This blog was born, had a very active life, slowed down and is now in semi-retirement (but then I did tell you that I was a bit like Toad of Toad Hall)! 'Willows' has mostly been a personal journal - a diary of events and thought-processes. Whilst I continue to experience events and to think, I seem to have lost the ability to make the time to record all of this on my blog.
I have been reading some of my previous posts today - it's great when you read something that you've forgotten you'd ever written. Sometimes I've come across posts that make me think 'crumbs, did I really admit to that' - and they make me feel a bit embarassed.
Anyway, I'm torn between occassionally posting on this moribund blog and declaring it officially closed and starting a new one - I have ambitions to begin a new and different style of blog - one that's less centred on 'moi'. It was vital to me that 'Willows' was 'me-centred' as I wanted it to provide an insight into 'me' as a 'leaf' on my family tree (and not because I'm a total egotist)! 'Willows' is a snapshot of the life of Ruth in her late 30s. I'll look back and read it as you read an old journal.
But for now I'm going to leave it at least for a while, I think.
I have relished every single comment that I've ever had on this blog and thank you all for contributing. I'm not saying 'goodbye', because I'm not stopping blogging. I'm just giving this particular blog a rest. So 'toodlepip' and I'll maybe see you round at your place / space / blog!
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
The hand that rocks the cradle....
If you read this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6402933.stm
you'll learn that women with young children face more discrimination in the workplace than disabled people or those from ethnic minorities.
When I read this, I had expected to learn that jobs were simply not tailored to suit mothers with young children, deterring them from applying for posts in the first place (indirect discrimination). I thought I'd read, for example, that employers were reluctant to employ part-timers, or to reduce the need for overnight travel in jobs, but, no. Recent research cites a survey of 122 recruitment agencies that revealed more than 70% of them had been asked by clients to avoid hiring pregnant women or those of childbearing age. So we're talking 'direct discrimation' against women - they are being sifted out of the workplace purely on the basis of their gender. That alarmed me.
Lots of my friends work (some have children, others don't). Many of them offer an unsurpassable service to society - as teachers, doctors, nurses.... (I know lots of teachers, doctors and nurses, for some reason...)
I, on the other hand, am a 'stay at home mum'. I am a SAHM simply because that is what I wanted to be when I had children and we are darn lucky enough to be able to survive (just) on one income. Sometimes I wish that I worked part time - I sometimes think that I'd have more energy for the children if I had a little 'time off' at work (!!!), and I'd like to add to the coffers. Furthermore, though, there are times when I feel that my role is undervalued. I feel undervalued by the apparent lack of recognition of how difficult it is to find child-care that equals or beats the care I can give my children, as their mother. And also by the number of times people expect that I might be able to volunteer to do things (like clean the church) because "I don't work".
In the light of the article above, news commentators have been saying that highly educated and competent women are being denied the opportunity to contribute to society by workplace discrimination. That statement is true, but don't under-estimate the contribution to society some of us are making by devoting our energies to bringing up children.
And, even more importantly, could we be given real choice, please. It is seen as a privilege now to be able to stay at home with children if that's where your vocation lies. Not everyone can marry Rockerfella, and I'd like to see something done so that all mothers have the option to be the sole-carer for their offspring if that's what they want.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6402933.stm
you'll learn that women with young children face more discrimination in the workplace than disabled people or those from ethnic minorities.
When I read this, I had expected to learn that jobs were simply not tailored to suit mothers with young children, deterring them from applying for posts in the first place (indirect discrimination). I thought I'd read, for example, that employers were reluctant to employ part-timers, or to reduce the need for overnight travel in jobs, but, no. Recent research cites a survey of 122 recruitment agencies that revealed more than 70% of them had been asked by clients to avoid hiring pregnant women or those of childbearing age. So we're talking 'direct discrimation' against women - they are being sifted out of the workplace purely on the basis of their gender. That alarmed me.
Lots of my friends work (some have children, others don't). Many of them offer an unsurpassable service to society - as teachers, doctors, nurses.... (I know lots of teachers, doctors and nurses, for some reason...)
