family

Planning a Trip

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Thanks for your letter. I smiled when you mentioned your dentist’s age. I’m always a bit shocked by how young the rest of the world is becoming. When I was in hospital I had lots of children looking after me – I kept wanting to ask if their mothers knew where they were. Mostly they were doctors.

I’m slightly stressed this week. Tomorrow we go to Sri Lanka. As you know, I am not a relaxed traveller. I also prefer to cope with things as they arise, I find that thinking about problems ahead of time adds to the stress. Husband is the opposite. He likes to think through every eventuality and plan accordingly (ex Boy Scout and all that.) So, yesterday we went for a nice relaxing walk and he started to discuss the trip.

It’s a work trip, Husband will be in the office and I will be trying to rewrite the changes to my book that the editor has suggested. Seeing the country will be an extra treat if it fits around his work schedule, with a couple of days holiday at the end. This means his company is paying for his flights and hotels. Which means, if something urgent happens in London, they might decide he has to postpone. My flights and expenses are paid for by us. If something urgent comes up at home, I will ignore it. Or lose my flight.

So, yesterday, on our relaxing walk, Husband tells me that tomorrow he will be working in London during the day, so I will have to meet him at Heathrow. That’s okay. He doesn’t want to take his luggage into the office, so I will transport that for him. Also okay. If he is delayed, I will need to check in before he arrives. Less okay. If he is very delayed, he will catch a later flight but I cannot change mine, so I will need to fly out on my own. Even less okay, but I will cope. If something urgent arises, he might join me in a day or too. Not what I was hoping. The hotel is booked, but Sri Lanka is currently having a cyclone, so if the hotel is flooded, it might be shut and I will need to book another one when I arrive. This is not something I want to think about. It probably won’t happen, if it does, I will think about it when I am in Sri Lanka. Am feeling even less relaxed about the trip now.

If I ever arrive in Sri Lanka and find a hotel, I will tell you how I get on. If you never hear from me again, I am somewhere in the world with two large suitcases and a long list of instructions. Please look after Mum.

Love, Anne x

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You can read my sister’s letter at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2016/05/spring-and-spring-cleaning-letters-to.html

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015525&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The India link is here:

https://www.amazon.in/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1549015429&sr=8-1&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

The UK link is here:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sarcastic-Mothers-Holiday-Diary-ebook/dp/B07N95281F/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549014970&sr=8-2&keywords=the+sarcastic+mothers+holiday+diary

 

 

 

 

Letters to a Sister : 51 – London Zoo

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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.

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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.

IMG_4029The 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. IMG_4032

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

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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.

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

IMG_4083They look a bit dead when they first emerge.

IMG_4089Two ducklings fluffed up after an hour and started running around.

IMG_4092 IMG_4096Two 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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Letters to a Sister : 48 – Dinner Dance Disaster….

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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…..

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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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Letters to a Sister : 47

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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.

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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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A Trip to London with Aunty Ruth

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Letter to a son….

I hope you’ve had a nice week. I went to London with Aunty Ruth. She wanted to see Lincoln’s Inn and Grey’s Inn (because I sent her the books by C J Sansom, which are murder/mystery books set in the 16th century. The main character, Shardlake, is a lawyer who works at the Inns.)

We got the train to London Bridge and then walked up, past the Bank of England and Guildhall. We got a bit distracted at Guildhall. I told her about going to a function there and we decided to see if we could break in, so I could show her the really cool hall. We went into the art gallery bit first, because I thought we might find a route through into the hall. This was free and had some fantastic paintings. I was a bit surprised to see a miniature version of one of my favourite paintings – The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by Delaroche – do you remember me taking you to see the big version in the National Gallery? (We went when you were small enough to be persuaded to do things that I considered ‘good for you’.) Anyway, apparently Delaroche did this tiny painting first, as a sort of practice attempt.

IMG_3907There wasn’t a route into the hall but a nice security man told us that actually, we were allowed into the hall, we just had to use a different entrance. We found the right door, had our bags checked, and went into the hall. There’s a plaque on the wall that tells you about some of the famous people who had their trials there – people like Anne Askew (a heretic), Lady Jane Grey, and Henry Garnet (part of the Gunpowder Plot.) A lot of history, makes you think, to realise that it was real.

 

 

 

IMG_3903Something which I assume isn’t based on reality are two statues of Gog and Magog, who were two giants who fought Brutus on the site of Guildhall.

