Dreams, Family Trees and Children

I keep dreaming of this lift that takes you up many, many floors in a tall building before exiting the top of the building, gliding on the horizontal, twirling and returning down again. Sometimes, I dream it's out of order or will only ascend, say 10 floors.

My great x 10 grandfather was Mayor of Carlisle in 1604.

And my daughter will be 17 months this week and already she can count. She points to the ladybirds in her book and says "Daw. Daw. Daw. Daw."

She's counting.

Yes she is.



Yes she is.



Yes she is.













Yes she is.

Bedtime conversations with Michael, aged 4 and a half

Michael: Mummy, what's that over there? [he's looking out of his bedroom window at the Docklands skyline in the distance] Is it Birmingham?
Me: No Michael, it's not Birmingham, it's London.
Michael: Where's Birmingham? Is it in that country that we used to be joined onto?
Me: (regretting once again my attempts to introduce plate tectonics and continental drift to one so young): No Michael, it's not in France. It's in the middle of England. Now, come on, it's bedtime.
Michael: I'm not tired.
Me: Come on now Michael, we've a busy day tomorrow and I've lots of work to do downstairs now (i.e. Coronation Street starts in 5 minutes)
Michael:Ouch!
Me: Are you ok Michael? Did you hurt yourself?
Michael: Yes, I banged my foot-thumb on my toybox.
Me: You mean your big toe.

[3 adorable little bedtime prayers, 2 of which I wrote myself - lots of thank yous and bless everyones]

Me: Goodnight Michael.
Michael: Good wee wee.
Me: G'dnight
Michael: Good poo poo.

Name the Doll

I had piano lessons as a child. I remember observing, week on week for a period of time, the growth and development of a set of knitted clothes and accessories for a doll that my piano teacher's mother had bought for the "name the doll" game at the church fair. There were yellow and white knitted tops, trousers, mittens, booties, a hat and a shawl. And eventually the doll was to be seen adorning this beautiful attire, snuggly presented in a gift-wrapped shoe-box. Oh how I longed for that doll - to nurse her, care for her, introduce her to my Tiny Tears and Sindy - welcome her into my nylon-haired family of plastic lovables. (I'm sure that if a child today yearned for a doll as much as I yearned for that one, someone would nip out and buy the thing as a "home from school treat". It just didn't happen in the '70s, did it? (or am I sounding as if I'm in my 70s?).

Anyhow, I don't remember trying my luck at the "name the doll" on the great day of the fair, but I must have done because I remember as if t'were only yesterday the moment when my father (who was the vicar) opened the envelope and announced that the name of the doll was..... Lucy. Time stood still; I had a "kelly Holmes winning the 400 meters at the last olympics" moment; "I had.... hadn't I? I think I ..... Didn't I choose Lucy??! I did! yes I did!!! I DID!!!!!" And Lucy was mine.

And this Monday I'm in charge of the children's stalls at our Church Fair. They've never had a "name the doll" at our church fair before and, boy, are they in for a treat: one doll, two outfits, two toy "body lotions", one bottle, one teddy, one dummy, one nappy, one changing mat and a fold-up buggy, all lovingly presented in the box it came in when I bought it.

I really hope my son wins it (and he's desperate to)! I have had to stop myself on several occasions from buying him a replica as a "home-from-school treat".

A Good Day for Genealogists

...But before I write about that, thank you to everyone who commented on my Sunday School question below (my blog's being naughty and won't let me comment under the comments, which is especially annoying as no-one comments on their own blog as much as I do)!! Your comments were very reassuring to me.

I'd also like to say a couple of hellos to two Sarahs: Sarah who commented on the Sunday School question and who writes a lovely, lovely blog, and to my old pal Sarah in France who will be reading this. And to anyone else who knows me.

Back to Genealogy:

I have spent far too much time over recent months tracing my roots / building my family tree / call it what you will. Today the 1841 census has been made available on line and I shall be extremely tempted to pay the subscription to www.ancestry.com so that I can take a peek into the lives of more ancestors. (I was going to entitle this post "A Good Day for Genealogists; A Great Day for Ancestry.Com).

Tempting though it is for me to use my blog to divulge details of the lives of previous Horsfields: the magnificently named Emanuel, Job, Crowther and (my favourite of all) Almond, et al, I shall refrain. Family trees, like dreams and children, are totally fascinating when, and only when, they are your own. I shall bite my tongue and say no more on a subject that calls for a very unfrequented blog of its own - maybe one day.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to ancestry.com - where's my credit card.

