My invisible family member

I have been pushing wheelchairs for around 10 years. First my Mother, then my Stepfather and now my Aunt so I can speak with some knowledge on the subject of invisibility.
No one seems to see them. Cashiers at supermarket tills ask you, the pusher for the money or if you need help packing. People will stop and talk to you and completely ignore the person in the chair. Rarely does anyone hold a door open for you to manouver through. Its as if being pushed in a wheelchair is a sign that you are devoid of sensible thought or communication skills. My Aunt still lives alone, has no home help of any kind, still drives her automatic car, albeit not too far, thoroughly enjoys a good natter and dresses to kill. She is a very smart 85 yr old. No wonder she hates sitting in the wheelchair. What can we do to educate the masses then?

Our Invisible Friends

I can catagorically state with hand on heart that people in wheelchairs are invisible. Conversations are carried out over their heads as if they were not there. Cashiers always address the pusher when asking for money. It seems to be assumed that because someone is pushing them about they are not able to speak for themselves.
I have been pushing wheelchairs off and on for probably ten years. First my Mother, then my Stepfather and now my Aunt so I can speak with some knowledge. My Aunt, bless her, lives alone, does not have any home help at all, still drives her car, albeit not far, dresses to kill, a very smart lady of 85 and enjoys a good chat so I get just a little miffed when people direct their conversation to me pushing her chair rather than look down and speak directly to her. No wonder she hates going in it.

Do I appreciate modern conveniences?

I should be in my bed but can't sleep. I will be the proverbial wet rag in the morning and I have the beds to change and washing to do. What am I worrying about. I have a washing machine and a tumble drier and if I am nifty getting it out of the drier and folded I don't have to iron anything. I feel really spoilt when I cast my mind back to my early teens - fourteen and fifteen. With both parents working and two younger siblings Sunday became a day of work not rest. I had to alternate Sunday jobs with my Mother. One Sunday I did the weeks wash, including bed linen, with my brother turning the mangle and the following Sunday I did the lunch and baking for the week.
We were considered lucky, we had a washhouse which was an eight foot square room with a big bailey sink, electric copper, dolly tub with copper dolly and a mangle. No hot water, just the cold tap. Beds were stripped, bottom sheets and pillow cases in the wash, top sheets then put on the bottom and clean sheets for the top. Mother was very clean and fussy so we all had clean underwear every day. (In those days that was very rare,normally they were worn for a week and only changed on bath night which was once a week although we bathed most nights but had to share water).
All the cottons, sheets, undies, shirts, towels and teatowels, hankies, etc., were boiled in the copper, there was usually at least three copperloads. From the copper into the sink for the first rinse, then into the dollytub which was full of clean water, pummelled with the dolly, put through the mangle and hung on the line.
All non cottons had to be hand washed or dollied. The very last job was tipping the water out of the dolly tub onto the concrete floor and scrubbing it with the yard brush, it had to be almost as white as the washing.
That memory flashback has done me the world of good. I will happily change my beds and wash my sheets in the morning, it will take me all of ten minutes - not counting the machine time - Who said the old days were good days??????

Asking Mary Portas support for crafters recognition

Update on the little kitten.

Dizzy has been in her new home for a week now and has settled very well. They have one small child and don't believe in letting children use animals as toys. Dizzy has taken a particular liking to the man of the house and they are delighted with her. I have telephoned a couple of times to make sure that all is still OK and to keep lines of communication open in case they wish to return her but they assure me that they will never part with her. So 'All's Well that Ends Well'.

Things have moved on since I last blogged. We appear to have become foster parents to the little cat pictured earlier. She has settled down quite a lot and is a joy. Rosie, the dog, has been very tollerant of her skittish ways, all is well with the world.
I still have'nt finished the quilt. It is far too warm to have across ones knee to hand quilt and it's too big to go through my machine, even rolling it with cycle clips. They will have to wait for it I am afraid.
If I remember my history correct it is traditionally a winter job anyway. They used to do the patchwork in the summer and quilt in the winter as it kept one warm whilst working on it. Thats my excuse and I am sticking to it.

Sadly I had my purse stolen last week. Like most of us ladies I had my life tucked inside. Driving licence, bank cards, loyalty cards by the hundred, bus pass, rail pass, leisure pass, gym pass, and on and on and on. Half of those cards no one could use so I hung on before cancelling in case they threw away what they didnt want and they were retrieved. No such luck. Of course I cancelled the important ones but what a mess, I have been all week trying to get them all replaced one way or another. There was no actual cash in it and I stopped the cars before they could get any so, as far as they were concerned, it was a complete waste. They gained nothing but caused me a lot of agro. Drink, drugs and gambling have a lot to answer for cos you can bet your boots that one of these adictions were at the root of it.

Long Hot Summer

Water Butts are all empty again for the second time this summer. I hesitate to use the hose as I am expecting to hear that there is a ban soon and also we are on a water meter so could work out expensive. I have stopped putting water down the sink, instead I throw it over the kitchen garden, unless it contains chemicals of course. Please don't think I am complaining, I love it as much as anyone else although I sometimes wish it wasn't all or nothing.
Acquired a tent for the Grandkids, Hubby now complaining about yellow patches on the lawn. I told him it wasn't just to look at, it was to enjoy, and them kids certainly enjoyed it. It is only the size of a pocket handkerchief anyway which means that the yellow patch is almost all over so if I find something to turn the last bits yellow he perhaps won't notice the difference. Hey ho, such is life.

Animal Antics.