 

 

 

 

After Anne Askew’s trial, she was carried on a chair to Smithfield Market to be burnt. (She was carried because she couldn’t walk due to being stretched on a rack when tortured.) She was only 25.

We walked up to Smithfield Market to see if there was anything marking the spot where people were executed. (It’s very lucky that Aunty Ruth shares my interest in this stuff. Perhaps we had a weird childhood.)

IMG_3911Smithfield Market is a meat market, it has been one for centuries. There was nothing to show where they actually killed people, though there was another plaque giving information. It’s where William Wallace was hung drawn and quartered (you have seen the film, Braveheart, with Mel Gibson.)

It is also where people could sell their wives. Apparently, a few centuries ago, getting a divorce was very difficult, so men would take their wives to Smithfield Market and sell them! I assume that’s where the term ‘a meat market’ comes from (when talking about nightclubs or places with lots of available women.)

 

We then had a very nice lunch in Carluccios (email, in case you want to go there, is: smithfield@carluccios.com ) It was very relaxed and the food was good and we spent a very long time just chatting about when we were little. Aunty Ruth started with a coffee, but then she has been living in Canada for a long time now, so I guess some oddities are bound to appear.

IMG_3738We did finally make it to the Inns. Aunty Ruth was slightly nervous about just walking into places that had ‘Private’ and ‘Do Not Enter’ signs but I assured her that it would be fine, we could just apologise and leave, they don’t execute people anymore in the UK. I told her to try and look like either a lawyer or a criminal, so people would think we had business there. She took lots of photos, which rather spoilt the image. (Actually, according to the website, it is open to the public at certain times. But it was more fun when she thought we were trespassing.) It really is an amazing place, brilliant buildings and peaceful gardens right in the middle of London.

Walked back to London Bridge and got the train home.

Saw some lambs when I drove her back from the station – first ones I’ve seen this year. The sheep from the field next to the house have been moved, so Kia is a bit more relaxed this week.

The rats have destroyed FOUR duck eggs. Am very annoyed, I really want some more ducklings this year. I don’t know what to do now, whether to collect them (eggs, not rats) and hatch them in the incubator. But that is a month of incubating plus about a month of keeping them warm at night and I’m not sure if I am definitely here for a two month stretch. I might ask the boys in Sunday School if any of them would like to ‘baby-sit’ some ducklings in their garage for a week if I go away.

Take care,

Love, Mum xxx

PS. When you wash your duvet cover, remember to do up the poppers first, then it won’t fill up with all your other washing. I do realise that there is a bit of an assumption there. If washing your duvet cover is not a regular event, I don’t need to know…

PPS. Please try to eat some fruit/vegetables.

 

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My sister’s letters can be found at:http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.co.uk

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Letters to a Sister : 39

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Have you read any good books lately? I have just finished’ All Quiet on the Western Front’ by Erich Maria Remarque. Have you read it? It’s brilliant, some bits made me cry. I wont tell you the ending because you should read it if you haven’t already.

It’s about a group of boys, aged 18 or 19, all from the same class at school, who are called up during the first world war. It’s fictional, though Remarque was at the front during the war, so I’m guessing it’s fairly realistic. The thing that makes it even more interesting is that they are German, so you glimpse how they saw us, the enemy. It is very well written. I read a translation by Brian Murdoch and it was very easy to read, didn’t feel like a translation at all.

I think the aspect that touched me most was that the soldiers all knew each other so well. I think of young men being killed and it affecting their parents, sisters, wives. I had never really appreciated how they had sometimes grown up together, they were watching their friends die. There’s one part, when one of the characters dies and Remarque writes:
“After a few minutes he sinks down like a rubber tyre when the air escapes. What use is it to him now that he was so good at mathematics at school?”

You cannot read this book and escape how awful war is and how pointless it can seem to the young soldiers who are actually fighting it. They often discuss why they are there, what they are achieving and they never really solve it. It’s interesting because they have no hatred for the enemy, they are just doing their duty, what is expected of them. They are angry but the anger is directed at the governments, the powers that caused the war. They see it as pointless.

I read a version I bought from Amazon which is part of ‘The Collector’s Library’. They are tiny hard backed books – perfect for having in your bag when forced on shopping trips with your family. I have a few of them. Have started reading ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ now. I have too many books really but I might want to re read them so am loathe to take them to the charity shop. Perhaps I will start loaning them to people, just to get them out of the house for a while. Everyone I meet I will take a book and tell them I thought they would like to read it. That should clear a few. Husband is keen to do the same with the cats….

