family

Royal Wedding – THE Dress

/ Dee / 2 Comments

The streets were lined with cheering crowds; the problems of recent months seemed forgotten as everyone was swept along by the spectacle of this royal wedding. The crowds were in good humour, people laughed and chatted together while waiting to see the Princes leave Clarence House, the Royal Family leave in procession from Buckingham Palace, but most important of all, waiting for that first glimpse of Catherine Middleton in The Dress.

And she didn’t disappoint!

She looked absolutely stunning in her wedding dress, designed by Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen. Poised and elegant, she looked radiant; smiling and waving to the crowds of well wishers who cheered her on her way to Westminster Abbey and her marriage to Prince William.

They seemed so happy and relaxed as they left the Abbey after the service and delighted the crowds with not one, but two kisses on the balcony of Buckingham Palace.

They look good together and are obviously very much in love, but there is also a sureness and certainty about them that seems somehow very reassuring. I wish them all the happiness in the world as they start their married life together in the full glare of the world’s media.

Revisiting my Dream House

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This morning for some reason I can’t explain, I took a detour from my usual route into work. Most days I take the same route and my journey passes almost as though the car is on auto-pilot, although I like to think I am still in charge!

Today though, I found myself driving past my dream house.

I first saw this house in the late ‘80’s. The house was everything I had dreamt would be mine one day. The rooms were generous, with high ceilings and large windows, letting  in lots of light.  There was a large lawn with flower beds and trees at the back of the house. Behind a hedge,  there was a vegetable garden and a small greenhouse in the corner with tomatoes and cucumbers growing inside. Beyond that, was a rough area with a compost heap and a huge water-butt to collect the rainwater, for use in the garden.

My boys were quite young then and I could see them playing in the garden with their friends; climbing the trees and running around chasing each other, having lots of fun.

I imagined entertaining our friends there too, with barbecues on lazy summer evenings, relaxing and chatting together, while our children played. There were enough bedrooms for family and friends to stay for weekends or even longer and the hall was the perfect place for the Christmas tree. I could see it, lights twinkling, baubles shining, presents stacked beneath its boughs, waiting to welcome everyone to our home for Christmas.

My husband thought the house was too big; the gardens too time consuming and the work that would be needed on the building, daunting in the least. He couldn’t begin to see the potential that I saw that first day. Yes it would take time and money, and yes we would have to employ a builder, as neither of us is much good at DIY, but it would be worth it. We would have a home we would love.

We made an offer for the house, just below the asking price. “You never give them what they ask for first time,” my husband said when I begged him to give the owners the price they wanted. I was surprised how much I wanted this house.

But this was the time of gazumping. Prices jumped not by hundreds, but in some cases by thousands of pounds. And so it was for us. Our offer was rejected, so we offered the asking price, it was rejected again. We increased our offer and had it rejected yet again. We went as far as we could and after much anger and tears on my part, we realised that the house would not be ours.

We eventually found another house we liked and we have been there ever since. It is quite old and has lots of similar features, a beautiful garden that the family enjoy, but for me it has never had that certain charm that the other house had.

Today, as I stood and looked at the house from across the road, I thought it looked tired. The windows had not been replaced and now were badly in need of a coat of paint. One of the gates had come of its’ hinges and was hanging at an awkward angle. The hedge, once so neatly trimmed, was overgrown and parts of it trailing on the pavement. It had a look of neglect about it that I found upsetting.

As I got back in my car, an elderly man came round the corner with a newspaper under his arm. He walked slowly towards the house. I watched as he stopped and stared at the gate, before going in through the front door. Surely he wasn’t the same, rather dapper professor, who had taken us round his home all those years ago, pointing out his favourite flowers and proudly showing us round his greenhouse?

He was about the right age. But if it was him, what happened 25 years ago? Why did the sale fall through? Did the owners change their mind? I’ll probably never know.

I felt quite sad for a moment, but then very annoyed with myself. I have been very lucky. I have a happy, healthy family, good friends and a very nice home. I drove off hoping that, regardless of whatever had happened all those year ago, the old professor had been happy, living in my dream house.

More on the new man, how long will it last??

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Yesterday, my youngest son and his wife arrived with new daughter sleeping pecefully, and announced that they had come to take Grannie and Grandad to the park! So, I have a name at last! I was allowed to push the new pram carrying my youngest granddaughter and, like a learner driver I set off with great caution.

It was a lovely day; the sky a light, blue, without a cloud, the air crisp and clear with the promise of spring just around the corner.

We walked on; dad and grandad taking the lead, with mum and grannie bringing up the rear with the pram. I watched my son and his father walking ahead, almost shoulder to shoulder and remembered how many times we had walked this route in the past, to shout encouragement at football matches and tennis games, now we were walking with his baby daughter, well wrapped up and asleep in her new pram.