I have neglected my blog for which I am sorry. I will try harder in future. My excuse is that I have been busy looking after children. I really don't remember it being this exhausting and time consuming. How did I manage?
As said children are away on holiday with their parents we are caring for their pets, two cats. Tom, who is about 6 and Dizzy who is not a year yet and still very much a kitten. We have a 12 year old dog called Rosie who is, fortunately, used to being ruled by felines.
I wonder, do you need three guesses as to which animal is 'The Boss'. She has commandeered the dogs bed, guards the cat flap to prevent Tom coming in for food. Shouts the loudest for attention and is sooooo nosey she nearly jumped into the hot oven last night in an effort to see what I was doing. As fast as I have planted Lobelia this morning she has dug them up again whilst the dog and other cat calmly lay side by side on the lawn watching her. Grr. I eventually won by getting the hose out, it turns out she definately dosen't like water. Will I survive another week?

The things children say.

We went to visit the twins other Grandma who they call Nanna. She has a big picture of The Titanic hanging on her lounge wall and it came under discussion which went something like this.
Daniel "Whats that Nanna"
Nanna "its a big ship that sank a long time ago"
James "You remember Daniel, it hit an ice cube".

What more can one say.

Communication, A skill, an art or a craft?

I have recently been a peripheral observer of someone in a serious marriage delemma almost wholly caused by complete lack of communication. I don't think this couple, who are now Senior Citizens, have ever communicated openly with each other. They edit and/or abridge everything they tell each other. She never tells him what she wants to, only what she thinks he wants to hear.
Watching these antics has made me question Communication.
For most of us it is a skill learnt at their parents knee and honed as we grow to adulthood. To authors, reporters, secretaries and others of that ilk the spoken word becomes their craft. For people like Politicians, speakers, etc., it is more often an art form. The real skill is in communicating with each other with openness and honesty to the point of clear understanding. That, I think, is a gift.

the Multiple Sclerosis Resource Centre Charity

http://orchydesign.blogspot.com/2010/04/auction-preview.html

Do go and view all the auction items on the above blog. All monies raised will go to the Multiple Sclerosis Resource Centre Charity. These items have been donated by careing crafters so you will be buying something that has been handmade with love and posted to you direct from the crafter who made it. It doesn't get much better than that.

The Lurgy

I have gone down with the "Lurgy" again, cough, sniff, sneeze, you name it I am doing it. So much for all the VitC and MultiVit tabs I have thrown down my throat this winter not to mention all the fresh fruit with it.
There have been several reports recently regarding the validity of this stuff and I am beginning to believe it so down the loo they all go and me back to the drawing board.
There must be an answer somewhere, this is the third time this season and it has long ceased to be acceptable.
Diet I hear you all shout. I consider I eat sensibly, not big on meat but lots of fish, eggs and cheese. Love veg of all kind. (And buscuits and cake). Drink lots of milk and water. Maybe a little short on excercise so will amend that one, the dog can go for two walks a day instead of the statutory one.
I spend a fair amount of time outdoors or in my greenhouse and try to avoid people-busy places when these germs are about.
Having said all that I am open to all suggestions except the one about being "Put down.

The Local Council.

My neighbour a couple of doors down was outraged at the state of our pavements, she has only recently moved here. She was right to be angry, they are lethal. A fair smattering of people on invalid scooters ride this way and they are so uneven that one overturned a couple of months ago.
Well, she rallied a few of us together, canvassed the local Councillor and organised us to canvas the road (Over 400 houses) with petitions to sign. She did a great deal towards getting promises for repairs and traffic calming measures looked at.
For the last few days Council workmen have been working their way laboriously along this road repairing all the damaged pavements and today they reached our house. Whilst my hubby was chatting to them they received a phone call telling them to stop the job immediately and go elsewhere. The workmen explained to hubby that they would do us and next door and that would be it. Job finished.
Isn't it ironic and sad that the very person who worked tirelessly to get this work done was the very next house due to be done. I can't begin to imagine how she feels.

Bar-B-Q

Well, the weekend went reasonably smoothly. The one thing that stands out was the Bar-B-Q. I decided that we would have one. We have a chimnier (don't know the correct spelling) It is a terracotta fire with a chimney. I always use wood on my Bar-B-Q's as it is in plentiful supply outside the back gate, so took the boys wood gathering. They were puzzled when I said what it was for but, nevertheless enjoyed collecting it all, it was a fun game. Time came to light the fire which I did in the usual way, paper, sticks and matches. They were absolutely mesmerised. Of course, they live in a very modern house, no fireplace. No garden for bonfires. etc., and were amazed when I proceeded to throw food into it. (Daddy has a nice clean gas one). Now they want to go sticking and have a Bar-B-Q everytime they come.

Busy Weekend

My Daughter and her husband are away this weekend on a mini cruise so we have their twin sons, 4 and their two cats - should be fun as one of the cats has never met our dog. The dog will be OK as she was brought up by cats and "knows her place". This could be interesting.
As the children are accompanying them on a cruise later this year they have told the boys that they are "Testing" it this weekend to make sure it is safe. So we now have two little chaps who are very proud that their Mummy and Daddy love them soooooo much that they risk life and limb to make sure they are going to survive their holiday.
I am a wee bit concerned for the Moggies as the road at the front is busy and they are used to sitting in the middle of their cul-de-sac.
Watch this space, I am sure there will be some 'funnies' to relate later.

I crochetted a handbag for one aged aunt, black and white, and she showed off to second aged aunt, result, second aged aunt - 92 placed an order for one but it had to be all white to go with a particular outfit. I spend literally weeks on this bag, (pic below) crochetted the shape, threaded satin ribbon all the way through it, lined it with white silk with pink rosebuds on, made a wallet for the inside, magnetic closure, clear handles, white flower on the front, are you getting the picture. Good.
Well,
First aged aunt delivered it today and the conversation went something like this.
"I've brought your handbag Lily"
Lily "What handbag"
Madge "Your white one from Carol"
Lily "What do I want a handbag for, I've got cupboards full of them"

I can't even get it back to sell cos she kept it. If I didn't laugh I think I would cry.

