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on her arm. “Ow!” she said and jumped up. Next to her was Henry, one of the cockerels. He had fluffed up his feathers, stretched out his neck, and was hopping from side to side. He wanted a fight. Annie stood up very quickly and went back to the house.

Every day after that, whenever Henry saw someone, he would try to peck them. It hurt. Annie had a big bruise on her arm. He had pecked Annie. He tried to peck the boys. He tried to peck Husband. He tried to peck the girl. They were all very cross. When he tried to peck them, they would push him away with their boot. This made Henry worse. He would make himself very tall and dance from side to side.

Once, Husband went to kick him. Henry then did a flying jump, trying to claw Husband. On Henry’s legs were very sharp claws, like knives. If they had touched Husband, they would have cut him. Husband got the garden rake and used it to keep Henry away.

Henry was a problem. If anyone wanted to go into the garden, they had to take the rake with them. They could push Henry away with the rake, so he couldn’t hurt them.

Annie was worried. She asked her friends what she should do. Some friends said she should lock up Henry in a cage, then he couldn’t hurt anyone. Some friends said she should send Henry to a different garden to live. Some friends said she should give Henry a big kick. Some friends said she should eat him.

Annie didn’t like any of these ideas. She decided to look on the internet. She found someone else who had a problem with a cockerel who wanted to fight. She read lots of information. She learnt what to do.

The next time that Annie went into the garden, Henry came running over. He started to do his special fighting dance. Annie folded his wings into his sides and picked him up. She tucked him under her arm. Now Henry knew that Annie was bigger than him. Then, while Annie fed the chickens and changed their water and checked the ducks, she kept Henry tucked under her arm. Now Henry knew that Annie was bigger than him AND that she did not want to fight. When Annie put Henry back on the grass, he ran away.

For a few days, Annie picked up Henry whenever she went into the garden. Henry stopped trying to attack Annie. Annie told her family what she had learned. When Henry did his funny dance, he was saying, “Do you want to fight?” If they pushed him away, he thought they were saying, “Yes, I want a fight.”

Cockerels are bad fighters. They never stop the fight until someone has won. Sometimes this means they kill each other. The family had to teach Henry not to fight them. They had to show him that they were bigger but they did not want to fight.

Then Henry stopped trying to attack them. He went back to pecking the corn with the other chickens and walking around the garden with the cats and the dogs. Everyone was happy again.

When someone wants to hurt us, it is hard to not fight back. Sometimes fighting is the wrong thing to do.

Thank you for reading.

You can find more Animal Garden Stories at :

The Safe Place

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Letters to a Sister : 49

Posted by anneethompson

Hello, how was your week? Mine was incredibly busy, so there wasn’t much time to recover from our dinner dance from last week. I know that you know some of it, but I will tell you anyway because it will make me feel better.

Monday we decided to try out the new restaurant at Knights Garden Centre. I then came home and wrote a review of it for my blog. I didn’t ‘post’ it because I worry that if I do too many posts in a week, my followers, who receive them by email, will get fed up with me and ‘unfollow’. However, if you want to read it, the link is:

The Potting Shed Coffee Shop and The Walled Garden Restaurant (Knights Garden Centre.)

Tuesday was a preparing day. I was cooking at Lunch Club and usually I shop on Wednesday, but this week I had to go to London, so shopping was pushed to Tuesday. I decided to cook the same gammon, cauliflower cheese, roast spuds and carrots followed by ginger syrup sponge that I cooked last time. It’s easy and I had the quantities already sorted out. Assumed there would be forty people and hoped I bought enough.

In the afternoon I took you to the airport. The taking bit was fine, the finding the car afterwards bit is always something of a challenge. Especially as I had left my glasses in the car (I am still in denial about needing to wear them all the time.) Found car eventually, though I know the boys would have been good about a phone call asking them to drive to the airport to help me find my car. Drove home missing you – you need to seriously review the whole living two days away thing.

Wednesday was London. Husband has some work in Argentina in the summer, so I thought I would join him. He told me I would need a yellow fever vaccination. My local surgery were unable to do it until after I was home again (so much I could write here) so I had to book one at the clinic in London. The train times didn’t work very well, so I drove to the station early, caught a train to London Bridge and then loitered around Elephant and Castle for about an hour. This is not a great place to loiter, unless you want a tattoo or a kebab or a conversation with a drunk man. I settled for the conversation.

