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Letters to a Sister :12

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So, this week we met Mimi’s new boyfriend (well, new to us.) All very scary. Was keen to make a good impression so asked what he liked to eat. Was informed he “is a vegetarian but doesn’t like vegetables very much.” Not so easy then.
Decided on a broccoli quiche (am good at making quiche. Must be all those quiches we ate at midnight as children after putting up the tent in Cromer on Wintery August nights. Oh, happy days.) Anyway, made quiche. Forgot the broccoli but decided he wouldn’t notice. Which he wouldn’t have IF helpful husband hadn’t thought it a good conversation topic on way from station.

Helpful husband had in fact been helpful all morning. He knew I was stressed so offered to vacuum clean the kitchen (just in case new boyfriend didn’t understand about dogs and copious amounts of hair shed every summer.) He did clean, unfortunately he did not put vacuum cleaner away, so it was in middle of kitchen floor when boyfriend arrived. Not such a great first impression.

Boys also helped. They cleared all the mess/stray socks/empty beer cans/sweet wrappers from the upstairs lounge (it becomes their hovel during uni holidays. I try to avoid going up there.) Unfortunately they thought the kitchen table was the best place to dump all their debris. Not sure why.

The boys had also devised a series of nicknames for boyfriend. They found it funny to substitute the middle consonant with a different one. Some variations WERE funny. Until I made a mistake and used one of the variations without realising. Very embarrassing (they found it hilarious.)

We did try to plan for the visit. Husband was given a range of topics (mainly ex-boyfriends) that he was banned from mentioning. He managed to mention them all I think.

Boyfriend seemed very nice. Mimi glared us all from time to time but seemed to cope. Not sure if they will brave another visit.

I have finally got round to clipping the ‘ducklings’ (now young adults) wings. They are happily on the pond. Except for one, which is matt brown and beautiful, so I have kept her with the parents in the aviary because I don’t want to lose her to a fox (added freedom also involves added risk.)
Most of them are males. They usually are. I am rubbish at telling their gender when they first hatch (it is incredibly hard to see and not especially nice for the ducklings) so I tend to wait until they are young adults. Then with call ducks it’s easy because the females shout really loudly and the males quack like they have a sore throat! You can’t tell from feather pattern with call ducks – one of my males has almost identical feathers to a female mallard. When they get older and are fully feathered, the males will all have curly tail feathers. This is true of all ducks, not sure of other birds, do you know?

Chickens have started pecking each other. No idea why, they never have before. I thought it was re establishing the pecking order when this years chicks became adults, but they’re still doing it. I now let them roam around the garden during the day, am hoping that will solve it (though their cage is big.)

Kia helps me round them up at night and to put the ducks back on the pond. She has got really good at it – spends a lot of time watching me to see where I need her to stand. Can see why farmers use them to herd animals, are very responsive (not like boys. Or husbands.)

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I took Milly and Molly to be spayed. The kittens also had their first vaccines. One of the ‘boys’ is a girl (clearly am also rubbish at sexing kittens! It is not as obvious as you might think.)

Vet told me to keep M and M quiet. Not sure how he expected me to do that. They were dismantling the cat box before we even reached home. I tried putting them in the bathroom but they spent the whole time leaping for the door handle or jumping onto the window sill. They also rearranged everything in the bathroom – not sure if they are the cat equivalent of interior designers (bad ones) or demolition men.

I gave up after a day and put them back in the garage with the kittens. After a week they can go in the garden. I’ll bring them in at night, just so they don’t forget that kittens are theirs and fight when they all move outside.

Take care,
Anne xx

P1080806PS. I have published my diary about Rio. Haven’t sent it to you because I included one of the letters I already sent. However, if you fancy reading it (now it has photos added plus some new content) the link is : https://anneethompson.com/travel/rio-de-janeiro/

Letters to a Sister : 11

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Letter to a Sister 11

Returned home from Brazil on Wednesday. Was a night flight, so very confused time wise.

At the airport, I decided to change my Duolingo app from Portuguese (no longer needed) to Japanese. Unfortunately, the only Japanese that Duolingo does is for Japanese people who want to learn English. So the lessons taught me how to say “boy”, “milk”, etc. As my English is already fairly good, it wasn’t particularly helpful.
However, I had not realised this until I had actually downloaded that bit of the app. All the instructions were now in Japanese. I had no idea how to get back to the menu bit of the app. I spent ages pressing random things in the hope I would return to the menu page.
Finally gave up and went in search of a Japanese person. Found a Japanese man hiding behind a newspaper in the lounge. Explained my problem (which he seemed to find amusing.) He then had a look at the app, spent a long time exploring the lessons, said they were very good, but was also unable to find the menu bit. Am suspicious that he was just pretending to be Japanese, was probably a Korean spy or something. I still cannot use the app.