I discovered that Husband has been sending son ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ advice. So much I could say here. Apparently he recommended he should start the relationship with a questionnaire, find out what she was expecting/willing to offer. Said he wishes he had thought of that thirty years ago. Ha!

At church yesterday, our Pastor started to introduce a new initiative for Lent. I find that Pastors like new initiatives. If you scratch the surface, they are exactly the same things that our mother and grandmother did, just in a different wrapping. But maybe we need to be reminded to keep doing the old stuff. Anyway, his idea is that instead of giving up something for Lent (no chocolate for forty days and so on) we should do something – specifically one act of random kindness for someone each day. I felt there might be potential in this, instantly thought people might find it helpful if I let them know in the weekly bulletin that I like Fruitgums. Husband said I was missing the point.

The examples given were things like giving a stranger loose change in the carpark, or buying a coffee for the next person in the queue. To be honest, if a stranger bought me coffee next time I’m in Costa, I would find it a little freaky. Do hope the whole church isn’t added to a police ‘watch’ list. However, I can see that being kind for no reason is a good aim, one we should probably do even when it isn’t Lent. Pastor then said we would share how we were getting on during Sunday services. Might be going to St Nicks during Lent.

I like your article about Parliament (http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2016/01/the-palace-of-westminster-tour.html) You managed to find out lots of facts about the building – unless you made them up? Hey Ruth, we should do that. Let’s do a tour of somewhere and then just make up our own facts, both put them on our blogs and wait to see if they ever get copied. Would be so funny. Aren’t you tempted to do that when you’re writing your educational books? I know I would be – maybe I should stick to writing fiction.

I had better go. I wanted to tell you about the book so am writing this in my pyjamas.

Take care,
Anne x

 

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Letters to a Sister are posted every Monday.
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Letters to a Sister : 37

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This is a reply to my sister’s letter, which you can read at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2016/01/star-wars-handbags-and-my-word-of-year.html

Dear Ruth,

Thanks for your letter. It’s funny but I was thinking much the same things this week. I don’t think I could choose one word for the year though, for me it would be two : Nothing Lasts.

The same conclusions as you really, it is something I realise more and more as I get older. Nothing lasts. This can be sad, when it refers to friendships, when people I love move or die, when a job I enjoy finishes or a stage of life (like having toddlers. I loved parenting tiny children.) It can be good too, when something’s awful, or we’re ill, or we look at the world and it just seems black and hopeless. Nothing lasts.

I had a terrible night on Wednesday, I just couldn’t sleep. I think I spent the whole night awake and worrying. Usually I’m an excellent sleeper – 10:30 to 7am, straight through with no wake ups. If I can’t sleep I put on a story in Chinese and it distracts me enough that I sleep almost instantly. (Husband gave me headphones for Christmas. I am thinking it might not be the same for him.) But Wednesday I started worrying and then couldn’t sleep. All night.

I had all kinds of different worries bubbling around my head. Church has had lots of people move away and we can’t find enough people to fill all the gaps and I’m worried I wont cope with everything I have agreed to do. My book is on the way to being published but I’m worried that no one will buy it, that it’s not good enough, that friends will laugh at me. I hate self-promotion, I just can’t do it, so the thought of having to ask people to buy my book is terrifying. I also had agreed to drive the boys back to uni, which is a long drive, longer than I have driven since brain surgery. Worried I would get too tired, worried about staying in a motel (very scary), worried I would get lost in big Northern cities. Worry, worry, worry, buzzing round my brain.

The next morning I was reading Psalm 8 (you remember I am studying the Psalms at the moment?) Anyway, it just made me cross! It begins by talking about God, his glory, how he put the stars in place with his hands, how even tiny children praise him, etc. “That’s nice,” I thought, “but it doesn’t exactly fill up the Sunday School rota with names of willing volunteers. It doesn’t help me much.”

Then I realised that actually it did, actually it took all those worries away. If I believed in a God who placed the stars, then surely I believed that he could cope with a rota of names? Surely I could leave the problem with him? It just wasn’t MY problem, none of my worries were. They were his.

All I have to do is live each day as well as I can. To live in the present – which kind of comes back to what you were saying. I have to live each day as best as I can, which might mean editing my book or asking people to help with some job at church. But as long as I do that right, in the best way I can, then I am only answerable to God. The bigger problem is his and I can just dump it with him and get on with my day, with my ‘now’, my ‘present’.