Arrived at the clinic on time. Was then informed that actually, you only need the yellow fever jab if you are going up to the waterfalls in the North, which we weren’t. All my other vaccines are up to date, so I came home. I have barely mentioned the wasted time to Husband since, (though actually, it does come quite naturally into the conversation surprisingly often.)

Thursday was baking puddings for Friday. Friday was cooking lunch for forty people, serving, washing up, going home to recover, then meeting friends for dinner. I missed you helping at Lunch Club, it’s such hard work, though I love doing it. The oldies all came back pleased to see each other, it was very noisy. Some of them know that I find the cooking a struggle, so they come to check up on me – one of the men told me they had put me on “Suicide Watch” just in case! Forty three people came, but there was enough – sort of – some had to have sausages.

Saturday was preparing Sunday School, trying to clean up the messy house a bit, buying food for a big breakfast for all the students at the church, stuff like that.

All this was ‘extra’ stuff. You have to remember that I had all the usual ‘jobs’ of caring for the animals, cooking vast amounts of food for the boys to eat, trying to keep the house relatively hygienic.

The eggs in the incubator should hatch next week. I am trying to get a hen to go broody, then when they hatch I’ll put them under her. It’s not working very well so far. There are lots of eggs in the nest (which usually is enough to turn a hen broody) but they don’t like the weather. They sit for a couple of hours, then get bored and go for a wander around the garden. This won’t work when they have new hatchlings – they’ll die of cold unless she sits all the time. Annoying. Perhaps you could pop back to poultry-sit?

Take care,
Love, Anne x

PS. I had just finished writing this when I went to check the incubator and one of the eggs is shaking and cracked. It’s EARLY! Rushed around in a panic, filling a plastic crate with hay, trying to find where I put the water and food pots a year ago, fixing a heat lamp at the right height above the crate. All ready now. Sometimes they take a couple of days to actually hatch, but occasionally it’s just a few hours, so I need to be ready.

Now I keep going back to check. I still find watching ducklings hatch incredibly exciting. The egg just has a tiny crack at the moment. When I shine a torch on it, it shakes from side to side while the duckling inside tries to unfold. A little miracle. I’m sure the family will understand why we have no food in the cupboards…….

You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Clara Call Duck has a Problem

Posted by anneethompson

An Animal Garden Story

Clara call duck was cross. It was a very cold February and lumps of ice had formed on the pond. Annie knew that soon the whole pond would freeze over. This was very dangerous because Mr Fox could then walk across the water. He was hungry and would like duck for dinner. Annie wanted the ducks to be safe, so she had put them all into a large cage.

The cage was very big. It was tall, so the call ducks could fly if they wanted to. It had fresh hay, so the big fat white Aylesbury ducks could sit and chat. There was food and big bowls of water. Most importantly, it was safe. There was strong metal fencing around the sides, across the roof and even under the mud and hay on the floor.

However, there was nowhere quiet and private and Clara wanted to build a nest.

On the first day, she laid an egg in the corner. But Annie collected it when she brought fresh water.

On the second day she laid an egg in a box of hay, but Edna, the East India duck laid her egg there too and then made a mess!

On the the third day she laid an egg at the top of the ramp. But Amy the Aylesbury duck knocked it, and it rolled all the way down and cracked on the hard mud.

On the fourth day, Clara found a tiny gap between the mounds of hay and a stool. There was just room to crawl underneath. Under the stool there was room to pull bits of hay to make a nest. Clara laid her egg, then crawled out to play with the other ducks.

The East India ducks were too busy splashing water to notice the gap under the stool. The white Aylesbury ducks were much too fat to fit under the stool. When Annie brought food and water she was too busy to notice the gap under the stool. The boy ducks were too busy chasing everyone to notice the gap under the stool.

Every day, Clara crawled under the stool and laid one more egg. The clutch of eggs became more and more. When there were fifteen eggs, Clara didn’t lay any more. She sat on the nest and plucked lots of soft feathers from her tummy and made the nest soft and cosy.Then she spread her wings across all the eggs and rested.

When Annie came with fresh water, she noticed that Clara was missing. She looked in all the boxes and under all the ramps, but she couldn’t find her anywhere. She worried that somehow Clara had escaped.