On we walked. Through the park, down by the river, along the bank then up and and across the little renovated metal bridge to the tea rooms on the other side. Lots of folk had taken advantage of the weather and were out with their dogs and bikes and children, all drawn like magnets to the tea rooms for refreshment and, in my case, a sit down!

After tea and a large slice of Victoria Sponge, (fortification for the walk home you understand) we set off back. The baby had woken and was due to be fed. So we quickened our pace. It was at this point that I somehow managed to pull a muscle in my calf. My son relieved me of pram duty and I sat for a while on a low wall, massaging my leg. The baby was very annoyed with us by this stage, so the little family walked ahead, leaving grannie and grandad to follow behind.

Lying in the bath this morning, trying to ease the pulled muscle in my leg, I became aware of a drum-drum-drum noise coming from somewhere nearby. It was similar to the noise a car makes going over ridges in the road and I wondered if perhaps our “dawn chorus” of feathered friends, at odds with losing an hour of sleep, were doing some sort of tap dance on the roof in protest! Slowly I realised it was coming from the shower room next door. My husband was cleaning the tiles after his shower and the noise was made by the squidgy blade cleaner, running over the grouting as it moved from tile to tile!

I lay back and smiled, he really has been listening.

But I wonder how long it will last.

A new man?

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“What do you think of the wine?”
“Mm it’s not bad. It will be better when it’s warmed up a bit though.”
“Ah well, usually I’d agree with you, but not this time. This wine can be drunk straight after opening.”
“Well, I prefer my red wine at room temperature.”

A slight pause ensues. He is trying very hard to be nice to me. I feel annoyed with myself. This meal is a complete surprise and is very welcome. I have been attending a conference for two days; in the normal way of things I would return home, we would make a little small talk about his days and my days, I would fuss over the dog, then shower and change and make dinner. But not tonight! Tonight I am seated in a very nice restaurant, waiting for my red wine to warm up a little and recovering from the shock of his greeting, “When you are showered and changed, I am taking you out”.

My husband is not a house husband. He has told me this on many occasions so it must be true. Although he is retired now from his former high-powered job and has time to follow his hobbies, visit friends, walk the dog, watch tv, he sees no reason to add shopping, cooking or helping with the housework to his activities. My sister says that it’s an ‘age thing’. There is an age gap, but not a generation!

I watch him watching cookery programmes and see his obvious delight and appreciation in food well cooked and nicely presented. If I happen to leave the room, I am used to his shout of, ‘You need to come and see this, this looks great and not too much messing around’, as if he intends to make the dish himself some time soon.

I have thrown things at him in the past but to no avail.

When I came home a couple of weeks ago, from a meeting in London, I sat him down and told him we needed to have a serious conversation. And we did. I asked if he would please try and help more; if he noticed that we were out of bread, toilet rolls, teabags, coffee, whatever, it would be a great help if he’d go and buy what we needed when he was out next, and not leave messages on my mobile telling me what we were short of, and asking if I could collect them on my way home!

I also asked him if he remembered the times a few years ago, when he used to get home after a few stressful days away; the lovely dinner waiting for him, how he could just relax and unwind, even nod off in the chair……..

A few quiet, thoughtful days followed. Later in the week, I noticed a different type of bread left out on the work surface. I opened my mouth and closed it again very quickly. Bread is bread, more or less I decided, and perhaps he liked this brand better than the one I usually buy. I eat very little bread. I put it away and said nothing.

A few days later, a different brand of teabags appeared. I don’t drink tea, but wondered why he had chosen this brand. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked him. He told me that when he went out to buy the bread, he was amazed at all the different varieties and thought he would try something different. He gave the same reason for the choice of teabags, and also said that he fully intended buying yet another brand when these were finished.

He added that although he had listened and understood what I was getting at, he would have a problem when it came to replacing the coffee. He doesn’t drink coffee. Would it be alright if he just bought the same brand again?

I said that would be perfect.

Another Girl!

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I have been so busy these last few weeks with the birth of my second granddaughter. We were so excited to have one, but to have two girls is just so amazing. They are both coming on really well and the mums are doing fine too.

I haven’t got an answer to my question yet but I’m sure a name will emerge in a little while. Funnily enough my sons have tentatively referred to me as Grandma and Gran, as if they are trying to get used to calling me something other than mum!

I look forward to the coming months and will update the blog from time to time to let you know how they are getting on.

What do I want to be called?