Perhaps my word should be ‘Trust’. Except I’m not quite holy enough to do that very well, so I’ll leave it with ‘nothing lasts’.

Hope you have a good week. Hope woodpecker doesn’t destroy your house (your house is made of wood, right?)

Take care,
Anne xx

PS: News in brief:
The rats are back. More annoying than I can say. Have found new holes in the duck aviary. Have put down traps and discussed with cats.

We’ve had lots of rain. Loads of it. Makes walking dog each day very unpleasant. Squelching through sodden fields is grim. So is the amount of mud that seems to find its way into my kitchen. Hens are very cross and refuse to leave their perch some days.

I still have a Christmas tree up – the artificial one that I refuse to have anything to do with. The ornaments are gone but the tree remains. I think husband thinks I haven’t noticed. Am saving discussion for when I’ve done something wrong and need some leeway. Shouldn’t be long.

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Letters to a Sister : 36

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You can read my sister’s letter at:

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2015/12/swearing-soap-and-2-minute-meals.html

Here is my reply:

Dear R,

I miss you too at Christmas. I also can’t believe it has gone already, I love it, it makes me remember being little again.

When I was a little girl, I loved looking through people’s handbags – do you remember? If we had visitors, I would sometimes sneak out of the room with their bag, so I could search it in peace. It was possibly embarrassing for Mum, though I never took anything, I was just very curious (I refuse to use the ‘nosey’ word.) The bag I remember the most clearly was the midwife’s bag when she came after brother was born. It was black and VERY heavy and Mum shouted at me for hiding behind the sofa with it. I was misunderstood as a child.

Then we were given handbags by Great Aunt Nell one Christmas. Her presents were always slightly on the unexpected side weren’t they. I remember being given old Christmas cards one year. We loved her dearly (I’m sure not just because she gave us sixpences) but her gifts were somewhat random. So Mum (very naughtily) used to unwrap them before Christmas day, to check what was inside. I found this very exciting, especially as she always told me to not tell Dad (hence confirming it was completely against the rules. Mum has never really done rules.)

Anyway, that year it was handbags. Not sure if they had belonged to Aunty Nell or to one of her long deceased friends. I was very excited by the brown knobbly one with the snappy clip at the top but that was addressed to you (I did try to persuade Mum to switch the name labels but she didn’t break the rules that much.) I was given a basket. With no snappy top.

Mum has not, as far as I remember, ever used a handbag. Perhaps because I always searched it. Or maybe her lack of bag accounts for my fascination with them. Her pockets always have the same things in: a short pencil, an old shopping list, a tissue, some coins and now – which is my reason for writing this – those plastic coins from Waitrose.

Do you know what I mean? -Those plastic counter things that Waitrose have by the door, so you can vote for your favourite charity and then Waitrose will donate money to the one with the most votes? (Not sure if they have these the other side of the Atlantic but you may have noticed them when you were here.) I believe the aim is that every shopper has one vote, uses one counter with each load of shopping, dropped through the slot into the clear plastic container, watching the charity of their choice collect votes. I am sure the aim is NOT for old ladies, who happen to know that a charity of their choice is soon to be appearing, to hoard the plastic counters in their pockets. Nor to collect them from other stores and save them until they are next in their own one. I just hope she never finds a shop that sells the same kind of counter – even Waitrose staff might notice if two thousand extra counters suddenly appear. I have broached this subject with her but I feel it needs reinforcement – when are you next here?

Actually, Waitrose has been brilliant for Mum. She loves the free coffee that you get with their loyalty card and the free ‘samples’ of cakes that sometimes are left on the counter. (I wont mention the unfortunate incident when the baker left a tray of freshly baked muffins on the same counter and someone tucked in thinking they were free….)

I like our supermarkets. I like that they reduce food towards the end of the day. All the students learn what time this happens and loiter near the door waiting for the ‘Half Price Man’ to do his rounds so they can snaffle up the bargains. I like that they sell lots of ethnically diverse foods (the US supermarkets only really stocked US food) and that they donate left over food to charities for the homeless.

I am finding the 5p carrier bags bit of a challenge (they recently stopped providing free ones.) – I like the idea in principle but I do find it hard to remember to take a bag with me when I shop, too many years of being lazy/wasteful. My own bags are now stuffed with reuseable bags, just in case. Which with old receipts and pens that don’t work, just about fills my bag. Not very exciting should a child want to explore.