Was pleased to find house still standing when we returned. Two boys (who are really men, but they will always be boys to me) had cleared away all evidence of wild parties and all my animals were still alive. There is a suspicious smell in the utility room but I cannot find the corpse.

The kittens are thriving. They’re still all living in the garage. They are named after my childhood favourites: Milly Molly Mandy (favourite book when I was three) and Mary, Mungo and Midge (favourite programme when I was three.) We gave Mary away and she is now called Minerva, which kinda fits with the theme.

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Mandy was born first. She is Molly’s only kitten, is bigger than the others and clumsy. I think she may be special needs – has bit of a ‘vacant’ expression.

 

 

 

 

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Mungo will be the house cat. She is very friendly, has long soft fur and purrs really loudly.

 

 

 

 

 

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Midge is the boy. He has wiry fur, attacks everything (have big hopes for him as a mouser). He also has this annoying habit of pouncing on your calves as you are about to leave the room and running up your leg. Painful if you are wearing shorts.

 

 

 

 

They are all pretty much weaned. Milly and Molly are driving me bananas (they’re in season again and desperate to go out and find a man.) They will be taken to the vets and spayed on Monday.

One chicken had gone broody when we got home. The boys had removed the eggs but she had collected six (a days worth) and decided that was enough to make a nest with. I turfed her off and took away the eggs (otherwise all the other hens will go broody too. I really do not need more chicks.) She was very cross and swears at me now whenever I go up to see them but I am unrepentant.

The ducklings are all full grown and beautiful. A real mix of colours (so those ‘pure’ silver call ducks I bought at the country fair were clearly not especially ‘pure’! Not that it matters, they’ll all just live on the pond.)
They are all still living in the aviary, when I get time I’ll clip their flight feathers and then let them onto the pond. Once they have learnt the pond is their home, it doesn’t matter if the feathers regrow and they start to fly, they still stay around the pond and garden and Kia helps me round them up each evening and put them back on the pond.

The ducks on the pond seem okay, though some are getting old now. The two black ones have white feathers coming (the duck equivalent of going grey.) I’m not getting any duck eggs because the horrible rats are back in force. Really need to get those cats back outside.