I, on the other hand, am a 'stay at home mum'. I am a SAHM simply because that is what I wanted to be when I had children and we are darn lucky enough to be able to survive (just) on one income. Sometimes I wish that I worked part time - I sometimes think that I'd have more energy for the children if I had a little 'time off' at work (!!!), and I'd like to add to the coffers. Furthermore, though, there are times when I feel that my role is undervalued. I feel undervalued by the apparent lack of recognition of how difficult it is to find child-care that equals or beats the care I can give my children, as their mother. And also by the number of times people expect that I might be able to volunteer to do things (like clean the church) because "I don't work".
In the light of the article above, news commentators have been saying that highly educated and competent women are being denied the opportunity to contribute to society by workplace discrimination. That statement is true, but don't under-estimate the contribution to society some of us are making by devoting our energies to bringing up children.
And, even more importantly, could we be given real choice, please. It is seen as a privilege now to be able to stay at home with children if that's where your vocation lies. Not everyone can marry Rockerfella, and I'd like to see something done so that all mothers have the option to be the sole-carer for their offspring if that's what they want.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
I'd like to thank the Lord for gift of being able to lie
.... but I'd better not as, clearly, he'd rather we didn't.
What a shame. I think that the art of being able to lie convincingly is a wonderful way of keeping the waters calm in a relationship.
'Do you like my new dress?'
Now, I don't know about you, but I'd much prefer a blatant lie - something along the lines of:
'it's a stunning dress and you look gorgeous', to this kind of truth:
'It's a beautiful shade of yellow'.
There's lots more I could say, but I'm sorry, I must dash - and that's no word of a lie!
What a shame. I think that the art of being able to lie convincingly is a wonderful way of keeping the waters calm in a relationship.
'Do you like my new dress?'
Now, I don't know about you, but I'd much prefer a blatant lie - something along the lines of:
'it's a stunning dress and you look gorgeous', to this kind of truth:
'It's a beautiful shade of yellow'.
There's lots more I could say, but I'm sorry, I must dash - and that's no word of a lie!
The Harsh Lessons Of Life
My dear son (aged 5) was looking down at heal. I asked him why and he replied, in a sad whine, that his woodlice had died. (I didn't correct his grammar; I also call them woodlice when they are singular, as I don't like the word 'louse'', and I say 'a dice' too).
I'd seen him frollicking around with a woodlice in the living room the other day (in sofar as you can frollick with an insect). I didn't realise he'd adopted it as a pet. But he had. He'd put it in a tray in his bedroom and tended to its every need for a period of about 48 hours.
'It died in the night', he said. I nodded sadly. I wanted to share in his grief, but at the same time 'move him on' very quickly.
'Never mind. You can always find another one.' I said. His face lit up.
'Yes!' he exclaimed. 'Or I could find a beetle!'
As long as he remembers that in my house '0 - 6 legs: good; 8 legs: bad', we'll all be ok! (Seven legs also = bad. I take 'seven legs' as a spider that's lost a leg, not a beetle that came with an extra one).
I'd seen him frollicking around with a woodlice in the living room the other day (in sofar as you can frollick with an insect). I didn't realise he'd adopted it as a pet. But he had. He'd put it in a tray in his bedroom and tended to its every need for a period of about 48 hours.
'It died in the night', he said. I nodded sadly. I wanted to share in his grief, but at the same time 'move him on' very quickly.
'Never mind. You can always find another one.' I said. His face lit up.
'Yes!' he exclaimed. 'Or I could find a beetle!'
As long as he remembers that in my house '0 - 6 legs: good; 8 legs: bad', we'll all be ok! (Seven legs also = bad. I take 'seven legs' as a spider that's lost a leg, not a beetle that came with an extra one).
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Oh, Such a Perfect Day
Dear Diary..
I just want to record a little piece about yesterday, for posterity.
It was such a lovely day.
Michael had an inset day - no school. Mario had taken the day off work and he looked after Isabel, allowing me to take Michael into town. First, the Science Museum (floors 4 and 5 - always totally deserted, amazingly, as these are by far the most interesting floors of the museum - maybe people suffer from altitude sickness up there)! He marvelled at the 'blood, bones and body bits' (as he called them) in the medical and veterinary sections - finding the mock-up of the nineteenth century dentist's surgery most interesting. I noticed that nothing of any of it scared him - he doesn't seem to get spooked.