After four weeks, the eggs began to hatch. It is very difficult to climb out of an egg but ten ducklings managed to hatch. When Annie came with the food, she was very surprised to see lots of ducklings! She quickly collected them all and put them in a large container with Clara, so they would be safe. She didn’t want an Aylesbury duck to sit on one and squash it!

A Prayer:

Dear Father God,

Sometimes I have problems. Please help me to think of what to do.

Amen

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Letters to a Sister : 48 – Dinner Dance Disaster….

Posted by anneethompson

We were invited to a dinner dance. I used to love that sort of thing, probably when I changed shape less regularly and could depend on my dress fitting in all the right places. I also find wearing heels a real struggle now, my feet are used to wearing wellies and I have a tendency to totter in anything else. Hard to stride in heels.

The invitation said ‘Black Tie’. Easy for the men then, just a bow tie and dinner jacket. But does that mean a long dress or a cocktail dress? Decided to take both just in case (we were staying over.) Both were tighter than I remember.

So, off we went to the dinner dance. We checked into a nearby hotel, looked at the room, which seemed small but nice, had a quick look at the 92 channels on the tele which all showed the same thing, played a bit of Candy Crush (as you do), then I casually asked Husband what the time was. It was fifteen minutes before the bus left that took us to the venue.

Went in to bit of a panic. Brushed hair, found tights, squeezed into dress, etc. Now, when I said that ‘Black Tie’ was easier for men, that was bit of an assumption. It is possible for men to mess up here. Husband then announced that he had forgotten cuff links.

We both paused. His shirt is one of those posh fiddly ones which has no buttons, you wear fancy studs at the front and the double cuffs are fastened with cuff links – which he had forgotten. Luckily he was a Boy Scout, always prepared, and he had string in his pocket. Yes, string. So I tied the cuffs together with string, tied a tight knot, cut the string close and hoped no one would notice. Husband assured me that a) this was not as funny as I was finding it and b)this was clearly the precursor to all the very expensive knotted cuff-links that you can now buy in shops. I wasn’t convinced.

The next disaster was when Husband realised that he had also forgotten the studs that fasten the front of his shirt. This was more of a problem. A shirt held together by bits of string would be obvious (and it was so not that kind of event.) We considered abandoning the dinner (a bit rude to the hosts) or trying to find a shop (unlikely.)

Then Husband – ex Boy Scout – realised he had a sewing kit in his bag. This included buttons, a needle and a tiny length of white cotton. I was grateful that Mum forced us to learn to sew when children, and I sat on the bed and sewed on four buttons where they would show. There was enough cotton for three loops per button, so if they were put under any strain at all, they would fall off.

We rushed to Reception, caught the shuttle bus to the venue and had a wonderful evening. There were lots of important, running major organisations, semi celebrity people present – and us, with a shirt tied up with string and precarious buttons. Found myself giggling at odd times. But the dinner was fabulous, the people were interesting, the buttons survived the dancing; and I think that no one noticed…..

Thanks for your letter, hope you enjoyed Easter. I certainly will NOT be hitting you over the head if you agree to help with something else. You are a brilliant help! I think we work very well together actually – as long as I am in charge. I like that I can just ask you to do something and you can read instructions and do it – surprisingly few people in the world can do that. It is a shame you are going back to Canada, sisters should definitely live on the same continent……

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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The Safe Place

Posted by anneethompson

An Animal Garden Story

The Safe Place

by Anne E Thompson

It was very cold. All night, soft snowflakes had fallen and now the garden was white and silent.

The dogs were very happy. They had leaped around in the snow, eating great mouthfuls of it, leaving big muddy footprints across the lawn.

The cats were cross. They looked at the beautiful white snow and decided it was much too cold to go outside. They had found somewhere warm and curled up to sleep.

The chickens stayed in the coop, they were safe in there. They stood on their perch and looked miserable.

But Annie was worried about the ducks. The pond had frozen, so Mr Fox could walk across it. He could walk across the ice to the island and catch ducks there. He could walk right into the nesting box and could catch ducks there. He could even catch ducks on the actual water, where they stood in an unhappy huddle, wanting to be able to swim.

Annie went to the pond. She took the dogs and her family. Together, they moved the ducks into the big cage. The ducks would be safe in the cage.