Take care,
Anne xx

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Letter to a Sister: Brazil

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Monday 22nd June
Yesterday was a day off, which was good. Had hotel breakfast: melon, cake and something like a set egg custard. Not unpleasant.
Saw a capuchin monkey in a tree in hotel garden. Very cute. Then had lazy day. Drove around town, did very little. Didn’t go to a church as they were all a distance away and started at 7pm and Tearfund has a policy that you shouldn’t drive at night in developing countries for safety reasons. It gets dark really fast here. Dawn is 5am, dusk is about 5pm and it’s pitch black by 5:30. Same all year round. No seasons, except that June and July have more rain.
Today we drove to see three rural projects. The charity tends to work with women and teenagers. This is partly because there is a lot of domestic abuse and it helps to empower the women and girls if they have a trade, are not at home all day completely dependent. It helps them have a sense of self worth, have rights ( at the very least the right to not be abused.)
They have also found that when a woman earns money, she tends to use it to improve the whole family. If men earn money, they tend to get distracted and spend it on alcohol, gambling, etc.
The first project was a small farm. Originally it had provided food for just the family, sustenance farming. This left no safety net if crops failed, more money needed for improvements, etc. The charity provided knowledge and tools. The women now produce enough to provide for their families and also sell some. We saw a warehouse where they were preparing the food – fruits, bread, honey – for sale. Some goes to market, some is sold to the government for schools and hospitals and the proceeds then ploughed back into more charity work in the community.
We went to see Rosa ( so wish I could show you a photo of her house but cannot figure out this machine!) We sat on brightly coloured furniture in her little sitting room. The walls were bright red, strewn with pictures of Jesus and photos of her grandchildren. There was a large tele with a statue of Father Christmas on top ( wondered if her grandsons have the same sense of humour as my boys and they were ‘gifts’ or if she had chosen it.) The internal doorways had no doors, just curtains. There was no ceiling and you could see up to the roof tiles ( which had big gaps in them.) It wasn’t a bad house – as long as it didn’t rain. Not quite sure what happened to the tele when it did.
We went off round her garden. Saw lots of the normal crops ( onions, marrows) and also bananas, cashew nuts, medicinal herbs. Her kitchen had huge freezer where the produce could be crushed, bagged and frozen ( the charity had given her the crushing and bagging machines and helped sort out the irrigation system. It was a really dry area.)
Drove to next project. Saw big expanses of arid land with a few shrubs and tall spindly palm trees. Also saw lots of donkeys pulling carts of stuff and even two oxen pulling a cart of logs. Would be SUCH a cool photo. I have lots of blurry ones. Mainly of trees. Lots of animals as we drove: goats, hens, cats and dogs everywhere we go.
Went to San Jose do Egypt, which translates as ” Saint Joseph from Egypt”. They had never heard of the Technicolour Dream-coat musical and were somewhat bemused when Barbie started singing it to them (so were we.) Went to cafe for lunch. Everywhere much cleaner than I was expecting it to be. We were advised to not eat the salads, which was a shame as they looked fabulous.
Went to a bakery. Charity had again provided equipment and education. It was MILES. From anywhere. Was so glad they had a toilet ( very bumpy track to get there.)
We got out the van and the heat from the sun was boiling, so hurried into the bakery. Then we nearly melted. Was like entering a furnace. They keep the door shut so the flies stay out but opened them when we arrived ( so it immediately filled up with flies. Glad they don’t make currant bread.) Two girls and a teenaged boy worked there. They showed us how all the machines work, made some bread and cooked some rolls in the wood fuelled oven. We then ate warm loaves and coffee. The best coffee ever, even in a disposable plastic cup that burnt your fingers. Hot, black and sweet.
Luiz translated for us. We asked him to ask them what they had for lunch. Not bread. Bread is for dinner, pasta is for lunch ( was not the silly question we had all assumed.)
Drove to a bee farm. Luiz now censoring our questions. When David asked him to ask the Bruce Springsteen look alike farmer what instrument he played, he checked with me first if that was a serious question ( it wasn’t.)
Looked around the farm. Tearfund had provided funding for wells to be dug so production could increase ( it’s a semi arid area, lots of cacti) Saw the bees. Saw turkeys ( which really do ‘gobble’!)
Then had one of those horribly awkward moments when the granny on the farm called us all into her house and sat us down for drinks and snacks. She had prepared vats of juice for us, all prepared with local water which would have made us ill. Luiz had disappeared, she had gone to a lot of effort, we didn’t want to offend her nor be ill all night. I used my best Portuguese and apologised that we couldn’t drink it because….. had to mime last bit, my Duolingo app never taught me how to say that! Thankfully Luiz came back and explained a bit better. Felt bad. Difficult situation. Escaped to car.
We drove for miles on unmade tracks. Passed lots of small farms. They have no address, no street names. Also the area is about to be flooded as they are building a huge dam. All the farmers will have to be rehoused. (Our bee farmer and fruit juice granny will be okay, are out of range.)
Drove back to Ant Hotel.

Take care

Anne xx

Letter to a Sister : Brazil

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Arrived in Rio after long flight. Really really long flight. We (David and I plus friends:Barbie and Ken) were met at airport by hotel driver. Bit of a squash fitting cases into boot due to two large gas cannisters. I thought he had brought along his scuba diving gear (silly man) then learned that they were full of natural gas, it was a gas powered car (silly me).
His ticket didn’t open the exit barrier, so he went and parked in deserted car park. He did NOT then draw a gun and ask for all our valuables, he just apologized and went to pay for parking. Clearly has watched different films about Rio to me.

Checked in at Sheraton Hotel. Nice. Discovered I had forgotten to turn off ‘data roaming’ on my phone and had already been charged £26:04 for excess internet. Good old Three Mobile. (Not nice.)
Was surprisingly difficult to get into a lift going in the right direction to find our room. Must’ve been more tired than I realised.

Hotel nice. Our room overlooks beach and has a little balcony. D complained sea was too noisy (such a romantic.)
Showered, ate a burger, slept really well. Until 4am.

Wednesday 17th June
Opened curtains and watched dawn break over the sea. Beautiful. D explained what several of the viewpoints were. There are two lumpy hills called ‘The Two Brothers’, Ipanema beach, Leblon, etc. He told me the small beach by the hotel is called Viagra beach. Pretty sure he was lying.