Take care,
Anne xxx

PS: I always show these to people who are mentioned before I post them, just in case they will be embarrassed/sue me. Mum assures me that it was Great Aunt Queenie, not Nell, who gave us the handbags. (I am not entirely sure if I have spelt Queenie correctly, or even if that was her real name or just what we called her. I have certainly never met another Queenie – have you? It wasn’t one of our name choices when we had daughter, though I quite like Nell as a name.)

Letters to a Sister

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Thinking about new year resolutions…

Do you swear very often? I try not to but I swear more than Mum and Dad used to. I’m not sure I ever heard Dad swear in anger. I heard Mum about three times throughout our whole childhood, which is pretty impressive really. Each of those three times was at me for something I had done. I do remember one particular incident when she swore at me and Dad came into the hall behind her and I felt positively elated because I knew that he would tell her off. I still got sent to my room, I can’t even remember what I had said or done, but whatever it was, I felt that Mum had been worse because she had sworn. It was such a big deal.

Do you remember at Infant School when if you were heard swearing you had to go to the staff room and rinse out your mouth with soap and water? Tasted foul. (The reason that I know this was your fault – you had told me to put two fingers in my mouth and say “bucket” and I was showing other children on the playground when the teacher caught me!) Not sure you would be allowed to soap children’s mouths today, though I don’t think it hurt us. It also didn’t really stop us swearing, we just made sure that there weren’t any teachers around.

As I said, I can’t remember Dad swearing. I do remember him smoking though. He told me that it was good for his health when he was working late because it kept him warm but that I shouldn’t tell Mum. I was young enough to believe him. It wasn’t until later that I realised that what he was telling me was untrue, we always just accepted what we were told. I sometimes start to explain something to my own children (like that the moon is made of cheese) and I’ll suddenly think, “Oh no, that is rubbish actually.”

I did try to not swear when the children were small and I must have been fairly successful. Someone (stupidly) gave them magnetic letters to go on the fridge and the boys used to write swear words on there because they thought I didn’t know any so wouldn’t realise what they had written. Most of them were spelt wrong. Very disappointing as a teacher.

I don’t think swearing is a good trait, it shows a certain lack of control. I also think it reflects more who you are used to being with, we tend to assimilate speech patterns without noticing. I tell off my children for swearing but it’s not the worst thing they could do.

When we lived in the US, the swear words were different. I was shocked to hear the pastor ‘swearing’ from the pulpit. They were shocked when I ‘swore’ during Sunday School. My children tell me that a lot of the words I think are swear words are now acceptable. I tend to not believe them.

Actually, we did get told off quite a lot growing up, I think perhaps children did in those days. Not just by Mum and Dad either, I remember at the Girl’s Group we went to at church, being told off for giggling. Do you remember that quiz we made up, where we read a Psalm and then read it again with mistakes in it and people had to stand up if they heard a mistake? It was very long and repetitive and we started giggling and the leader told us off, said we should show more respect for God’s word. She was, I suppose, sort of right but now I’m older, I don’t think actually God would have minded two teenaged girls giggling over something that sounded strange. It was the strangeness of the words that made us giggle, nothing really about God.

That’s often the trouble with the Bible, the words sound very strange. It’s easy to forget that they were real conversations, real letters and poems and stories written for real people. Much of it was written by rough manual workers – I bet they swore sometimes.

I have been reading the Psalms again lately. We have just finished studying ‘Emotionally Healthy Spirituality’ at church – a study book written by someone whose name sounds like a fungal infection. Anyway, it had some interesting bits but isn’t really my sort of thing. I like to read the Bible alongside some kind of commentary, something that explains the weird phraseology and the context in which it was written. I am using a book by Michael Wilcock, who I don’t think I would like if I met him (a bit bossy and ‘preachy’) but his writing is interesting.

He begins with the first Psalm/poem/song (whatever you want to call it) and he explains the odd word ‘blessed’. When we say “bless” today we either mean it like a pat on the head – “Aw, bless” or because someone has sneezed – “Bless you!” – a throw back to when the plague in 1600’s started with a sneeze, a sort of quick blessing before the person dies. Though sneezing today is unlikely to lead to a quick death. However, Mr Wilcock, the preachy one, defines “Blessed” as : a ‘life of delight and fruitfulness, with a sense of worth’. I like that, I want that sort of life.

I hope your new year is blessed.

Take care,
Anne xxxx

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Thank you for reading.

This is a reply to my sister’s letter, which you can read at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2015/12/next-year-im-going-to-hawaii-for.html

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