The basement of the museum, where the children can 'learn through play', was jam-packed with crowds (I'd expected a quiet day, but clearly there were lots of 'inset days' going on yesterday)!! So we abandonned the museum and went for a McDonalds (groan - it was what he wanted and it's a very rare 'treat'. I had to look for the silver lining - it was cheap and quick). And then off, on a double decker bus, to ...... Chappells music shop. It turns out that we BOTH love it in there! He had lots of goes at playing lots of electronic pianos (with earphones) and drum kits (with earphones) - and we spent ages in there - they even let him use the staff loo!
It was now ice cream time and then home. Or so I thought. I just knew that Selfridges would have an ice cream parlour - and it did. And imagine my delight when my sister rang to say that 'her meeting had been cancelled and she could meet us for a pizza after work'! Another double decker bus ride to Westminster with time for a walk along the Thames before spending some considerable time in Dr Sister's office, examining her super-dooper, multi-headed hydra, I mean, microscope. Was ever a boy entranced?!
I over-heard Michael in the playground this morning, raving to a classmate about the microscope. It was the last thing he mentioned to me before going to sleep last night, and it was the first thing he mentioned to me this morning. I heard him talking to himself at length about it this evening as he was getting ready for bed.
I'm not going to mention that we returned home later than planned, that he was totally whacked and that, consequently, he has been the grumpiest of all bears this evening! It was a one-off - and there's nothing like making memories...
I just want to record a little piece about yesterday, for posterity.
It was such a lovely day.
Michael had an inset day - no school. Mario had taken the day off work and he looked after Isabel, allowing me to take Michael into town. First, the Science Museum (floors 4 and 5 - always totally deserted, amazingly, as these are by far the most interesting floors of the museum - maybe people suffer from altitude sickness up there)! He marvelled at the 'blood, bones and body bits' (as he called them) in the medical and veterinary sections - finding the mock-up of the nineteenth century dentist's surgery most interesting. I noticed that nothing of any of it scared him - he doesn't seem to get spooked.
The basement of the museum, where the children can 'learn through play', was jam-packed with crowds (I'd expected a quiet day, but clearly there were lots of 'inset days' going on yesterday)!! So we abandonned the museum and went for a McDonalds (groan - it was what he wanted and it's a very rare 'treat'. I had to look for the silver lining - it was cheap and quick). And then off, on a double decker bus, to ...... Chappells music shop. It turns out that we BOTH love it in there! He had lots of goes at playing lots of electronic pianos (with earphones) and drum kits (with earphones) - and we spent ages in there - they even let him use the staff loo!
It was now ice cream time and then home. Or so I thought. I just knew that Selfridges would have an ice cream parlour - and it did. And imagine my delight when my sister rang to say that 'her meeting had been cancelled and she could meet us for a pizza after work'! Another double decker bus ride to Westminster with time for a walk along the Thames before spending some considerable time in Dr Sister's office, examining her super-dooper, multi-headed hydra, I mean, microscope. Was ever a boy entranced?!
I over-heard Michael in the playground this morning, raving to a classmate about the microscope. It was the last thing he mentioned to me before going to sleep last night, and it was the first thing he mentioned to me this morning. I heard him talking to himself at length about it this evening as he was getting ready for bed.
I'm not going to mention that we returned home later than planned, that he was totally whacked and that, consequently, he has been the grumpiest of all bears this evening! It was a one-off - and there's nothing like making memories...
Friday, February 16, 2007
I wonder...
....I wonder whether I oughtn't to be doing more with my life. I think that I'm 'happy' and I know that things could be worse. I'm grateful for everything that I have - from the water in the tap to the husband whose currently fixing said tap.
But I am a bit bored, if the truth be known. Now, I know that excitement's not always all that it's cracked up to be (we've had a fair bit of the wrong sort of excitement around here in the past few weeks, what with one thing and another - think gastro-enteritis and you'll be not far wrong). But, to be quite honest, being in a total rut is not much fun either - and a rut is what I think I'm in at the moment.