Met Ken and Barbie for breakfast. Friendly staff, good buffet, ate overlooking sea. Tried some pretty tasteless papya and some very nice melon. Coffee average.

Walked to Ipanema beach. Saw Corcovada Hill with big Jesus statue on it. Saw a ‘muscle beach’ with people working out, doing pull-ups, etc. Lots of muscle. Barbie joined in (went on a swing.) I paddled in the sea (cold).
Saw people playing volleyball. Beach not too crowded. Sun gradually burnt of cloud and it warmed up, though didn’t get too hot. Saw coconuts for sale and some growing in trees. You can buy fresh coconut milk at beach stalls.

David and Ken discussed birds on beach (feathered variety.) Interesting shape, big and black and white. Tried to look them up in guide book but it concentrates mainly on nightclubs. Surprising really.

Lunch by pool. Barbie had coconut milk, served in the shell. Looked really cool but she said was a bit tasteless. I used my best Portuguese (first time I have used it) and ordered a mineral water, still, no ice. I received a water, sparkling, with ice. Considered it a success (they understood the water bit.)

Sun disappeared behind hill disappointingly fast. By 3pm we were sitting in the shade. Tomorrow we go to Recife, then off to see some Tearfund projects.

Am writing this on D’s computer, keep hitting wrong key and losing everything. Also not yet figured our how to add photos. Will aim to improve by end of trip.

Take care
Anne xx

Letters to a sister 9

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Cassie (black labrador) died last week. I couldn’t write about it at the time, was too busy crying. She was old for a lab – 14 – and she was losing the feeling in her back legs, pooped without knowing it and her sight and hearing were pretty much gone. I didn’t mind clearing up after her, I owed her that much, she has given the family so much joy over the years. And until recently she has seemed happy enough. She mainly slept but so did the old cat and they snuggled together in her bed, so she had company, she still got excited at meal times and once a day she would go for a plod around the garden. But then she stopped wagging her tail and began to seem frightened by things, so it seemed kinder to let her go. Horrible decision. I had so hoped I would just find her dead one morning but in the end we felt it was time to take her to the vets, to put her to sleep before her life became a torment of fear at not seeing and unhappiness if I didn’t clean up her bed fast enough.

Although I knew she was ready to go, that it was the kindest thing to do, it was still hard, I still cried most of the weekend. It also makes me look harshly at life when someone/something I cherish dies. What is the point of it all? Life is so short, such a brief time of healthy happiness before we all decline, what is it that keeps us going? Why do we strive so hard to stay alive? And how will I cope when/if I lose those closest to me?

I look at the elderly people we cook for on Fridays. Most of them were married, had children, jobs, hobbies. Yet now, for the most part, they live alone, they cope with everything by themselves as their bodies deteriorate and everything gets harder. It seems to them like yesterday that they were vibrant, powerful in their own life, now they are becoming more and more dependent on others. How does that feel? How will I cope when that happens to me?

Maybe we are not meant to look ahead too far. If we trust in God (and deep down I do, I just have blips every so often, times when it all seems a bit scary ahead) then perhaps trusting him is all that matters. We do not know when or how our life will end, only that it will and that was always part of the plan, an intended consequence of having lived. Perhaps it is the now that matters, rather than the past or the future.

I know that what is in my past is finished, that those things I am proud of are not important anymore, that the things I did wrong have been forgiven. The future is a void, I cannot even predict what will happen this afternoon, in the next hour, I can only make a good guess and plan accordingly. But now, this actual moment in time, is mine. I can decide what I will do, how I will act, think, behave. And because I do not know what will happen in the next hour, what phone calls I might receive, accidents or happy surprises, then the most sensible thing would be to rely on God.

We are on a timeline, we can see the past, live in the present but the future is invisible.
(As an aside, did you know that the chinese language actually shows this in the words it uses. So the future is ‘behind’ you, because you cannot see it. It is like sitting on a train looking backwards. All the words relating to past are in front, before, you and all the words relating to future are behind you. I love that language!)
However, God is outside of time, above the line if you like. He can see my past and future and present all at the same time. So surely it makes sense to ask him for help when I live my present, to ask for his guidance as I stumble through this bit of life, doing the best that I can.