/ Dee / 3 Comments

This lovely cartoon is by Pamela
Perry courtesy of http://www.babyclipart.net/

I have recently become a grandmother for the first time and
will soon be a grandmother for the second time – did my sons and
wives get together and plan this? I did have a few
words about the lack of grandchildren, but that was AGES ago!! So
now, I have an adorable granddaughter and am waiting very excitedly
to see what the next baby will be. I have been more
interested in the names that are to be given to my grandchildren,
but it seems that everyone wants to know what name I am to known by
and, to be honest I haven’t got a clue. My granddaughter already
has a Grandma and I’m told that two grandmas would be confusing for
the child, unless of course we are known as Grandma A and Grandma B
which does sound silly and why use grandma again when there are so
many other names I could have. Grandmother Grannie Gran Nan Nannie
G-ma And a few foreign
ones too

  • NaiNai
  • Lola
  • Bomma
  • Grandmere
  • Meme
  • Oma
  • YaYa
  • Tutu
  • Savta
  • Nonna
  • Oba-chan
  • Halmoni
  • Busia
  • VoVo
  • Babushka
  • Abuela
  • Bube

There are some great names there, but I still haven’t chosen mine.
I thought there was no urgency as it will be a while before
either of the babies calls me anything, the parents however, demand
a name! So if any kind person would like to help me with
this, I really would be very grateful

How to cheat……. and get away with it

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Roast Beef

With some friends, who are acknowledged “foodies” coming for Sunday lunch, I decided to stay safe and cook my signature Sunday lunch dish – roast beef with Yorkshire puddings and all the trimmings. My butcher carefully selected a lovely piece of beef for me, a large piece as I think that the larger the joint, the better it cooks and tastes. He also put some fat on top “makes the gravy taste better”. He always does this and I always throw it away, thinking heart attack, cholesterol levels etc., see, I do pay attention to medical information.

Having completed my shopping the previous day or so I thought, straight after breakfast I started to prepare the vegetables. I got the beef ready for the oven, nicely sprinkled with freshly ground black pepper, in it went. I then had a coffee and a quick scan of the Sunday papers, before deciding it was time to make the Yorkshire pudding batter. In my store cupboard are quite a few types of flour, but horror of horrors, there was no plain flour in sight.

Now, I have been foolish enough to attempt to make Yorkshire puddings with self raising flour in the past, the results have been something entirely inedible and could be used for Frisbee practice! So I asked my son if he would be my saviour, pop down to the village shop and get me some plain flour so I could make the Yorkshires.

I was out in the garden when he got back, he shouted that Mrs Williams hadn’t any plain flour in the shop, but had given him some of Aunt Bessie’s. With that he was off to his rugby match, I heard the front door slam as I rushed into the kitchen.

What I feared was there, on the kitchen table, two packets of frozen Yorkshire puddings courtesy of Aunt Bessie, whoever she may be! There was no time to go anywhere for plain flour, indeed, there wasn’t anywhere to go to, well not and be back in time for lunch. With the smell of roast beef wafting through the kitchen, I stared at the frozen offerings. I couldn’t serve these to the foodies, could I?

 I opened one packet and took out the frozen puddings. Hmm they seemed the same diameter as my small bun tins. I carefully took one pudding out of its’ tinfoil, there was a small amount of grease in the bottom but not much. So I took some fat from the roasting tin, put a very small amount in the bottom of each of the twelve spaces of the bun tin and put the tin in the oven. When the fat was hot, I placed a frozen pudding in each one. Then, with fingers crossed, into the hot oven they went.

They were perfect; the foodies showered me with compliments on the lunch and asked how on earth I managed to make such tasty Yorkshire puddings? As my son had not yet got back from his rugby match, I just smiled and said nothing.

Aunt Bessie's Yorkshire Puddings

Halloween Home Haunters

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Whilst it originated in the UK, celebrating Halloween has always been big business in the USA. In the UK we used to carve turnips into lanterns, but now the pumpkin has reached dominance on both sides of the Atlantic; and whilst some supermarket chains here report increased sales of decorations, it is the massive increase in the sale of pumpkins that really grabs the headlines. But while there may be increased sales and interest in Halloween, the UK does not come anywhere near the enthusiasm, dedication and displays of our American cousins.

 There are some enthusiasts in America who almost turn their homes into mini movie sets in a bid to outdo last years’ decorations. These are the so-called “Home Haunters” who dedicate many months of the year putting together the ultimate Halloween display featuring monsters, inflatable pumpkins, mock graveyards and some even have ghosts drifting past the windows.

This year, according to figures released by the National Retail Federation, it is estimated that Americans will spend a staggering $5.6bn (£3.6bn) on Halloween. But with an amazing party atmosphere, the celebrations are shared by everyone, parents and grandparents dress up to go trick-or-treating with young children, while the older teens and twenty-somethings just dress up and party!

My own celebration, if I can call it that, will be limited to handing out sweets and money to the children who come knocking at my door calling “Trick-or-Treat” unless, like last year the weather is so bad they give it a miss.