I have finally completed the memory cushion for Sue and Peter.

86th Birthday Celebration

We celebrated Aunty's 86th birthday on Saturday with a delicious Chinese meal.
It was one of those occasions where everything went perfectly. The resturaunt opened its doors early for us so we could take the children. Lovely table in the window, waiting staff so friendly and nice and the whole evening was a great success. More importantly, Aunty had a ball.
A couple of pictures. Twins blowing her candles out which was confusing for them as they were the ones that kept relighting themselves, and Aunty herself.

A new member.

Something nice to lift our depression and take my blog out of the doldrums.

An arrival is expected,
A blessed little mite.
A tiny human being
Coming here tonight.

Something for us to treasure,
To nurture and adore.
To fold into our family,
Keep safe for evermore.

We cry when they are hurting,
Their antics make us laugh.
We worry when they are absent,
Can’t keep them by the hearth.

When finally standing in the Church,
To hear their wedding vows.
You can’t believe you’ve survived,
All those terrible teenage rows.

A Death in the Family

I believe I am a Christian by deed rather than belief. I try to live according to the rules of Christianity and will continue to until someone comes up with, what I consider, better, but when a family member passes one tends to do some soul searching. Is there a heaven? Science will tell us 'No'. When you consider the enormous magnitude of the universe, should you be able to imagine anything so huge, in comparison we are less than minute bugs. There could be hundreds of such universes out there. The vastness of it all could indicate that our lifespan is speck on the overall plan. Are we so insignificant? Is it a waste of time to hurry and scurry, Plan for a future, worry about everything, or is it easier not to think about it and continue to live our lives in a vacuum with blinkers on. If anyone has a definitive answer I hope they share it with me.

My Aunts birthday this month. This is the verse I have written in her card which was made by Tracy of Sunrise Cards. I would put a picture on here but don't know how yet. Sad arn't I.

This is a whole new world for you,
Unlike what you’re used to.
Technology rules us now
We used to converse, wow.
Write letters to each other.
Meet one another.
Walk into town,
Wear a skirt or gown.
Safe cycling to work,
And when there didn’t shirk.
In many ways life has improved,
Tho’ some values got lost in the move.
An eighty something birthday must
In these times of do or bust,
Make one wonder how it all came about
But we who know you don’t doubt,

You are a real twenty first century Aunty

Happy Birthday.

As I sit at his bedside sewing or knitting to help pass the time I am also remembering all the events in his life that I know about, either by word of mouth or my own memories. He has had a long life and not uneventful. Not many folk know that he was on the beaches at Dunkirk, something he didn't talk about

Rhyme or Reason: Sue and Peter

Rhyme or Reason: Sue and Peter

Sue and Peter

Life is such an amazing thing
Never let it get dull
Keep the interest going
Live it to the full.

I know Sue of old
Peter I’ve yet to meet
She’ll keep him on his toes,
Her energy can’t be beat.

May you have eternal youth,
Don't let yourselves grow old
May you both be successful
In whatever cause you hold.

We raise our glasses for you
In celebration to,
The day you will be married
Let love shine down on you.


My lovely SIL is getting married to Peter tomorrow. Sadly I won't be there as I still have an infection. I know it is going to be a lovely day. Sue and Peter are past retirement age but do not understand the meaning of the word "retire" so lead very full lives. I hope to meet Peter sometime this summer if I can catch them when they are in England.

Twenty feet outside my back gate.

I always feel the sight of these is a promise. Spring is only round the corner and Winter on its way out. I planted a few odd snowdrops in the woods 3 or 4 years ago and they have multiplied beautifully. Now there are large clumps scattered all through the trees together with Crocus which are just coming into flower, daffodils and narcissus, all of which are in bud just waiting to burst into bloom. I will post a picture of them at their best if I can.

Solitary Confinement?

I have had a chest infection now for nearly 4 weeks, altogether now, aaaaah.
I only mention it because I haven't visited the home in which my Stepfather lives in fear of passing on any germs. I do feel very guilty not seeing him for that length of time as we usually go once or twice a week. He is 91, his next birthday is June. I didn't want to be responsible for him being ill at this stage in his life.
The home have 'phoned, he has a chest infection and they have called a Doctor in. Now I do feel guilty, although realize he could have caught it from anyone. I have been this afternoon and, bless him, don't really think he knew I was there or even who I was. Thats my weekend sorted, I will take my knitting and sewing and sit with him for the day tomorrow. Even if he doesn't know its me there he will have a sense of someone being in the room and I think thats important.

Thomas and Isabel

My Daughter had two cats, Thomas and Isabel, litter brother and sister and very quickly shortened to Tom and Izzy. Sadly Izzy met with an accident at the tender age of 5 which left Tom absolutely bereft. On the advice of The Cat Protection League another kitten was procured as a companion for Tom. She is absolutely nuts and a close relative of Houdini, being the best escapologist we have come across in a long time. Solely due to her antics she has now been named Dizzy. She can get from one end of the house to the other without touching the floor, and most times without being seen as she moves that quick.

Oh Dizzy,
In a tizzy,
Moves so quick
She is so busy.
A flash of Grey,
Get out of the way.
Come what may
She'll get you today.
The dynamic Geek
Who we thought was meek.
From the green eyed streak
Sanctuary we seek,

Back to being Derby and Joan again.

6.30 p.m. and all quiet. After 4 days of children, grown-ups and dogs the sudden silence is deafening. Lots of beds to strip, washing up to do but it can all wait till tomorrow. (Got to fill the day somehow.).
In reality it won't be too bad as we have the twins for the next two days and then the job of carpet cleaning that I have been promising the house for the past few weeks.
Enough of all this domesticity.