I'm bored.
In the past, when I've felt in a rut, I've changed my job, my boyfriend, taken myself off on holiday or found a new hobby. I've been in ruts before, but I've climbed out of them.
But I'm a married, stay-at-home-mum now - and I'm delighted to be so. It does make climbing from a rut a little more difficult though. Today's method of dealing with my rut is to shout at everyone -and that's not good. Not good at all. Tomorrow, I may have a couple of hours to myself and I've tried to find a concert in London that I could attend (lunch-time), but to no avail (I've this strong desire to sit on a uncomfortable chair and not even notice that my bottie's gone to sleep as I'm transported away by voilins, cellos and kettle drums - extra 'brownie points' if the drummer's stick accidentally whizzes out of his hand and towards the conductor, and even more 'brownie points' if the conductor is the type whose dripping perspiration showers those on the front row!!)
Oh I don't know what to do. Have my hair cut, perhaps?
Isabel's filled her nappy. So before I do anything, I'd better get that changed!
But I am a bit bored, if the truth be known. Now, I know that excitement's not always all that it's cracked up to be (we've had a fair bit of the wrong sort of excitement around here in the past few weeks, what with one thing and another - think gastro-enteritis and you'll be not far wrong). But, to be quite honest, being in a total rut is not much fun either - and a rut is what I think I'm in at the moment.
I'm bored.
In the past, when I've felt in a rut, I've changed my job, my boyfriend, taken myself off on holiday or found a new hobby. I've been in ruts before, but I've climbed out of them.
But I'm a married, stay-at-home-mum now - and I'm delighted to be so. It does make climbing from a rut a little more difficult though. Today's method of dealing with my rut is to shout at everyone -and that's not good. Not good at all. Tomorrow, I may have a couple of hours to myself and I've tried to find a concert in London that I could attend (lunch-time), but to no avail (I've this strong desire to sit on a uncomfortable chair and not even notice that my bottie's gone to sleep as I'm transported away by voilins, cellos and kettle drums - extra 'brownie points' if the drummer's stick accidentally whizzes out of his hand and towards the conductor, and even more 'brownie points' if the conductor is the type whose dripping perspiration showers those on the front row!!)
Oh I don't know what to do. Have my hair cut, perhaps?
Isabel's filled her nappy. So before I do anything, I'd better get that changed!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
And it's Brennon on the Moor...
Radio 4, 5.55pm yesterday, gave the best 'and finally..' ever to a news programme. Listeners were treated to a hefty snippet of the old school-children's favourite programme: "Singing Together" (from 1967). We were invited to repeat the lines of a song once or twice so that, I feel certain, when the programme closed, everyone listening was giving a rousing rendition of:
"And it's Brennon on the moor,
Brennon on the moor,
Bold, gay, dauntless, stood
Young Brennon on the moor"
Maybe you 'had to be there', but it was grand! And following our national chorus of this fine Irish ballad (albeit from our many and varied and separate kitchens and dining rooms), the news-reader simply closed the show with the words: "singing together".
"And it's Brennon on the moor,
Brennon on the moor,
Bold, gay, dauntless, stood
Young Brennon on the moor"
Maybe you 'had to be there', but it was grand! And following our national chorus of this fine Irish ballad (albeit from our many and varied and separate kitchens and dining rooms), the news-reader simply closed the show with the words: "singing together".
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Big Brother
Hah. Two Orwellian blog-post titles in a row.
I watched snippets of Celebrity Big Brother when it began a week or so ago - I switched off for good when the editors allowed one very unpleasant contestant, who decided that she was unable to pronounce Shilpa's name, to hog the limelight.
Apparently many celebrities who take part in this so-called 'social experiment' (an experiment that really did not need repeating more than once, in my opinion) enter the show so that the public can see 'what they are really like'. Well, we've seen that now, haven't we!
I watched snippets of Celebrity Big Brother when it began a week or so ago - I switched off for good when the editors allowed one very unpleasant contestant, who decided that she was unable to pronounce Shilpa's name, to hog the limelight.