I guess if I am honest, I don’t really know what ‘the point of life’ is, especially when I get to the really tough, lonely bits of it. But God does, I really do think he has a plan and so I will just trust him on this one. I will cry for my dog, because I miss her, but I will know that her life (and mine) are not futile. There is a point, I just don’t know it yet.

Take care,
Anne xx

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Letters to a Sister 8

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Last week Mags cooked at the lunch club. She always makes huge lemon meringue pies. After they had eaten, one old lady came into the kitchen and said she kept meaning to ask for the recipe, was it a family secret or could Mags bring it for her? Mags said she would. After she had gone, Mags admitted she wouldn’t really know what to write on said recipe as the pies are packet mixes from Morrisons!

It’s the end of Spring. England does Spring so well, not like some seasons when you can’t be sure where you are in the year. I remember when we lived in the US, Spring came and went in a flash, if you blinked you missed it. Here we’ve had bulbs everywhere, bluebells in the woods, so much life. Not sure if I usually don’t notice because I’m too busy or if writing helps me to see better. I just walked Kia. There was a cuckoo calling, a deer in the field next to the house, baby rabbits hiding in the hedgerow. We saw a baby thrush perched on the bottom rung of a fence, looking all lost with its spotty tummy and baby fluff round its head. No idea where its mother was, probably having a heart attack in a nearby bush when she saw a monster german shepherd sniffing her offspring!

Last year when I was walking Kia I saw a baby deer. She had seen the mother and gone off on a long chase (still doesn’t realise that she cannot leap over hedges like deer can.) I was standing there, shouting at her departing back (futile activity) when I saw something ‘hop’ in the corn. Thought it was a rabbit at first, then went nearer and saw it was a tiny fawn. So cute. Worried that it may be abandoned due to disobedient dog chasing away mother. Went home and told James that he needed to come with me tomorrow and if baby was still there, we (he) would be carrying it home.

Was unclear how I would explain to David we had a deer living in the shed. Also some concerns over ticks, but ignored them.

Anyway, next day we set off.James asked if deer should be moved or if it was the same as when you find baby birds and you should leave them where you find them. Told him I had no idea. He then used fancy phone to google it and find out info. (Oh to be young and to understand how fancy phones work! )
Anyhow, he informed me that deer are born and left by the mother, who returns regularly to feed them until they are big enough to leap over hedges. They have no scent, so are safe from predators as they lie very still in long grass and are rarely seen. Pretty clever.
We decided to therefore leave deer where it was and just took some photos. Though it would have been SO cool to have a pet deer!

We have agreed to go on a charity trip with Tearfund to Brazil. Will visit their projects in the slums (which apparently I am not meant to call the slums, but it makes it clear that we’re not going to posh hotels.) Slightly worried we might get shot (you will be on mother duty. Ha!) though have been assured we’ll be safe.
Is bit of a logistical nightmare arranging someone to live here and look after two dogs, six cats, six chickens (including two cockerels who definitely have an evil look in their eyes) and fourteen ducks. Seems to be pretty much sorted.

I have tried to learn Portuguese. Got the duolingo app for my phone. It is impossibly difficult. Everything changes depending on who says it and whether the thing is masculine or feminine. Even “thank you” changes if I say it or a man says it. Crazy. What makes an object masculine anyway? Who decides these things? Am hoping to meet only English speakers or Mandarin speakers. David assures me this is unlikely.
One of Mimi’s friends lived in Brazil for a while and she has given me a couple of lessons (think she is a bit surprised at how slow I am!) In an effort to look keen I bought some dvds from Amazon. Could not understand a single word, not even ‘Hello’ or ‘thank you’ (which I definitely sort of know.) Complained to friend who looked at dvds and told me they were Spanish. Ah. Felt rather stupid (but she laughed for ages!)

Take care,
Anne xxx

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Kittens still cute.
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Letters to a Sister 7

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I have just tried to book an appointment to have a Hep B vaccine ready for visiting the slums of Brazil. First of all, my surgery said they did not do this any longer, I had to go to the next town and gave me the number of the surgery. That surgery informed me that they were full, they only have one nurse, I will have to have it done privately in London.

I wont name the receptionist, but I would like to because she represents to me all the rude/bolshy/unhelpful doctor’s receptionists who I have had the misfortune to have to phone in the last twenty years. She did not apologise, she did not give a reason, she did not ask whether that was a viable alternative. There was no discussion whatsoever. She just spoke to me as though I was an annoying inconvenience who should have known better than to call and ask such a silly question.