A long weekend at Updown Cottage

/ Dee / 2 Comments

We had talked with friends for ages about going away on a long weekend break for my husband’s birthday; first it was going to be in a log cabin in the Lake District, then we discussed a weekend in Cornwall – always a favourite, then  a weekend in Paris became The One, but as the weeks went by nothing was arranged. Then I saw Updown Cottage and was hooked.  I made an executive decision, the cottage was available, so I booked it!  

Almost at the top of Gold Hill in Shaftesbury, Dorset, with absolutely superb views from practically every window, we all  fell in love with it straight away. The fact that we had seen it loads of times, but never knew where it was, only added to the enjoyment.  OK I’ll explain

 Do you remember the Hovis ad on TV in the 70’s?  If you do, you probably thought, like me, that the little baker’s boy was pushing his bicycle up a steep hill in Yorkshire, when in fact he was struggling to the top of Gold Hill with his basket full of bread.

The cottage has been beautifully renovated, with all available space utilised so well that you have everything you need, including a baby grand piano! The kitchen has all you need to cook to your hearts’ content, but if you don’t feel like cooking, you can order a meal and a chef will come to you! Wonderful idea.

Shaftesbury, an ancient hill town and the “Shaston” of Thomas Hardy’s novels,  is just at the top of the hill. There’s lots to do and see in the surrounding area, just don’t forget your camera as the views are stunning.  I lost count of the “oohs” and ahhs”. 

Jane and Simon, the owners, make sure you have a warm welcome, not least with a basket of goodies from Turnbull’s delicatessen to tempt you. Turnbull’s is only a short walk away, make sure you pay them a visit as they also have a cafe selling their own cakes and pastries, the apple cake is to die for!!

If like us, you have never visited Dorset before, start with Shaftesbury and a stay at Updown Cottage, you won’t regret it

Views of Gold Hill and Blackmore Vale  (Updown Cottage is the one with the shutters)

Now you can watch the Hovis ad again –  http://youtu.be/CFLBvLxLJMI

A morning in the attic – up to my knees in memories

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This all came about because my OH couldn’t find the black luggage label.  The label is one of two we purchased in a little shop in Jasper, three years ago; it is made of black leather, with a cut out of the first letter of our surname in a contrasting pink leather – sounds a bit OTT, but trust me, it looks very smart when attached to one end of a piece of luggage. And different. I have never seen any more like them anywhere. I found the other one, the pink one with the black letter, but there was no way he was going to take that one with him on his trip!

I thought perhaps it had got inside one of the other bags and said as much, which was a mistake and  resulted in an attic search on Saturday.  Our attic, like most I guess, is the respository for things that don’t quite fit anywhere else, or you can’t quite bring yourself to throw out. Like luggage which takes up far too much room to be stored anywhere else; an old artificial Christmas tree, which gets a revamp every year and placed in the porch and all the decorations that adorn the “real” tree when it comes, various tins, boxes, bags, records, my old hockey stick, a pair of crutches (??) the list goes on. 

So, rather begrudgingly, I took myself off to the attic, armed with a couple of bags for sorting the rubbish and my phone in case there was an emergency and I was needed (please) and the thought I would catch up with my twitter friends if I got bored!  That worked out well,  until I realised I was spending a little too much time tweeting and not enough time sorting!

I checked the luggage and found the black tag, yes! That is when I should have stopped and gone downstairs triumphantly with the find, but I didn’t because underneath the oldest of the bags, was a pile of photographs.  And so I started going through them. Big mistake, huge.

You remember those pre-digital days, when we took snaps on rolls of film we bought at the chemist or supermarket, wound carefully onto the spool in the camera, away from bright light in case we damaged it?  Then when we had finished the roll, it rewound, if you had the latest camera; or you had to rewind by hand, turning for ever until the film was wound back into its’ case. Then you took it out and handed it in to be developed.  You waited with bated breath, hoping that the photograph you had taken of your grandmother’s 80th birthday party, with all those relatives you had never met before, turn out OK as they all want a copy as a keepsake.  Well, there were envelopes full of photos like that!

Photos of my children on their first bikes,  at the beach, on a slide, running in the egg and spoon race; a birthday party with a cake in the shape of a fire engine all red icing with white ladders on the top; school outings and new uniform days,  the first day of “big school” all wide-eyed and anxious; scrubbed within an inch of their lives, ready for whatever was coming their way.

There were photos taken at friends weddings – why did I ever think I would look good in an outift like that? It is the clothes that date the photographs more so than the people, who somehow manage to stay more or less looking like they always have. Then the babies started to come along and there are piles of photos of them.  Then, from somewhere at the bottom of the pile I found photos of my parents.  They have both gone now, but looking at them, laughing into the camera lens, on holiday in Ibiza, the Yorkshire Dales or the Scottish highlands brought tears to my eyes and I remember them more clearly seeing the photographs, than  I ever do just thinking about them.

I spent a long time in the attic. My knees were sore and I only had a small pile of rubbish to show for my morning’s work, but there were lots of happy memories