Apparently many celebrities who take part in this so-called 'social experiment' (an experiment that really did not need repeating more than once, in my opinion) enter the show so that the public can see 'what they are really like'. Well, we've seen that now, haven't we!
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Room 101
I'm pretty sure that in George Orwell's novel '1984', Room 101 contains the one thing that most terrifies you. In Paul Merton's TV programme 'Room 101', celebrities (of the type you might hear on Desert Island Discs rather than see on 'I'm a Celebrity...') nominate 4 things that most irritate them. Paul then decides whether to consign these tings to 'Room 101" and 'banish them for ever'. So you get things like 'post office queues' and 'serving suggestions' going for a burton.
Here are my nominations: four things for Merton's Room 101. (Orwell's Room 101 would contain spiders, for me. Or, possibly, deep water. Shudder.)
(And I'm going to have to be quick here cos 'Judge John Deed's on at 9).
1) Church fetes - boring, smelly, horrible things. I try to be our of the country when ours take place - not always possible, esp. now children at school
2) Turning right in the car - there are so many parked cars round here (massive ones because it seems that if you have children you can't possibly fit them in anything other than a 8 seater tank). I rarely turn right now, for safety reasons. I only ever turn left. (Mario's just had to go out to buy petrol...)
3) 'What's in the public interest' - I find the media so intrusive and unkind
4) Feedback TV-style (whether it's Simon Cowle, Gordon Ramsey, 'The dragons'....). Such feedback from celeb to 'average person' goes along the lines of "that was ****king crap &c). It's neither acceptable, constructive nor necessary to speak like that to someone - and yet it's paraded as being the right way to 'criticise' if you 'want to get to the top'.
You will see that it is now 9pm here and I've the living room all to myself and just time to get a cuppa and before my programme starts.
Ooh, I want a fifth - BBC News correspondents. Why do they nod ferociously these days before they say anything to camera???
Here are my nominations: four things for Merton's Room 101. (Orwell's Room 101 would contain spiders, for me. Or, possibly, deep water. Shudder.)
(And I'm going to have to be quick here cos 'Judge John Deed's on at 9).
1) Church fetes - boring, smelly, horrible things. I try to be our of the country when ours take place - not always possible, esp. now children at school
2) Turning right in the car - there are so many parked cars round here (massive ones because it seems that if you have children you can't possibly fit them in anything other than a 8 seater tank). I rarely turn right now, for safety reasons. I only ever turn left. (Mario's just had to go out to buy petrol...)
3) 'What's in the public interest' - I find the media so intrusive and unkind
4) Feedback TV-style (whether it's Simon Cowle, Gordon Ramsey, 'The dragons'....). Such feedback from celeb to 'average person' goes along the lines of "that was ****king crap &c). It's neither acceptable, constructive nor necessary to speak like that to someone - and yet it's paraded as being the right way to 'criticise' if you 'want to get to the top'.
You will see that it is now 9pm here and I've the living room all to myself and just time to get a cuppa and before my programme starts.
Ooh, I want a fifth - BBC News correspondents. Why do they nod ferociously these days before they say anything to camera???
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Happiness is...
...(actually I'd prefer to define 'contentment'): where reality meets or exceeds your expectations of what reality should be.
That's my opinion, anyway.
And on that note, I'm off to bed. And I do not expect to enjoy an unbroken night's sleep!
(And I'm not talking "how's yer father", by the way. I'm talking little girl with bad cough and cold who needs frequent cuddles day _and night_ at the moment)!
That's my opinion, anyway.
And on that note, I'm off to bed. And I do not expect to enjoy an unbroken night's sleep!
(And I'm not talking "how's yer father", by the way. I'm talking little girl with bad cough and cold who needs frequent cuddles day _and night_ at the moment)!
What in the World's Going On?
I won't bore you with the whys and the wherefores, but every Saturday I spend an hour in a 'caff', trying to avoid buying more than one latte, and reading the tabloids that are scattered about the tables.
I know very little about who's really who and what they're up to in the big wide world. If it were down to me OK and Hello magazines would be 'not at all OK' and 'goodbye'. But this evening, as a result of spending 60 precious minutes reading tabloid upon tabloid, I know that a world-famous singer with a 'girl-next-door' image may or may not have had a drink or two on New Years Eve, someone called Fiona Philips never really took to 'The Vicar of Dibley', and some rock star who's quite a maverick used to, in fact, act in school plays and was, apparently, a very well behaved pupil.