I then phoned the vets. I needed to find out if it was safe to worm Milly and Molly while they were feeding kittens. She didn’t know (apologised) and went to find out. She came back with the information, I drove to the surgery, collected what I needed and it was not an unpleasant experience.
She did not treat me like an idiot. She explained more than I had asked so that I could make the correct decision and anything she didn’t know, she went and found out for me.

Now, both people work with the public (which can, I know, be stressful. I was a teacher remember, you often see the public at their worst then, because everyone’s been to school, so everyone knows how to best teach, right?) However, I hope I was never as rude to even the most obnoxious of parents as doctor receptionists have been to me.

It is actually dangerous. If you have been up for a couple of nights with an ill child and you know that when you phone the surgery, after being put on hold for five minutes, they will interrogate you as to whether the visit is really necessary, let you know that the doctor’s schedule is full and you really should have known last week that your child was going to be ill and made the appointment then. Well, you just cannot face it. You decide you will wait. Then when you finally do go, the doctor says you should have come earlier, the complaint is now much more serious.

How can you tell them that actually you are terrified of the Hitler on the reception desk, that last time your child was ill she actually made you cry and this time you would have missed the 8:30am appointment phoning time because after not sleeping all night again you fell asleep from 7 til 9am. Which makes the lack of appointments totally your own fault.

Even if you are not phoning with an ill child, why is it necessary for them to be rude? I had brain surgery last year, it was still not possible to see my own GP, the receptionist still treated me like I should not really be there (even with a three inch scar across a hole in my skull!)

I know that doctors are over stretched and the receptionists have to protect them. I know that some people have appointments when a trip to Boots for some throat lozenges would suffice. I know that sometimes ill people might be stressy and unreasonable when they call. But is it necessary to be rude? Really?

So what is the solution? The only difference, as far as I can see between the vet and the doctor is that I pay for the vet, I am a customer, if they are rude I will go elsewhere and take my money with me. Now, I do NOT want to see the health service privatised. I love that we can go to the doctors and not worry they might be recommending treatment in order to get the money (I lived in the US remember). I like that everyone, on any income, can go to the doctor.

However, there is no excuse for rudeness. Maybe the receptionists need to remember what their job is.

So, could we just privatise the receptionists? Could the National Health Service run as it is (maybe with a little more investment please Mr Prime Minister) but save the money in the budget that is paid to the receptionists. You could use it to pay for one extra doctor in every county (every little helps.) The receptionists would be paid by the patients.

Now personally, I favour a voluntary donation system, so they would have to be very nice or they would not get paid (like some waiters) but I can see that this might not work. So how about a small fee every time you visit the surgery? Maybe £2 a visit?

I am not poor now but I grew up poor (very very poor) and I still work with kids from an estate where many are on benefits. All of them can afford the occasional costa coffee, they use the bus instead of walking, they buy sweets (none of which I could have afforded as a teenager.) I think that £2 a visit is not too much for anyone to pay. It would also make some of the ‘time wasters’ think twice, to perhaps pop to Boots or wait a few days to see if the sore throat cleared up on its own, which it often does.

Most importantly, perhaps it would make those receptionists be nicer. It is possible. I had a very nice one once. When I phoned for an appointment, there were none available but she was polite and kind. She sympathised, asked if I was feeling very poorly, said she was sorry but all the appointments had gone. Then she asked if I thought I should definitely see someone that day, in which case she would fit me in as an emergency with another doctor, or could I manage to wait until tomorrow? Mostly she was just kind. If I knew her name I would include it. It is possible to do a difficult job well. Maybe they just need a little motivation. Maybe the surgery needs to fire the bad ones……

Take care,
Anne xx

PS. As promised, more kitten pictures. They are growing so fast!

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Letters to a sister are posted every Monday.

Letters to a Sister 6

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It was my turn to cook at Lunch Club. This is a major operation, beginning with a trip to supermarket at 8:30 the morning before. I then spent all day cooking beef casseroles and lemon crunch pies, which spend the night in my fridge and then get transported to church and reheated for the lunch. This week we had forty-two people. Lots of food.

It started fairly badly when I tried to open the condensed milk ready for the lemon crunch pies. We have a Jamie Oliver tin opener, which I am quite fond of as it is not immediately obvious how it works and leaves people looking confused and I can then show them and feel clever. In the past, it has always worked brilliantly. Anyway, my guess is that Jamie Oliver does not use much condensed milk in his recipes (do you still use his recipes? I am more of a Nigella cook -unfortunately am getting the waistline to match!)