They descended like a flock of birds,
Lots of flapping of tongues.
Stampeded through like Elephant herds,
Even the toilet pongs.

Drastic reduction of food stock,
Contents of fruit bowl gone.
Plughole in kitchen sink blocked,
200 decibels - whats that awful song.

We've forgotten what its like to be them,
To be young and vital and free,
Without worrying about where or when,
Or getting old like him and me.

Poor Old Gran. Ugh.

Well, there you go. A housefull of guests and I go down with a chest infection. It could only happen to me. I desperately wanted to be fit and healthy to enjoy the grandchildren I don't see so often. Instead, I am a poor old Grandma who should be in bed. I am not just sick, I am sick at heart. They have gone swiming today and normally I would be there in the pool with them.
What makes me even more angry is that the Doctor refused me antibiotics last week on the assumption that I just had a cold. Had he sounded my chest I could have been clear by now and swinging from the tree branches with all the kids, 4 from Devon and 2 who live locally. Now it will be at least another 3 days before I feel much improvement and they will be wending their way back home.

A touch of nostalgia

Tomorrow my lovely Granddaughter will be a teenager. I bet she couldn’t wait. It set me thinking about what my favourite age was.
Wonderful 17.
For many reasons that was the age I most enjoyed. I met a boy who had a car, a rare commodity in those days as I lived in ‘the sticks’ where the last bus home from town was 9 pm weekdays and Saturdays. None on Sundays. A car spelt freedom.
Stilletto heals which were banned from beyond the front door because they pierced the lino and carpets of the day. Waspie belts. Durndle skirts. C & A’s.
We had to catch a train to Leicester for our nearest C & A, get off at the Midland Station and walk a quarter of a mile up the road to the shop, spend 2/3 hours in there then catch the train home. Never went anywhere else in Leicester, just C&A's.
It was a couple of years or so before Rock and Roll became ‘the thing’ but we still knew how to enjoy ourselves.
It sounds old hat now but we had a dance every week at the Village Hall, did all the old dances like Gay Gordons, The Lancers, etc., We thought we were being really daring and modern then. How things change.

I have acquired a Drop Spindle and want to learn to spin my own yarn. This craft seems to need little space and is easily transported. Just what I want. I usually read on long journeys in the car when OH is driving but now...... Probably another thing to irritate him.
I am now learning about and searching for, yarn to spin. I find there is a lot to learn about yarns. I need a yarn to be very versatile until I become proficient when, hopefully, I will be knowledgably able to pick and choose. I am very open to suggestions in this field as I know zilch about the subject at this point in time.

Visitors from Devon

I had some wonderful news today. It is my Granddaughters 13th birthday on the 11th so I telephoned to see if they were doing anything special to celebrate her becoming a teenager. No.1 Son answered the phone and I put my question to him. His reply was "Well, actually, yes Mum we are. We're all comming up to you on the 13th". There are six of them. I have to get a few beds aired and get linen down from the attic. I am already worrying about what to feed them all on and sort activities out for the children although as Adam is nearly 16 he can sort himself out. Charlie is 5and George is 9.
I also have the twins, 4, sleeping that weekend as their parents are in Kent. It will be a real houseful, or should I say bungalow full. I had planned to shampoo my carpets this weekend, it might be wiser to leave it for now.
I never asked how long they are staying. I believe it is half-term so it could be several days. Ah, bliss.

Me this morning

I’ve patted the bed all over, the bedside cabinet too. Run my hands carefully along the window ledge, gently felt along the top of the dressing table with no success.

Finally, dropping to my hands and knees I begin to search the floor inch by inch discovering yesterdays newspaper, a ball point pen, a cold hot-water bottle, one dirty pop sock and assorted coloured fluff.

At last my other half speaks. “If you’re looking for your glasses they’re on top of your head.”

Sad Day

Went to do my Volunteer bit this morning and, sadly, I had lost one of my elderly ladies. She was a lovely soul, and had been coming to Daycare for some while during which time we had gleaned a little of her history. Bless her, she hadn't had an easy life but had managed to soldier on and always had a smile. Her best friend also comes on a Monday so we all felt a little bereft today. She had chronic breathing problems due to asthma and other age related illnesses. I like to think she has gone to a better place.

I heard about an acquaintance recently who had been "Taken for a ride" by an unscrupulous fellow. I could cry for her but I can also see how it could have happened.

Unreallity

It’s all so wonderful because of the dreams
But in reality, not as it seems.
Our eyes deceive us whilst looking at this,
Nothing is seen that our minds want to miss.
When your heart is involved and holds hard to that dream
It’s rose tinted glasses that scan the scene.
If only all truths were so easy to hide
And the less salubrious side be denied
Would ignorance make life more palatable?
Could we really be so gullible?

A Wedding Invitation

I have a Sister-in-saw of whom I am very fond. We rarely meet up these days, the main reasons are distance and that she travels the world frequently. However, I digress. She is getting married. Her and her partner have been together for several years and, having tried it, decided to formalise it. So, to a wedding I am going.
Sue is a Doctor of Anthropology. She is also a founder member of Dramatherapy and The Association of Dramatherapists. Very broadly it is a form of using the arts as a therapy which she teaches worldwide and has done for many years. Her endless energy puts me to shame. Her internet sites make very interesting reading, do have a look.
I am off to plan a crafty wedding gift which I know she will appreciate far more than a bought one.
www.suejennings.com will take you into her Rowan Studio
or put Drsuejennings into your search engine for multiple choices.
www.dramatherapy.net is a very informative site too.

I have just spent a few hours sitting in a hospital outpatients waiting room, result,I am soooo grateful I only had to have my eye lasered.

I sat and watched the suffering
Of people passing by
A child bravely smiling
But only had one eye.