But what I don't know is what happened 30 meters down the road from where I live at 10pm the other evening (I turned into our road after an evening meeting to find an ambulance and police cars, and to see one person lying face-down on the pavement). Furthermore, I have no idea why two police cars drew up and called at the house next door but one at 3.30 am on New Years Eve.
The Road to Nab End: A Lancashire Childhood by William Woodruff, (excellent book) describes how in the early 1900s neighbours would drop by your house incessantly of an evening, for a chat or a game of cards. Within that neighbourhood, people would have known the full tale of 'the accident down the road' before it had happened! (This type of community spirit remains alive and well in parts of the country; I know. My mother enjoys something of it in Wales). But here in the big city, I might easily know so much more about the identity, family, habits and traumas of a singer in LA or Sydney Australia, than I do about the people next door, with whom I share a drive.
The book mentioned above is an excellent and thought-provoking read. My favourite story of the moment, though, is the fairy tale 'Emporor's New Clothes'. I've seen so many photos in the papers today of totally talentless, celebs perched on stick-thin legs with hair ironed straight, and I've read so much about 'Celebrity Big Brother' and other - oh gosh - wait for it - 'celebrity reality shows' that, upon finishing my, by-now-stone-cold latte, I just wanted to shout out at the top of my voice 'NONE OF IT MATTERS' and 'IRONED HAIR LOOKS AWFUL'.
Why write it? Why read it? I'll take me laptop to the caff next week and read blogs instead.
I know very little about who's really who and what they're up to in the big wide world. If it were down to me OK and Hello magazines would be 'not at all OK' and 'goodbye'. But this evening, as a result of spending 60 precious minutes reading tabloid upon tabloid, I know that a world-famous singer with a 'girl-next-door' image may or may not have had a drink or two on New Years Eve, someone called Fiona Philips never really took to 'The Vicar of Dibley', and some rock star who's quite a maverick used to, in fact, act in school plays and was, apparently, a very well behaved pupil.
But what I don't know is what happened 30 meters down the road from where I live at 10pm the other evening (I turned into our road after an evening meeting to find an ambulance and police cars, and to see one person lying face-down on the pavement). Furthermore, I have no idea why two police cars drew up and called at the house next door but one at 3.30 am on New Years Eve.
The Road to Nab End: A Lancashire Childhood by William Woodruff, (excellent book) describes how in the early 1900s neighbours would drop by your house incessantly of an evening, for a chat or a game of cards. Within that neighbourhood, people would have known the full tale of 'the accident down the road' before it had happened! (This type of community spirit remains alive and well in parts of the country; I know. My mother enjoys something of it in Wales). But here in the big city, I might easily know so much more about the identity, family, habits and traumas of a singer in LA or Sydney Australia, than I do about the people next door, with whom I share a drive.
The book mentioned above is an excellent and thought-provoking read. My favourite story of the moment, though, is the fairy tale 'Emporor's New Clothes'. I've seen so many photos in the papers today of totally talentless, celebs perched on stick-thin legs with hair ironed straight, and I've read so much about 'Celebrity Big Brother' and other - oh gosh - wait for it - 'celebrity reality shows' that, upon finishing my, by-now-stone-cold latte, I just wanted to shout out at the top of my voice 'NONE OF IT MATTERS' and 'IRONED HAIR LOOKS AWFUL'.
Why write it? Why read it? I'll take me laptop to the caff next week and read blogs instead.
Friday, January 05, 2007
I'm not really here. I'm somewhere over the rainbow.
This week, I am passionate about Hollywood 1900 -1950. I have read a biography of Louis Mayer (of MGM) and last evening, after a pretty grotty day, I sat up and watched my newly acquired DVD of Easter Parade, starring Judy Garland and Fred Astair. And now I want my house to look like the set of an MGM movie and I want to wear beautiful Judy Garland clothes and to have an Easter bonnet, and to break into song next time someone accidentally bumps into me in Asdas and things....