This stupid opener would not open the tin, whichever way I held it. All it did was remove a hair sized slither of metal, which then splintered off into my hand. Hurt. And bled. Not a good start.

Now, I have done my hygiene safety course (what a thrilling morning that was) so I knew that blood and catering is a bad combination. I should immediately cover the cut with a blue plaster (blue so that if it falls into the food – gross thought – it is easily spotted.) However, we do not have blue plasters in my house. We only have Postman Pat ones which I buy because I like to hear ‘important-city-worker’ and ‘international – businessman’ both muttering when they cut themselves (I clearly don’t get out enough.)

I therefore decide that I will opt for hygiene rule two and wear plastic gloves. Unfortunately, the only plastic gloves which are unopened (and therefore safe to use with food preparation) are extra large black marigolds, bought to use in the garden. So, there I am, wearing my outsized black gloves, looking at unopened condensed milk cans and thinking bad thoughts about Jamie Oliver.

What do you do when your tin opener does not open tins? I can assure you that a cork screw is both dangerous and does not work. Nor does bashing it very hard with sons penknife. Taking it in garden, wedging it between logs and hitting it with an axe does work, however leaves milk too dirty to use. The only option, as far as I know, is to drive very fast back to supermarket and buy a cheap but effective tin opener. One that actually opens tins. I will suggest to Jamie that really this should be the defining point for any implement he sells under the name ‘tin opener’. Radical thought.

The rest of my preparation went well, though I was completely worn out afterwards. Luckily, both David and Mimi were at work functions in the evening, so Mum had agreed to cook me dinner. I shoved the food in the fridge, fed the animals and drove to Mum’s. As I stood on her doorstep I had a horrible feeling that she might be going to serve me beef casserole/stew (you will understand.) But no, it was very nice scollaped potatoes with sausages and cheesecake for pudding. No tin openers necessary.

The actual Lunch Club was fine. The oldies all ate their beef casserole and vegetables and absolutely huge pieces of lemon crunch pie. All very tasty and hygienic. Some of them bring in plastic containers and take home the leftovers to eat in the week. It’s a nice feeling to cook for them. They have jugs of water on the table and a few of them have started to bring in fruit juice to add to it so it has a flavour. This week one table had a bottle of alcoholic fruit juice. The leader asked if they realised it was alcoholic and they just winked at her! That’s so how I want to be when I’m ninety-five!

Actually, we recently renamed the group. It’s now called Lunch Club (imaginative huh?) We did consider a few possibilities. My personal favourite was Fifty Shades of Grey (this was deemed to be misleading – they might arrive with the wrong expectations!)

 

We went to visit Noreen in hospital. She has just decided not to continue with chemo, so probably wont live much longer. I was really nervous about going. She’s a friend, so I really felt that we should go but I was worried about getting all emotional, which would be awful for her and upsetting for me. Prayed hard. Arrived at hospital – why are they so beige? Found her ward, which bizarrely is the maternity ward. Apparently ‘womens bits’ are all categorised the same, whether it’s the beginning or end of a life. Actually, maybe that’s better, maybe being on a ‘cancer ward’ would be rather depressing. Anyway, Noreen was still Noreen. She is clearly unwell, but still bright and sparky and fun to talk to. I didn’t get emotional at all. Find that happens a lot when I pray – makes me wonder why I don’t spend more time doing it.

Take care,
Anne xx

The next ‘Letters to a Sister’ will be posted next Monday.

Letters to a Sister 5

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Very excited, one of my poems was ‘spotted’ on Twitter and has been printed in Tear TimesIMG_2312You can order a copy (family heirloom) at : tearfund.org (they’re free)

 

For David’s birthday, his sisters gave him a voucher for a champagne cream tea at the races. Decided to use it on Saturday. Was fun. We arrived about two, having missed lunch due to eating big breakfast. Wondered how we would manage to drink a whole bottle of champagne mid afternoon. We managed surprisingly well.

The race course was nice. Not really used to race courses, so no idea what to expect. We had a table in a pavilion, which we could leave to watch the races and then come back to (for more champagne.) On way to the track passed a group of musicians who never seemed to be playing and a stand selling ‘Hand Pulled Pork’ which made me giggle. (I blame it on the champagne, but honestly, WHO thought that was a good name for something people would want to eat????)