A woman with a headscarf
Worn turban style you see.
To hide the toll that Kemo took
From prying eyes like me.

A young man in a wheelchair
Handsome he was as well.
He hadn't any legs,
As far as I could tell.

A salutary lesson it was for me.
I learnt it well and good.
A much more humble person
Went home, and so she should.

My Life

Hello! Is anyone there,
With time on their hands,
For a short while, free
From life’s eternal demands
To enjoy sharing,
The pleasures with me,
Of a little lighthearted
Poetry.

My life path is charted through my rhymes and ditties. Allow me to gently escort you along the trail left by my pen.
Everything I have written is linked to events and emotions, both funny and sad, and have helped me to deal with them and even to be more objective occasionally.

Perhaps it started when my ex husband and I adopted our first baby and we were given a short piece, duly adapted to our situation, which I loved.

Not flesh of my flesh
Nor bone of my bone
But miraculously
My very own.

Being a one parent family I have, from necessity, worked in a variety of jobs whilst trying to bring up the children, several of which are alluded to..

The Trials and Tribulations of a P.A.stroke Secretary

I open the post and make the tea,
Distribute the mail for all to see.
Mundane jobs like ‘phoning and filing,
One hand on the keyboard, the other dialling.

Organise meetings, book all the lunches,
And in their absence act only on hunches.
My crystal ball oft comes into being,
With another quick rub I become all seeing.

I wear a smart suit and high shiny shoes.
Shield the boss when he’s been on the booze.
And at the same time keep out of his way,
Because by this time he just wants to play.

I’m a plausible liar to his clientele,
So when told to tell them “Go to Hell”.
I say “I’m sorry, he’s left the room,
I know he will get back to you soon”.

I must practice the art of creating serenity,
When all around me is chaotic insanity.
I like to think I’m indispensible,
In truth I know, I’m quite expendable.


Tea-Up

I help to run a transport café,
My pals and I enjoy a laugh.
The world and wife come through our door,
Some are rich and some are poor.

All are hungry without a doubt,
When at the counter for food they shout.
An “All day breakfast” goes down well,
Beverage by the gallon we sell.

In thick mug or china cup,
It tastes the same what ere you sup.
We will try ow’t to make a crust,
You’ll eat it too if you’re not fussed.

They come in cars, in lorries, on bikes,
All with their different tastes and likes.
There’s Reps and drivers, pensioners too.
Fishermen, Cyclists, Hikers passing through’.

Regulars and locals come in for a smoke,
Lonely singles to enjoy a joke.
We only close one day a year,
On Christmas day for seasonal cheer.

There were many times when I felt I couldn’t cope any more. I got very tired. I could not afford to be ill. I always had to have ‘Remote Control’ of the children. to have jobs with understanding employers so the children could ‘clock-in’ after school.

As each one hit the doorstep they rang me at work.
All this meant that high paid jobs were out of the window and employers had the ‘Whip hand’.

The problems of a ‘One Parent’ Mum,
Are endless, or so it seems.
To be a loving Mother,
And the Father of their dreams.

To balance the scales of discipline,
With strict and firm control.
Against the cakes and sweets and cuddles,
That fit the Mother role.

To be the family breadwinner,
And out earning a crust.
The same time trying to run the home,
And keep down all the dust.

Supervision is always a problem,
Here, the ‘phone comes into its own,
It’s “Control by remote control”,
So they think they’re never alone.

Your earning power is restricted,
To employers who understand,
That the number of personal ‘phone calls,
Can easily get out of hand.

School holidays are a nightmare,
Especially the long summer break.
I wonder how I’ve survived it,
Each year as we pass the date.

And as the children’s “I wants” and “Can I Have’s”got bigger and more expensive!!!!!! Evening work as well….

PIN MONEY?

Financial shortfalls promoted a need,
For extra employment with all speed.
A snooker Club required more staff,
I got the job, but what a gaff.

The clientele was somewhat seedy,
The Stewardess was rather greedy.
The décor and the furnishings,
Left much to the imaginings.

The conversation mostly sport,
(The football field not tennis court),
Or maybe of a maggot or two,
Off the end of a line with a watery view.

The pay was not so very good
For all the time that I have stood,
With aching back, and legs, and feet,
And boredom factor ten feet deep.

And the children took up more space!!!!

NEW HOME

The removal van’s outside.
Very long and big and wide.
My home is being stacked within,
Right down to Richards rubbish bin.

That’s Nan’s table, have a care,
There’s Phil’s books, my chair.
Oh! Watch it with that bureau son,
It’s seen a lot of life and fun.

There go the beds, the pillows too,
An armful of towels of every hue.
My plants, oh dear, I’ll carry them,
I don’t fully trust you clumsy men.

The garage is empty, the bikes have gone,
It’ll all be in Rugby before very long.
And then we start all over again
In reverse this time, a bigger pain.

And I have to say goodbye to here,
Where we have lived for many a year.
We start a life in the countryside
With a semi detached in which to bide.

And then the frustrations of settling in and adjusting to the isolation and the quiet. There were a few other problems attached to life in the “sticks”.

The house had been empty for five years and when we turned the water on it showered us through all the light sockets. Windows were cracked and broken, door handles and light fittings missing. The garden was so wild we dare not go out the back door without a gun.

I have been very lucky, once again my brother bailed me out and made it habitable.

The kitchen is a horror,
Of rotting wood and grime.
Paintwork peeling, walls are cracked,
It failed the test of time.

My brother, bless him, set to work,
It was a monstrous job.
Every room was needing,
It could cost quite a bob.

I fear I’ve been a trial,
He’s helped me out so much.
If I ever win the football pools,
With him I will go Dutch.

We finally won the battle of the birds nests and spiders when the next catastrophe struck:-

WINTER ELECTRIC

How did they manage in another age,
Before electricity became all the rage.
We had a power cut yesterday,
The chaos it caused I dare not say.