Shades of Grey

Here is a copy of an e-mail that I've just sent to my fellow Sunday School teachers. I'm new to the role:

I hope that this question doesn't leave you doubting whether I should be teaching at Sunday School (!) but I've been pondering what approach I should take with the little ones and would welcome your thoughts. If a child asks me "did Jesus really die and come back to life?" should I reply:
a) yes, or
b) that's what we believe as Christians, or
c) neither of the above (!)

How dogmatic should we be? Are we revealing the Christian faith to the children so that in future they can decide where their beliefs lie or are we (so certain in our beliefs that we are) assuring them that this is the one and only true path to follow....?

The question that I used above (did Jesus really die and come back to life) is just one example of the type of question that we will face from the children where we will need to choose which approach to take in response. But it's an interesting question to pick by way of an example because the very young ones will have such a light grasp of the concept of death as it is.

And then I went on in my e-mail to request that they did not summarily dismiss me from my new post for being too agnostic and to wish everyone a Happy Sunday.

I'd welcome all thoughts...

Ouch.

If I should die think only this of me

That there is some corner of the World Wide Web that is for ever bripbrop

I was at a karate class this evening when I dreamt up that bit of sillydom (should be a word, introduce it)!... and I nearly did blinkin' die. Should have been concentrating on self-defence, not posting.

... I am a bit like Toad of Toad Hall because I become totally obsessed with things for a short while and then, poop poop, I'm on to something else. I struggle a lot with "everything in moderation". I shall now take a long weekend away from my blog. No more posting for a few days. Got to get a life back!!

Lots of love

Ruth

Judy Garland

Oooh Winnie, I do like that biography...

Good Things

There are things that are good and everyone knows about them - they "catch on". These things include Fawlty Towers, Friends, Thai Food, Les Miserables. But what of the marvellous things that do not catch on, for whatever reason. Here are three: The BBC comedy "Early Doors", sushi nori (sheets of seaweed that make a great snack) and fufu with okra soup (a West African dish). The great news is that Tesco now sells fufu-mix (and I believe it's gluten free). And the even more wonderful thing about those foodstuffs is that they are pretty much fat-free!

I've just had a lovely walnut whip.

The end.

The name "Horsfield"

Horsfield wasn't the most delightful of surnames to bear at secondary school. Nicknames were many and not that varied. It's interesting to examine how play-writes and authors choose names for their characters. Dickens seemed to enjoy choosing really good, juicy names that by themselves spoke volumes about their owners. My favourite is Tigg Montague in Martin Chuzzlewit: here, have a read:

"He had a world of jet black shining upon his head, upon his cheeks, upon his chin, upon his upper lip. His clothes, symmetrically made, were of the newest fashion and the costliest kind...And yet, though changed his name and changed his outward surface, it was still Tigg... though no longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague; still it was Tigg: the same Satanic, gallant, military Tigg."

Any-road-up: Horsfield. I am dismayed to report that I've only heard the name used once in drama / literature and that was in the dire comedy programme "Sorry" starring Ronnie Corbett as Timothy, whose catchphrase, in response to a harsh and upper-middle class sounding "Timothy", was a down-at-heel "sorry mother". "Mother" was asking him to spruce himself up and be on his best behaviour as the "Horsfields" were coming to tea. There was no need to describe them as a perfectly pleasant but awfully plain and middle-of-the-road couple; the surname Horsfield was there to say it all.

I've tried out one or two surnames since Horsfield and I'm fairly happy with the one I've landed myself with. Anyway, happy or not, I certainly plan to stick with it this time!

The name's Horsfield.

James Bond is licensed to kill. I, self-important-cough, am licensed to administrate psychometric assessments. You know the things - you do them sometimes on training courses or when applying for a job: 100 statements, along the lines of "I prefer a night in watching TV to going out with a group of friends", with which you must either a) agree or b) disagree. "But it depends...", you want to say. "Sorry," says the assessment administrator (i.e. me) "agree or disagree. And no more talking please". Then your results are processed and your true nature revealed: "well Ruth, you are an introverted, neurotic pedant who would work very well with goldfish. Oh and our secretly built-in lie detector test has revealed that you responded dishonestly to many statements in order to make yourself seem a better person. So you're a liar too."

