Remembering

We shall never forget those brave men and women who died so that we may live in peace.

God rest their souls.

SHOPPING... IN DESPERATION!

Believe me, female clothing can be very uncomfortable at times. I’ve noticed this more as I got older and spent more time sitting down. By the end of the day everything gets tighter. It must be that our clothing shrinks as the day draws to a close, I mean it can’t possibly be that our bodies spread. Can it? A few months ago I began to suffer from too much tightness around the middle. The cause? Skirt waistbands with buttons that dig into my back, tight ‘tights’ or rather the elastic that holds them up, not to mention bones in bras. Everything is fine all day, it’s just in the evening I begin to suffer. It was painfully obvious that action had to be taken.

I’m not a lover of trousers, they always make me feel so unfeminine, but it crossed my mind that I should try and overcome my dislike and spend the coming winter wearing them. This, of course, raised another point. I hadn’t enough pairs of trousers to vary the daily attempts at fashionable attire. There was nothing for it, I had to go shopping.

It was great fun trying on the different styles of trousers, cords, linens, but they were mostly black or navy. I told the assistant I needed colour. That surprised her a little, she probably thought I was one of this little old ladies who always wear black. Wrong. Colour is my thing. Black makes me look like death and I ain’t there yet, thank you very much.

Assistant lady goes hunting and comes back with three items: a super pair of tailored grey which would go with any colour I chose to wear with it, a pair of maroon cords, which clung where they touched but which would ‘give’ in time’, and a pair of pebble coloured cords. I tried everything on before dismissing the maroon on the grounds of feminine pride and putting the pebble on one side for second thoughts. The grey was a must buy item which I later did. So, back to the pebble colour. What to do? Young assistant had a brainwave and called in an older colleague to give her opinion. Ah, that’s more like it, I thought, a woman who understands and knows what she’s talking about.

New lady, known as Lily, quite liked the pebble cords so I wondered why she hesitated. Then she blurted out, ‘have you tried jeans? Jeans? Did she mean DENIM jeans? Yes she did! Lily told me she had several pairs (I later learned that she was a mere 68) and wouldn’t be without them. ‘Go on,’ she pushed, ‘try some on,’ and promptly dashed out to collect a couple. Whilst inwardly pooh-poohing the idea of ever wearing jeans, I went along with the idea of trying them on if only to prove a point. ‘Much better than the cords,’ said Lily, who went on to explain that she even wore jeans for evenings out. Apparently they team rather well with smart tops and jackets.

I am now the proud possessor of a great pair of dressy grey trousers as well as the most comfortable pair of trousers ever designed for an elderly woman. Jeans! Couldn’t wait to try them with all my lovely jackets and tops so whilst still in the store I bought a couple of tops to go with them. Now I’m wondering if one pair of jeans is enough! And those colourful sneakers would look good with jeans, don’t you think? 

This and that, and a bit about coffee!

Rosanne and Frank 

My stepdaughter and new Italian/Australian stepson-in-law

Their wedding took place in the middle of the night on 3rd November ... my night, that is. It didn't stop me from being in Australia in spirit since I was awake most of the time, sending email at what I thought were appropriate moments... before the ceremony, naturally. Rosanne started it by sending pictures of the flowers and having her hair done and how she looked when ready to be escorted to the church. 

Joe was over the disappointment of not attending the wedding since he had a lot to contend with health-wise. Unfortunately, again health-wise, it wasn't a good night for him. The next hospital appointment for us is 7 November when we are due to see the Radiologist. I thought it was for a consultation about the proposed procedure but we've been told to allow two hours for the appointment. Hmm that will be either a long talk or a long wait. 

Waste not, want not. Yes, I’m still at it, much to the surprise of Paola, my 39 year old cleaning lady, when she caught sight of me draining an apparently empty bottle of liquid soap into a new one. I’m sure she thought I was quite mad when I explained that it was something I always do. ‘Don’t know how you've got the patience’, she said, but didn’t stop to hear my reply; well, she did have work to do. Considering the nation and the people in it are hard up I’m surprised at the lack of inventive ideas for saving a few pence. After all, a few coppers here and there really mount up. I suppose I got my training the hard way, i.e.  the aftermath of war years and a period of wage freezes in the 70’s.

