Tuesday, December 13, 2005

I got this idea from my friend Anne's blog and couldn't resist it...

Seven things to do before I die
Seven things I cannot do
Seven things that attract me to my spouse
Seven things I say most often
Seven books (or series) I love
Seven movies I watch over and over again (or would watch over and over if I had the time)
Seven people I want to join in, too

Seven things to do before I die
Live several more decades
Learn to play a musical instrument well
Learn to speak Italian well
Conquer my irrational anxieties
dive into a swimming pool
Be optimistic without thinking that something is bound to go wrong because I'm being optimistic
Visit New York

Seven things I cannot do
swim on my back
pick up a spider
parallel park
sit through a church service without at least one mischievous or cymical thought entering my head
wax my legs
hit a rounders ball with a rounders bat
stop talking when I know I'm becoming irritating

Seven things that attract me to Mario
Upper arms and thighs
His incredible patience
the way he lets me be me and do what I like, think what I like, say what I like
His ability to work and do more than half of the household chores
His placid nature
the lovely wine he makes, and pasta & tomato sauce
His dry sense of humour

Seven things I say most often
Gosh
For pity's sake
Michael, we are going to be late
ssshhhhh Isabel
What time will you be home from work
I must stop eating all this rubbish
We've run out of food

Seven books (or series) I love
The Wind in the Willows
Faulty Towers
Wuthering Heights
A Christmas Carol
Second from Last in the Sack Race
Desperate Housewives
Julius Caesar (just one or two of the speeches that do it for me)

Seven movies I watch over and over again
Parenthood
Shawshank Redemption
Life of Brian
It's A Wonderful Life
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
Babette's Feast (and it's funny 'cos I didn't know this was one of Anne's favourites too)!
The Godfather

Seven people I want to join in, too (no pressure!)
Sarah
Sue
Carol
Fiona
Aunty Christine
Louise
Catherine

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Brum-brums

I'd love for my children to be bi-lingual. Sadly, we've not taken that route. My husband insists on reserving his native Italian for when he's in Italy - when, and only when in Rome does he do as the Romans do.

Italian, French, Spanish, any second language would be fantastic and provide them a mountain of opportunities. Not for me, however, is the language of moo-moo. No. A cow is a cow is a cow. I'm concerned when I hear fluent gaga being spoken to tiny ones that they'll have so much to unlearn before they can get to grips with speaking properly. Just when their brains are at their hungriest for learning - when they could probably memorise the entire Encyclopaedia Britanica if they heard it through a couple of times, do elders start with this ridiculous babble. "Nanny's going ta-tas," I've heard, "look at the chuff-chuff"; "Want a bic-bic?"

My dear offspring have a lot of flaws to tolerate in their mother, but at least when I yell a thousand decibels at them I do so with grammatical accuracy (is that grammatically accurate*)?Having said all that, I do love doggies and our TV remote control is and always will be a doodaa.


* I wish there was a "grammar check" on this thingummyjig.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Wishing

If you were granted a wish to dine
With anyone living or dead
Who would you choose for a meal tonight
And what do you think would be said?

I know who I'd pick right away
I'd choose to spend time with my dad
We'd hug and laugh, discuss life and death
I'd listen like I now wish I had.

Today I pledge to value my time
With husband, daughter and son,
Because time is cheap when it seems never-ending
And priceless the moment it's gone.



On the morning of my dad's death I suddenly panicked that I might actually have given the old jumper that he'd lent me years ago to Oxfam, as I'd been intending to on many occasions. I was so relieved when I ran to my wardrobe and found it still there. It's now in my box of most precious treasures.

Soap

How can Sharon on Eastenders
And Deirdre on Corrie Street
Drink a couple of large glasses of wine
And still appear sober and neat?

And how can they afford to dress
That way and have such wonderful hair
On top of the money they spend down the pub?
Iwant their bank manager!

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Christmas: New Rules Please

Christmas instills in me a mild sense of insecurity. And by Christmas, I mean the period from 1 November until 1 January. Everything that is normally so ordinary and everyday changes. Houses and shops are adorned with gawdy decor; diabolical, minute lights dangle barely noticeably from the lamp posts; jolly music is piped from every orifice of every sound system in the land; scraps of tinsel are tossed across everything from computer terminals to pumps at bars in pubs and calorific intake trebles with only the humble, yet suddenly omnipresent satsuma to rescue us from total saturated-fat-saturation.

"Have a magical Christmas" it says in the cards I'm sending this year. What kind of a tall order is that? I can manage the odd magical moment in life, but to expect an entire season to be magical is inevitably going to lead to disappointment. People aren't allowed to die or become ill ("what a shame, at Christmas time too"); dinners must not be burnt or undercooked; winter must become a wonderland; it's all a performance, your home a stage, and the show must go on (with costume preferably red and sparkly).

Why can't Christmas be more like its sister, Easter. Easter pops its yellow, egg-shaped head up and lowers it again all within the space of a holy week. We're still allowed to adore and relish all that's spring-like - the daffs, the chicks the blossom and other yellow things, but we are not carried on some grotesque journey of jollitude and over-indulgence.

I propose that we talk less of Christmas and more of winter. Let's light our trees to bring some relief from the dark evenings; let's be merry indoors with wine, mulled or half-decent, because it's too cold to be out. None of these gestures or occasions need to be in the name of Christmas. Furthermore, why stop them with an almighty sense of anticlimax on 2 January? We could allow Christmas to embrace us for a few days, say 12, from 24 December; for the rest of the time, we could just enjoy winter until spring arrives.

Of course there are those who will not want this, and whilst I think of it could Walkers please refrain from further use of the strapline "Merry Crispmas". We do not worship you, nor do we give thanks for your incarnation.

P.S. Something else is starting to outstay its welcome - I'm getting rather scared of Hallowe'en!

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

21st Century Living

Wars were dreadful in Grandma's day
When husbands had to fight,
And children had to live away,
And bombs fell day and night

Much better now that wars occur
On the TV News at Ten,
I can flick them on and flick them off
And go to bed again.