Anyway, Ive constructed a lovely list of statements here. Lovely because, according to my narrow-minded view of the world, you can really easily choose either one or the other option. It's all very clear-cut. You are either a) or b) - never a bit of both. Here goes:
smoker or non-smoker
left-wing or right-wing
veggie, non-veggie
townie or country bump.
dog person or cat person
wallpaper or paint
watch or don't watch football
spiders ok, spiders scary
sci fi yes, sci fi no
jacket spud or fries
cleanse, tone and moisturise or soap, water and straight to bed

The downside to my marvellous list of statements is that they indicate little about anything (need to work on that one), except p'haps that at 37 I might be a bit slimmer and have fewer wrinkles if I could tick the last two differently!!

Motherhood and papple pie (as Mikey used to call it)!

Imagine how much more difficult motherhood would be without:
1. Aunties who'll spend hours entertaining them without ever complaining at having to read The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the 100th time - Michael's Auntie plays a great game of "plates" with him every time she visits!
2. sudocrem (and the stuff lasts for ever - I'm still on the same jar that I bought after Michael was born 4 and half years ago)
3. annusol plus (sorry about that one but babies aren't the only things to emerge during labour you know - mine are getting better now thanks - but it's taken well over a year and I don't think we'll ever have a totally level playing field again). I hear TMI sirens sounding...!
4. CBeebies (come on - be honest...)
5. the controlled crying technique (after 11 months of v. little sleep it had to be done)
6. breadsticks and rice cakes (esp. when shopping or awaiting food in a restaurant)
7. electric blenders (how did our grandmothers do it...?)
8. tumble dryer (my grandmother had 4 children in a two bedroom house - I think I'd have put myself throught he mangle...)
9. dishwasher (...and her husband was away at war for five years; hey and there were no bananas - how do you do pregnancy without bananas)??
10. friends, friends, friends ...
...me:"boo hoo I'm a TERRIBLE mum,"
friend:"no you're not Ruth - look, they're both fed, watered and dressed and they're sooo happy"
me:"happy? listen to Michael shouting at Isabel,"
friend:"ah but she's ok - look how she stands up for herself against him - look at her with that lego - she's got a good aim..... ouch"

Thanks Anne - again - couldn't resist this!

The Things They Say

Michael has recently witnessed me attempting to mend our telly which keeps going on the blink. Yesterday, there was this irritating banging sound coming from his room. I ventured in to find him banging his scissors repeatedly on the table - "they're not working!" he said. "No Michael," I replied "banging only works for electricals, I'm afraid. We'll have to leave the scissors for daddy to mend when he gets home." (It's not that I'm particularly incompetent and I'm not sexist, I'm just totally lazy - and this sort of thing always gets left for daddy to do when he gets home). (Poor Mario smiles and looks at me with a pitiful face - "too tricky for you is it dear?" "Yes Mario, you know I can't do technical things like that. But Michael will be so pleased if you can fix it" - and off I go to pour a glass of wine and relax in front of Coronation Street)!

If Mario reads this I'm in trouble....

Only joking, dear husband, I really am incompetent. Keep up the good work.

Thanks to Anne...

...anyone can now comment on my blog. So come on, have y' two penn'th!

Happy Thoughts

It's a good idea to spend some time each evening reflecting on good things that have happened during the day - good for the soul; makes you a happier person. So yesterday evening I savoured the incident that had occured earlier when a man in a red car had over-taken me at about 80mph on a dangerous stretch of road and in the pouring rain, only to be held up for ages and ages behind a massive lorry that was round the next bend. Ahh, I love it when that happens! (I love it even more if I get to pull up beside them at the next set of traffic lights)!

Giant Punn - Intended

The other evening I attended a training event for Sunday School teachers. It was much more fun than I'd imagined. In fact I made a couple or three great new friends that evening and the woman who facilitated the event was excellent. It soon became apparent (especially during a game of "bible bingo") that she'd not only read the bible from cover to cover, but knew the thing inside out, back to front and everywhich way. Anyway, one of the activities that she suggested for younger children at Christmas time was to show them a selection of Christmas cards and ask them which of the pictures related to the Christmas Story - the Incarnation. "I mean" she said "fluffy robins with red bobble hats...?!?!?!?!?!?!"

"Aha" methought "she clearly does not know her Gospels after all: In the beginning was the bird, and the bird was with God and the bird was God....."