I have always taken films slightly too seriously. I really expected, having seen Grease in 1979, that my life at secondary school (which began that same year) would be something along the lines of the Sandy and Danny experience. I could not understand why the boys at my school were the same height as me, or smaller, wore anoraks instead of leathers and looked about 11 - 16 years old. Reality was a bit of a let-down. It was a long time before I learned that some of the cast of Grease were actually in their late-20s and 30s when they took the parts of 17 / 18 year olds!
Perched on top of the telly, I have two more DVDs to enjoy: 'The Big Sleep' (thanks again Catherine!!) and 'Meet me in St Louis" ,which I adore. But this evening, I treated myself and my dear son to a bit of Laurel and Hardy. I'd tried Laurel and Hardy on him before and he wasn't really ready. But this evening, he 'got it'and was laughing his little socks off. Great! This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
I have always taken films slightly too seriously. I really expected, having seen Grease in 1979, that my life at secondary school (which began that same year) would be something along the lines of the Sandy and Danny experience. I could not understand why the boys at my school were the same height as me, or smaller, wore anoraks instead of leathers and looked about 11 - 16 years old. Reality was a bit of a let-down. It was a long time before I learned that some of the cast of Grease were actually in their late-20s and 30s when they took the parts of 17 / 18 year olds!
Perched on top of the telly, I have two more DVDs to enjoy: 'The Big Sleep' (thanks again Catherine!!) and 'Meet me in St Louis" ,which I adore. But this evening, I treated myself and my dear son to a bit of Laurel and Hardy. I'd tried Laurel and Hardy on him before and he wasn't really ready. But this evening, he 'got it'and was laughing his little socks off. Great! This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Naked
That's how my house looks now that I've taken down the Christmas decorations. I 'go for it big time' (gosh, I bet that phrase is, like, well dated) with the Christmas dex - and they do add a touch of magic to the house (thanks, primarily to the tree lights and candles I dot about the place). I felt sad at boxing them all up for another year..... or 11 months, really, if you think about it...
I love the magic of Christmas. I love the excuse not to face reality for a few days. I love the films and the music and the food and the drink....
....I love the way Christmas forces you to look back on years gone by (with sadness and joy). You just can't help it. (Some of the baubles on our tree, were hanging on the tree when I was a child, and were hanging on mum's tree when she was a child).
All over now - the magic, baubles and all, is packed away in the loft, and I've got to have the children's feet measured before school starts, take Isabel for a vaccination on Friday, go to the dentist, get Michael's hair cut, paint the skirting boards (please tell me how to do that with a two year old in the house), and, finally, re-visit my spending habits to see if there are any cut-backs I can possibly make because, at the moment, we can fund bills, car, food and ... everything - except clothes. We've no allowance for clothes. And I, for one, do not want to be still wearing this turquoise jumper, that didn't suit me much when I bought it three years ago, this time next year!!
Come on, Ruth, just think of a story. Something along the lines of Harry Potter, but obviously not Harry Potter. Just think of a story and write it down, get it published, and cast that jumper into the re-cycle bin for ever!!!
I love the magic of Christmas. I love the excuse not to face reality for a few days. I love the films and the music and the food and the drink....
....I love the way Christmas forces you to look back on years gone by (with sadness and joy). You just can't help it. (Some of the baubles on our tree, were hanging on the tree when I was a child, and were hanging on mum's tree when she was a child).
All over now - the magic, baubles and all, is packed away in the loft, and I've got to have the children's feet measured before school starts, take Isabel for a vaccination on Friday, go to the dentist, get Michael's hair cut, paint the skirting boards (please tell me how to do that with a two year old in the house), and, finally, re-visit my spending habits to see if there are any cut-backs I can possibly make because, at the moment, we can fund bills, car, food and ... everything - except clothes. We've no allowance for clothes. And I, for one, do not want to be still wearing this turquoise jumper, that didn't suit me much when I bought it three years ago, this time next year!!
Come on, Ruth, just think of a story. Something along the lines of Harry Potter, but obviously not Harry Potter. Just think of a story and write it down, get it published, and cast that jumper into the re-cycle bin for ever!!!
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