A week ago we went out for our usual carvery lunch at a pub in Sutton Park. There was a party alongside our table, a celebration of a lady’s 70^th birthday, complete with children and grandchildren. A young girl, I suspect not yet a teenager, made the birthday cake which was displayed with pride. And quite right too, it was a beautiful piece of work. 

Two enormous birthday balloons in glittery gold were attached to their table, one in the shape of a 7 and the other an 0. As they waved wildly I prayed one wouldn’t burst and land on my roast pork. The young children had their iPads to play with so I don’t think they cared about the balloons. Actually, one little lad was playing a game that fascinated me although I tried really hard not to appear interested. I did keep sneaking a peek though to see how he was getting on. I would have loved to take over.

Hands up, who likes Floater Coffee? Yes, so do I. In fact floater coffee has become a must have when my friend Judy and I go out to lunch. She takes her coffee with sugar and I don’t and thereby hangs the problem. One with and one without, we order. ‘Oh no,’ comes the reply, ‘you can’t have floater coffee without sugar.’ Now according to the so-called experts, it is the sugar that makes the cream float. So why is it that it varies from establishment to establishment? Take our recent visit as an example. One with and without was ordered. Again the ‘Oh no’ response came, complete with explanation about the necessity to have sugar to enable cream to float. I gave up and told the waitress to bring it ‘as it comes’. She did. My coffee arrived with sugarless coffee and a sugar lump in the saucer. Judy and I compared coffees ... both had floating cream! Later I looked it up on the Net and found plenty of ideas, including this one 

What if you don’t take sugar? I have worked in a restaurant and I used to make them without sugar all the time. It’s how you pour the cream.

So now I know!

A recent item in a newspaper read like this:

Are disabled people invisible again? In London in 2012 disabled people were suddenly in the spotlight during the Paralympics. But a year on, have they gone back to being invisible?

Of course they’ve gone back to being invisible. That’s not to say we’ve stopped thinking about them or helping where we can. Obviously competing Paralympians were brought to our attention through television, radio, and the printed press and once over they disappear from view, but there are people out there who care about and for those same people. There is room for growth in the community with regard to facilities for the disabled but we haven’t suddenly pushed our disabled friends into the background never to be thought of again. I resent the implication that we don’t care.

INSIGHT TO NOVEMBER

INSIGHT TO NOVEMBER

The Prose 

November is perhaps the most moving month of the year, steeped in tradition and teeming with expectancy.  Why yearn for sunnier climes or a terracotta tan when November's seasonal pulchritude comes free of charge. Broad avenues, awash with colour and piled high with copper jewels: red-gold gems cascading from majestic trees, making way for fresh creations of embryonic buds.

Natural beauty contrasts sharply with more morbid attractions. Searing bonfires concoct a vivid tableau. Orange flames triumphantly lick the feet of man-made guys, egged on by a jubilant audience gobbling sausages and baked potatoes. Historical, traditional, and macabre, as are the fireworks: pretty explosives noisily winging, gloriously beguiling.

Scarlet poppies adorning our attire signify remembrance for the soldiers who fought for liberation … the war dead, who gave us optimism. Yields of mistletoe and holly and sometimes early snow prompt thoughts of Christmas celebrations, of nativity, and gatherings of families and friends.

   

Thus, November is a month of diverse elements: breathtaking, poignant, and sad. But it is never dull and those who claim that it is should examine its true potential, and wrest a soupçon of comfort from the depths of the sombre monotony that exists solely within their hearts.

This is November. Enjoy!

November was the month, many years ago, when I was seriously burnt and had the misfortune to be in hospital when victims of bonfire and firework ‘accidents’ were admitted. I felt obliged to write the poem (see it in my sidebar) which incorporates other monstrous November scenes.