I did warn you.

Catherine: get round here with that rioja.

If Heaven is like the Church of England...

I'm about to go and clean the church loo. I was wondering whether, should I get to Heaven, there'll be an angel at the door to say "G'd evening Ruth. How are you? Now before you go in, my house has many mansions and we wondered if you'd go on the cleaning rota, only you did such a good job with the church loo. In fact that's mostly why you've ended up here. Now, would Tuesday be ok?"

Tee hee - now where are me marrigolds (don't normally use the things but needs must where the devil drives ... and he certainly drives in the church loo)!

Bloggers' Top Ten

I'm trying and failing to think of a top ten for bloggers. So far I've got:

1. Stop Blogging - The Pretenders ("It is time - for you to stop - all of your bloggin'")

2. IT me with your rhythm stick - Ian Dury and the Blogheads (tee hee - I like that one)

3. Up Where We Belogg - can't remember which male female duo did this (you know the one: "who - knows what tomorrow brings de de derrrrr, in a world - few hearts survive di di di deee di derrr etc")

... and that's it so far. But there you are. That'll give you something to think about in the bath / on the tube / in bed at 3 am!!!

Normal's Great When You Get It Back....

...is a current advertising slogan (for some brand of car insurance, I think). I like it (the slogan). There are times when I wish for more, more, more.... more excitement, more travel, more money, more clothes, shoes, rooms in the house (bedrooms and toilets in particular), more patience, more brains etc. etc. etc., but when I was lying in hospital for several days after a ruptured ectopic pregnancy all I wanted (and I really, really wanted it so much) was for everything to be back to normal (and it's the same whenever things go pear-shaped). It's then that I realise how much I love walking up to Asda to do my shopping, cooking ready-brek for Michael and Isabel after an early wake-up call, watching Coronation Street (having already read what'll be happening in "What's On TV " magazine - yes - slightly ashamed of that one....), listening to Radio 4 (ah, that's better - much more "middle- class" than Corrie and "What's On TV"), and all the other routine, every-day things that fill my time and constitute my life.

Hope this posting makes sense - Isabel is biting my right arm and Michael is talking incessantly at my right ear making it hard for me to concentrate on what I'm doing (perhaps I should go and be a mummy again now)! Actually, it sounds like a rather bad sermon, doesn't it. Ah well, I shall publish and be damned! "Would you all please stand now for The Creed"!!

I've planted a CD in the garden

For some time now a cat has been using the plot just outside our front door as a toilet. I think it's a cat; it could be a fox. Anyhow it's definitely got regular bowel habits - Gillian whatsername would be proud. Michael narrowly missed falling into a recent offering, so I decided that the time had come to take action against it and I made straight for the internet. Needless to say there's plenty of on-line advice on what to do to prevent cats from do-doing in your garden. Having surfed at great length, I decided that the most effective option would be to place mounds of lion poo out there - apparently this fends off cats and is easily obtainable from a zoo. Mario's face said it all when I suggested replacing the odd cat turd with a sackful of lion poo! ("Oh yeah, I hadn't thought of it that way....").

So I opted for Plan B: place CDs in the garden (as cat see its own reflection, thinks it's another cat and is scared off), and Plan C: scatter used tea bags doused with olbas oil here and there (I don't know how this is meant to work). Anyway, so far, so good (and I've only planted one CD as I don't actually have them to spare). We've not had a poo for a good fortnight. Although we have had a lot of comments from visitors and passers-by!!

Am I a Pacifist? And if I am a pacifist, why do I do karate?

I really wanted to hit a stranger yesterday. He had narrowly missed hitting me in his car (so it was a near-hit; why do we call them near-misses)? What's more, I had Isabel in the pushchair at the time. We were walking behind his car as he suddenly reversed, oblivious to us. I had to yank the pushchair back pretty sharpish to avoid an accident.

As I walked on, I swiftly concluded that post-traumatic stress was not in order. I also considered, not for the first time this week, how easy it is to put your small child in danger without even realising it. And then my thoughts turned to my unsavoury and rather alarming desire to approach the driver of the vehicle, yank his rear-view mirror from the car with a cry of "you clearly don't use it so you won't miss it will you?!" and smack him one in the face (I was having a bad day, by the way).