Liked watching everyone. All the women seemed to be dressed up in high heels and fancy dresses and fascinators. I do not get the point of fascinators – they are fascinating because they look very difficult to keep from falling off! I had my best trousers on but fear I may have looked like I had come straight from sorting out ducks and kittens (because I had.)

Anyway, I had reminded David that Great Grandad had been involved with building the race course at Huntingdon, we had Dick Francis and Josh Gifford on our family tree, etc, etc. First race, I picked a horse. Told David it had odds of 9:1.
He then pointed out that actually that was its weight. It came second. Next race chose with confidence, telling him the weight. It lost, of course. Then we texted lucky niece and asked her for her tip – that lost too. Was great fun watching though.

Tea was nice. We had a Romanian waiter. I asked him which part of Romania he came from, he told me Eastern Europe. Maybe I was slurring by this point.

I used the Ladies before we came home. David pointed me in the right direction and I managed the heavy double doors just fine. Room very crowded with lots of women touching up their make up and combing hair. Did not use elbows to reach the sink (would’ve been rude.) Wondered who thought ‘bubble gum’ was a good perfume for liquid soap.

Thanks for sending the pot pourri. I’ve put it in a pretty china dish in the downstairs bathroom. Not sure why the whole world now thinks that’s a good place to fling the empty toilet roll insert.

My animals are doing well. The silver call ducks have just hatched. Mother keeps sitting on them still (glad there is one good mother in my household) so getting a decent photo is near impossible. Milly and Molly continue to be terrible mothers and only really notice their babies when I go in and put them back together. All four kittens continue to thrive, I feel despite rather than because of their mothers.

Talking of mothers, I took our mother to the supermarket yesterday. She went to one of the ‘self check out’ tills before I could stop her. Immediately, an assistant came and stood next to her, helping her check out. Think that tells a story in itself.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letters to a Sister 4

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I can’t remember if you have the same holidays as us? Anyway, last Monday was a Bank Holiday in the UK. Mimi (amazingly) managed to sell her car. Think she was a bit sad to see it go. She rather liked having a big pile if cash though! She then, rather worryingly, asked, “Will banks be open today?” I told her there was a clue in the name! Also a bit surprising as she works in a bank. Clearly that Law degree was worth every penny.

Also, Molly had her kittens. Somewhat of a surprise, as I was just thinking about moving them inside ready for my guessed due date of end of May. I found her on a high shelf in the workshop with two almost dead kittens (which didn’t make it) and one feeding.

Milly has not yet produced but seems uncomfortable. She’s a bit smaller than Molly so am guessing a few days later. I moved them all into the garage. Molly is a pretty useless mother. She is fed up with the kitten and just wants to curl up on her own somewhere. Milly is very uncomfortable and just wants to hug Molly all the time, squashing the kitten in the process. She also keeps trying to steal the kitten – perhaps she thinks if she can steal that one she needn’t go through the whole birth thing herself. I tried putting Milly somewhere different but Molly got very upset so decided having them together was the lesser evil. Think these two missed the ante natal classes and the ‘instinct’ bit obviously missed a generation. Will be a miracle if that kitten survives.

It does bring back memories of having babies, not that I remember very much. I think we are designed to forget most details so that we have more than one baby and don’t warn our daughters never to have children. I can remember when I had my second one commenting, “Oh, I remember this pain now.” Can’t remember much else. Am pretty sure though that I remained calm and glamorous throughout.

I do recall David, busy husband, not having time to read any of the million books that I gave him in preparation. Then, when I was in labour he said he would start reading one. He chose a 1950s book and read out, “Only the ignorant woman feels pain during childbirth.” I think I politely asked him to stop reading, it wasn’t helping.

Take care,
Anne xx

PS Milly had her kittens – three survived. She seems a much better mother than Molly who still regularly abandons her kitten for something more interesting. Amazingly it is still alive, though what being regularly sat on or ignored does for your self esteem remains to be seen. Perhaps it is ugly, some babies are. Do you remember Mum telling us the story of when Mark was born and Granny said, “Never mind, you can keep him covered in a shawl!”?

Having kittens is MUCH more traumatic than hatching ducklings. If a duckling gets stuck you can help and most of the time it is successful and if it’s not, well it is sad but there is no risk to the mother.
Have definitely given up on the idea of breeding puppies.
Am not sure that I want grandchildren any more either. All very stressful.

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