Every day, Annie went up to the big cage. The ducks needed clean water. They couldn’t swim in the pond or drink the water. Every day Annie carried big bowls of water into the cage. Some of the little call ducks jumped into it and splashed and swam. The big ducks dipped their heads into it and had a wash and a drink.

The ducks couldn’t sleep in the nesting box. They couldn’t poop in the pond. Every day Annie took away the dirty hay and cleaned up the duck poop. Then she gave them clean hay to sleep on.

The ducks needed food. They couldn’t catch insects in the pond or eat the plants on the bank. Every day Annie took them duck food and corn to eat.

When Annie went to the pond, she saw fox footprints. They went round and round the cage. They went round and round the pond. They went round and round the island. But the ducks were safe. The ducks lived in the cage for a long time. They were sad. They wanted to play on the pond. They wanted to eat grass. They wanted to swim. But they were safe.

After lots and lots of days, the sun started to shine. The weather grew warmer. The ice began to melt. Mr Fox couldn’t walk onto the pond when the ice had gone and he didn’t like to swim. When all the ice had melted and the pond had turned back into water, Annie opened the cage door. Out flew the call ducks. They landed ‘splash!’ onto the pond. Out waddled the fat white Aylesbury ducks. They stepped carefully into the pond. Out ran little wood duck, she jumped straight into the pond. The ducks were all very happy. Now they could play and swim and find food, and they were all safe.

In some countries in the world, people are not safe in the places where they live. If there is lots of fighting in their country, sometimes they have to leave their homes and go to a safe place. This is called a refugee camp. The people need food. They need somewhere to sleep. They need clean water. They need toilets. Sometimes they need other people to help them.

People in our country can give money to a charity to help people who have had to leave their homes. Tearfund is a charity that helps people. Ask someone to help you find tearfund.org on the computer, and you can see pictures of some of the people they help.

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Letters to a Sister : 47

Posted by anneethompson

The boys are back for the Easter break. Always full of helpful advice, especially about the internet. Today they told me, “If you didn’t pay for the service, you know that YOU are the product.” Hmm, this explains how Facebook pops up with all those adverts about things I have been researching online. Predatory.

They also continue to be rough on Husband. One requested that Husband should raise his hand when telling a joke so that everyone was aware.

It was a shame you missed their birthday. They are getting old – I don’t have teenagers anymore. This is good – I can now turn into a grumpy old woman (my boys assure me that people might not notice. I may have to start spitting or smoking cigars or something.) I have enjoyed parenting teenagers, mainly because they tell funny jokes. Also, as I have said in a previous letter, they are completely selfish, and they don’t try to hide it (everyone else is completely selfish but they try to hide it, and that makes it much harder to deal with!)

If I find that I miss the whole teenage world, I can probably borrow some. I do occasionally borrow other people’s children. I just have to keep them safe and feed them regularly. It is so much easier than parenting your own children, when you have things to worry about, like hopes and fears and their long term development.

Today is busy. Easter Monday we always have a cream tea at our house. People arrive for a walk across the fields, then eat scones while the children have an egg hunt in the garden. This morning I have to make scones for ninety people. Niece always comes in the morning to help make the dough and chat, so it’s a nice time. I do find the quantities difficult though. How much jam and cream should I buy? How many scones will most people eat? Every year I keep a note of who came and how much was eaten. This year Son One helped me sort out my shopping list : If last year, 66 people ate 9lb worth of scones, how many would 99 people eat? He gives me lots of abuse for still cooking in pounds and ounces ( much muttering about working in base sixteen when the modern world works in base ten.)

All this is NOT helped by every minister we have ever had at the church. They always think it would be great to invite that visiting family of twenty seven who arrive at the church on Easter morning. “The more the merrier”. Unless you are the host of course, fully aware that all shops are firmly shut. Perhaps they get muddled up with the parable where Jesus feeds five thousand people with two fish and five loaves – I would’ve thought it was fairly obvious that I am NOT Jesus.

I love the event actually. It is busy and I do worry about not having enough scones, but it always goes well. People arrive ready to have a nice time, which makes for a lovely atmosphere – I like when my house is full of happy people. Afterwards I sit down to look at the photos, to see who was there that I missed, who hunted for the eggs, who was chatting to who. It’s a whole big muddle of age groups and smiling faces. Wonderful. I’d better go and start weighing flour.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letters at : http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Anne E Thompson

Author

Author: anneethompson

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Letters to a Sister : 47

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