As I wandered further down the road to home, I envisaged the ensuing court case:

Prosecuting Barrister: "Mrs D'Avanzo," (for that's certainly how they'd address me) "would you tell the jury what you do in your spare time?"
Me: "Well, I'm a Sunday School teacher, a school governor and a member of the church outreach committee. I enjoy reading historical novels, learning Italian and caring for my small children (whom I only occasionally place in the line of reversing vehicles)"
PB: "What else, Mrs D'Avanzo"
Me (sheepishly): "I'm a black belt in karate which I practise twice a week"
PB (with relish): "No further questions, m' lud."

As a teenager, my jewellery box contained little more than a selection of CND badges. I was a paid-up member, marched at Molesworth and, to this day, I totally denounce violence and warfare. I will not watch violent movies as I find them too disturbing and I would always choose mediation over aggression. I certainly would not say boo to a goose (have you ever approached a gaggle? - terrifying. Almost as scary as a murder (or whatever they're called) of pigs). So it came as a tremendous surprise to me when, 11 years ago, I went along to a karate lesson and absolutely loved it and all it stood for (and it was not simply because I'd developed a crush on the instructor who I later ended up marrying)!

So what is karate and should it be allowed? I shall be brief (tomes have been written). Karate is essentially boring and that is why it can be allowed! Anyone who wishes to learn to fight will soon decide to look elsewhere for their tuition. During the first few weeks of training, you learn a series of blocks, punches, strikes and kicks which you then practise to perfection lesson-in, lesson-out, year-in, year-out. And perfection is rarely, if ever, achieved. Over a period of about 10 years you learn about 40 ancient sequences of moves called kata which you practise to perfection lesson-in, lesson out, week-in, week-out. Dropout rates are high. But "karate ultimately is nothing to do with punching and kicking, or striking and blocking" (to quote the very experienced karate instructor, John Van Weenen). Karate can be physically demanding (although everyone from 4 to 104 can give it a go and enjoy it), and mentally demanding, but what it really tests is stamina. (How I've managed to stick at it I do not know .... ah yes, the crush on the instructor....)! I train with a very traditional, non-competitive association and I believe that if you see one angry road-user physically attacking another, you can be certain that she has no appreciation of karate.

May Day Fair

This May 1st, I have total and all-out responsibility for the children's stalls at the church's May Fair. I took this on with a heavy heart, and then felt a little guilty about that because it's for good causes and I don't do much to be honest. This is the first time I've involved myself in a bazaar (as we used to call them in Cleobury) since I was a child when I attended many many many (comes with the job description when you're a vicar's daughter, along with bell-ringing (church and hand), serving, singing in the choir, teaching at Sunday School, reading the lesson, attending all of any curate's youth initiatives and remembering not to start eating before grace is said when the bishop comes to lunch.... oh, and not flirting with his chauffeur who has to sit and wait in the kitchen). I have very amusing memories of creeping like snail unwillingly to church on Saturday afternoons to rehearse Sunday's lesson reading, with dad sitting on the back pew and stopping me after each syllable to correct my ellocution. The funny thing is, the previous vicar's daughter is now a sports reporter on national radio and many of the villagers have muddled us up and think it's me!! ("Hasn't she done well, that vicar's daughter").

Back to the fair. It's looming and I'm procrastinating. What I need more than anything are volunteers (Stop! Please don't turn off your computer! I'm not about to cajole my reader(s) into travelling 100s of miles to run the "name the doll". I very efficiently produced a form for Sunday School parents to complete, with a tick box for "yes I'll help" (yes, I'm teaching at Sunday School again... but not bellringing etc.) . That seemed like the job done. That was a while ago. I've had one form back (and the scout-leader's not returned my calls about the coconut shy). At some point, I'm going to have to start PANICKING. But not yet hey....

Keep on Blogging

I've not blogged for a while. It's taken me a while to be able to post this entry as I'd forgotten my username and password (must have turned creative and invented a new password for my blog back when I started it, rather than the standard one that I use for absolutely everything (careful Ruth, keep it buttoned). I'm not going to blog much now as I'm tired and should be in bed. But if anyone's listening: hello! I've every intention of emptying my brain onto this page at regular intervals from now on... Not tonight though. Must go to bed. (Hope that all the necessary "going to bed prep" like teeth cleaning, toiletting, washing etc doesn't totally re-energise me like it usually does (resulting in another late night and being tired AGAIN tomorrow)!