Finding matches for a start,
And then the candles in the dark.
We put them round and got them lit.
They flickered on the ceiling a bit.

Shadows in corners I’d not seen before.
Went out in the draught when we opened the door.
What would we do without the TV,
We can’t boil the kettle so no cup of tea.

The heating went off, we lit a coal fire,
Jacket Potatoes and toast, the desire..
We actually spoke to each other that night.
Huddled round the hearth all cosy and bright.

We all went to bed at a reasonable hour.
The alarms not working because of the power.
We put the candles back on the shelf,
And let tomorrow take care of it’s self.

SUMMER ELECTRIC

Where is the sun, it’s growing dark,
The blue has turned to grey.
The clouds roll faster ere I look,
No longer seems like day.

A sudden flash lights up the sky,
A distant rumble sounds.
Along it rolls, away it fades,
And then the rain comes down.

The telly flashed, the power’s off.
The candles we must seek.
It seems as if time’s standing still,
For the storm to reach its peak.

Safe in my home I watch the sky,
The magic being performed.
This feeling of security,
Wraps round and keeps me warm.

The storm moves on to who knows where,
The sun comes peeking through.
Grey clouds have moved, blue sky again,
The grass is greener too.

And garden, not a small, manageable town one but a large rambling country one which hadn’t been touched for five years.

A GARDENERS LAMENT

I give in, yes, I concede,
I’ve lost the battle of the weed.
They’re mostly thin, of puny growth.
A thing most human beings loath.
Where do they find the energy,
To reproduce prolifically.
And should you miss before they flower,
Their seeds have sown within the hour.
During drought when all things die,
The weed continues growing high.
An English frost, the knell of doom,
In winter, to a beautiful bloom,
But what survives year after year,
The common weed doth have no fear.

We grew to love living in the country and appreciate its many aspects and varied seasons.
The Starlings, in their hundreds, descend into the Blackthorn at the bottom of the garden making the bare winter trees appear dense with foliage against the grey sky.

They chatter continually together, the noise is deafening.

Just for the sheer spectacle I quietly walk onto the patio and clap my hands, just once, sharply.

There is a sudden hush, the minutest pause, then, as one they rise into the air like a black cloud, dipping slightly at it moves away and gradually disperses.

I'm not worried, they'll be back later today, lining the roofs, swinging along the telephone wires and returning to my three old Blackthorns.

Nearer the house is a two tier fish pond of ageing sandstone blending into the damp earth of the surrounding rockery and built into what was, a large rubbish heap.

The smaller, raised, pond has become a private bathroom for the colourful finches and tits..

I watch water spray into the air as they bathe in twos and threes whilst others look on, not too patently for their turn, darting back and forth along the flat rocks.

The whole episode is one of hustle and bustle.
It is a very busy corner of my winter garden.

And the nights!!!!

It’s the still dark silence,
Of the hours before dawn.
Too soon for the birds
With their chorus each morn.

The vixen who hunts,
With fox cubs to feed.
Hunger an instinct,
Creating a need.

I hear a shrill cry.
A pitiful sound.
A poor creature has died,
A prey has been found.

I feel very sad,
Awake in my bed.
Something must die,
To let others be fed.

The hedgehog unrolls,
And bravely partakes.
Of the food and the drink,
We left by the gate.

I love to watch,
From my window up high,
I can see quite well,
When the moon’s in the sky.

Some tasty morsel
Left on the ground,
A pair of badgers,
Oft call around.

I’m very aware,
Should I sleep well at night,
Of the life that I’d miss,
Going on before light.

I gradually became quite familiar with the local watering hole!

THE LOCAL

I'm oft to be found for an hour or two
At the ‘Rose’ at Willoughby in a seat with a view.
Keeping an eye on the occupants, while
Inebriation creeps up in style.

There are many colourful beings and lives
That pass through its doors, both husbands
And wives,
They have many reasons for being here,
Some are for pleasure, for joy, and the beer.

To drown their sorrows and their woe,
And all are very reluctant to go,
When closing time thro' the windows we peep,
At the local constabulary there in the street.

AND THE CONTENTED COUNTRY BUMPKIN

As a country bumpkin I live in the sticks,
Considered naïve – no streetwise tricks,
Enjoying the simpler things in life,
Like accepting mans word not taking his life.

Don’t miss the conveniences yuppies hold dear.
Like gas, the tube, cheap taxis, dear beer.
Or the traffic thundering by?
With the hosts of people scurrying nigh.

Whilst we sit in our gardens all peaceful and calm,
With the birds in the trees and the cows from the farm,
When cold, a log fire all cosy and warm.
Shutters are bolted against any storm.

We have total access in technology too.
Computers and ‘phones to name but a few.
In “One upmanship” we win hands down.
Compared to our relatives from “Up town”.

The children got older and acquired an assortment of friends who never seemed to go home.

So many folk coming and going,
Through my front door continually flowing.
I’m not sure how many are sleeping,
I try not to notice how many are eating.

I liken my home to Euston Station,
I’m expected to hover with motherly devotion,
And wait upon them at their beck and call,
Without a murmur of complaint at all.

I’m offering up a fervent prayer,
To anyone listening way up- there,
Will they never get off the phone,
How long before they all leave home.

THE HOUR OF THE ZOMBIE It feels like a house of evil,
A church yard or tomb somewhere,
Its’ eerie and creepy and quiet,
You can feel it tense in the air.

They pass like shadows silently,
Speech not a recommended act.
Faces are grim and thunderous,
It stretches the art of tact.

Neither darkness or light filter in
The hour is cheerless and grey
A chill creeping into their bones,
Being little past break of day.

‘Tis the hour of the Zombie once more,
It repeats itself daily you know,
Between the time we first get up,
And off to work we go.

Time is moving so fast I’m dizzy. I never seem to stop long enough to catch my breath. I wonder, is the grass greener?

A WOMANS LAMENT
Oh, could I but recline,
Comfortably, cares all gone,
To delicately, frailly unwind,
Upon a Victorian chaise longue.

A portrait of loved and adored,
Clouded in silk and chiffon.
Me being politely bored,
Soft pillows to relax on.

The warmth of the sun through the drapes,
Gentle sounds drifting o’er air.
A profusion of flowers and grapes,
The epitome of love and care.

My guests should not stay too long.
To perpetuate the relaxing mood.
Just kidding, the dreams just gone.
Here’s the ironing, the washing, the food.

At eighteen, my eldest son left home to be a “New Age Traveller” causing me much heartache and grief for a while.

AN ABSENT SON

You could just disappear,
It’s always there, that fear.
To never know for sure,
When you’ll come through the door.

Gypsy of a modern time, New Age Traveller of mine.
Eleven winters you’ve been there,
In your bus or tent somewhere.

Companions of like ways,
Enjoying some halcyon days.
You’ve oft been hungry I know. I have fretted and worried so.

A grandchild now on the way,
Should be here any day. I’m so grateful you always rang home While I breathed, you were never alone. ******
And like all “New age Travellers” he acquired a dog

THE TRAVELLING COMPANION

There’s a Doberman Pincher I’m acquainted with,
He visits sometimes to where I live.
He belongs to my son, it’s his best friend,
He’s not too obedient, but we love him no end.

He’s sleek and tall, and shinny and dark,
A long pointed nose and very loud bark.
Soft mournful eyes that make you feel,
As guilty as hell whilst eating your meal.

To unwelcome guests a formidable sight,
One look through the door and they take instant flight.
To those in the know he’s all soft and soggy,
And has not got a mean bone in his body.

Time rushed on at home and one by one they seemed to be preparing to leave the nest.

DAUGHTERS

They have very strong views of what Mums should be,
Counsellors, Hairdressers, Cleaners are we.
Chauffeurs and Maids with much to do,
My word we have a lot to live up to.

Home bankers, that's us, with unlimited funds,
To help stretch their salary when not done their sums.
Ridicule our clothes but when loaned look a treat.
Oh I'm so grateful I've got much smaller feet.

The bathroom is theirs on a permanent basis,
To be treated as their own private oasis.
With shampoo and conditioner, bath oils and cream,
Plus empty containers its never too clean.

Their bedrooms' the jungle you should never encroach,
Unless armed with large bin bags before you approach.
The wardrobes are empty but not so the floor,
In fact, you're lucky if you can open the door.

But, having done and said all, we dread the day,
When she grows up, packs up and moves away.
We'll have done what we can, could we have done more?
We can't live their lives for them that's for sure.

We count the years as back they come,
Grandchildren with them, daughter or son.
Complaining about their children's ways,
You'll look back remembering, those were the days.

THE BATHROOM

We’re trying to plan a wedding,
My daughter’s it will be.
The cost is astronomical,
She wants everything you see.

Long white dress with train and veil,
Bridesmaids, two or three,
A pageboy and a flower girl,
All to be dressed by me.

With matching shoes and posies,
A prayer book small and twee,
A basket of flower petals,
Buttonholes for elegancy.

White Rolls Royce all ribboned.
Photographer, horseshoes, a key.
A bloody great reception,
Two hundred and fifty for tea.

I don’t begrudge a penny,
For this overpriced jamboree.
I realised many years ago,
Lovely daughters don’t come free.
Besides – she leaves home that day,
And the bathroom becomes mine again. See.

HOME SWEET HOME
(or the day we got the wedding dress)

We’ve had a day in London,
The great metropolis,
Not sight seeing your understand,
But with a shopping list.

Both ways along Oxford Street.
Then Regent Street as well.
Back down the tube for Knightsbridge,
And Harrods just for the hell.

A corner shop beyond our dreams,
Our pockets too I fear.
But just to get a carrier bag,
We must buy something here.

The tube again, the moving stairs
To take us back to town.
Our weary feet and aching arms,
Wish we were homeward bound.

We’ve still to queue for food and drink,
Alas no tables free.
The queue for loos is two miles long,
I’m desperate for a pee.

I have been banged and kicked and pushed
From pillar to post all day.
The pavements are full of milling crowds,
All going the opposite way.

When next you are planning another trip,
To our capitol city for fun.
Remind me of my pleasures today,
It’s unlikely that I’ll come!!!

THE DAY FINALLY ARRIVES

Amid the bustle. The flurry, the haste,
I sought a haven of peace.
A place of solace to collect myself,
For my racing thoughts to cease

I sat among the petticoats,
The layers of lace and net.
Of pearls and satin, shoes and gloves,
And flowers still dewy and wet.

I let my mind go wandering back,
To browse across the years.
From little girls in pretty frocks,
To teenagers and tears.

Picking daisies on a lawn,
Idyllic summer days,
Learning how to roller-skate,
And fight ‘Doc Marten’ craze.

We also had a Judo phase,
And then the Silver Band.
The cornet and euphonium,
The piano with both hands.

The trials and tribulations,
When first loves are made and lost.
Swimming lessons and driving tests,
We didn’t count the cost.

I now recall the motor car,
A gift from Uncle Bert.
And the bollard on The Kingsway,
Leaping out to cause the hurt.

All these life experiences,
Have made her what she is.
And now she’s getting married,
To Ian, and she’ll be his.

She’ll dress in all this finery,
With make-up, hoops and veils.
On cloud nine to Barby Parish Church,
To meet Ian down the aisle.

I am pleased to report the day went beautifully. The top hats, tails, flowers and guests all arrived on time, the sun shone and we all cried.
Now just one more to go before my life becomes my own.

Number 2 Son

Still one left to fly the nest,
This one’s often rather a pest.
Being the youngest, I don’t know,
I expect he’s spoilt, they tell me so.

He’s supposed to be gifted in the music scene,
About his drum kit he’s very keen.
Like his sister he played in the band
With his cornet and music stand.

Trampoline champion for his school.
In other subjects played the fool.
Goalie in a junior team,
You have to be mad to do this it seems.

The team went to Belgium and Holland to play,
Two whitsun holidays spent that way,
Two goes at College – dropped out both times,
What on earth will I do with this Son of mine.

“I’m a Hedonist” he shouts at me,
‘Work’ a dirty word will be..
Will he ever grow up, I’m not so sure.
I’m glad I haven’t got any more.

I feel I have now reached my “Mauve” era – (turning rapidly to purple) supposedly the time of life women of my age get accused of suffering from.

MID LIFE CRISIS IN THE WORK ENVIRONMENT

In this fast moving world of commerce,
Of computers dominating the scene.
In place of the old human element
When people did jobs, not machines.
I am finding my age is against me
And my brain is not quite so keen.

Some days I can wiz through so quickly
With everything filed in its place
My fingers on all the right buttons
My memory bank keeping apace.
I’ll feel a moderate achievement
And go home feeling really great

I’m oft full of best meant intentions,
But lack ability to see them through
I’ve been told “Its you’re age, it’ll end soon”,
“Just another few years, its true”.
I’ve had it with being a woman,
I want to be a machine like you.

WE’RE GOING TO THE DOGS!!!

As I sit and listen, or watch the news,
This one or that one put forth their views.
It is borne upon me, and many others,
That we are no longer like Sisters and Brothers.

Those relations are more like adversaries or foes,
Trust, non existent, and love is a pose.
Always attach, never defend,
Now we breed enemies, never a friend.

Everything’s take, no one wants to give.
We all just exist, very few want to live.
One for one, not one for all.
And generosity has gone to the wall.

We seem all to forget life’s a gift we should share,
So when you’re down and out there’s no one to care.
Does no one realise that life without love
Is like admitting to Hell but no Heaven above.

To switch off the sun and remain in the dark,
Allow evil cadavers to leave their mark.
Think of a language with words taken out,
Like kindness, generosity, love, laughter and rout.

We’re living longer as well in this violence and sloth
Our three score years and ten have been extended somewhat
I wonder, could this be punishment indeed,
For taking the wrong turn, not following the right lead.

WOMANS COMPLAINT?

Convalescing after surgery – a lifetime it feels,
Eight weeks in reality without my “Wheels”.
They’ve hidden my car to make sure I don’t drive
Without it God knows how I’m going to survive.

My restrictions are boundless, or so it seems,
No ironing, no hoovering, no cleaning the stairs.
Just gentle pursuits like knitting and sewing,
And the frustration of watching the dirt and dust growing.

I’m painfully aware of all bowel movements.
Frightened to take any laxative treatments.
Twinges of pain or unusual soreness,
Scares me in case I’ve done something brainless.

If my enforced idleness needs any proof,
The pile of ironing has now reached the roof.
But no matter how careful, one often forgets,
Not to pick up the kettle or take down the nets.

Inactivity has created a weight problem too.
The clothes I can get into now are few.
Half a stone extra!! I was already too fat,
I find it so hard not to eat this and that.

I’m three week’s into my eight weeks now,
Only five left to survive somehow.
After Doctors and Nurses have all done their best.
I’m grateful in truth, I mean only in jest.

I must be mad, I’m contemplating matrimony again, after resisting all these years as well

GOLD BAND

I've quietly studied
The species of Man,
I'll put pen to paper,
And describe if I can,
The many varieties
The species span.
There's Tom, Dick and Harry,
A Michael and Dan.
There's film stars and singers,
You could be a fan.
Short ones, tall ones,
Beefcake’s with a tan,
Adonis's, athletes,
And then 'also rans'.
Some come as loners,
Others in clans
Some on buses
Some on trams.
Some own houses
Some own land.
Others on
Street corners stand.
Let’s face it girls,
Theres nothing grand,
About a fella,
With nothing planned.
Go for the jugular,
The plain gold band.
Security sits
On your left hand.

HIM!

Where has all the romance gone
I think to myself.
I lean back on my pillows
Put my book on the shelf.

My other half’s now fast asleep,
He's had two hours downstairs on the suite
He's completely indifferent or just ignores
When I try to tell him how loudly he snores.

When my feet are cold I get my revenge
I'm the best in the world at that sort of challenge.
As the snoring gets louder I can't get my rest
With a couple of blankets the settee seems the best

Words like "love" and "companionship" ring in
my ears,
As night after night I creep down the stairs.
To a world I’ve created all of my own,
Watching TV movies all alone.

IDLEITIS

As I lay in my bed trying not to awake,
I can see thro' my eyelids the sun at day break
I can hear the birds singing happy and loud,
I can feel a sky blue without any cloud.

I can feel the warm air upon my face,
If I'm not very careful and don't make haste,
I'll end up sleeping or dozing my way
Through such a beautiful summers day.

I have yet to live another part of my life before I can expound its attributes or otherwise.

Getting Started

Do you think I'll ever get it right,
Ive worried about it all thro' the night.
I cannot get my head round this,
Surely there's something amiss.

To download from my Windows page,
Iv'e been sat for such an age.
And cut and pasted till I'm blue
But have words come, not even a few.

I must be doing something wrong,
I can't re-type its 10 sheets long.
If I don't get it sorted soon,
I''ll sling the damn thing to the moon.

Genesis

O.K. So now I am the proud owner of a blog - what do I do next?