I've lived a life

My Dad died 4 years ago, funnily enough he was 88. I hope you'll have realised by now that I have to include '88' some where in my posts. He had had a very bad stroke which sadly didn't take him there and then. He'd always said he'd be very happy to die in his bed and leave in a wooden box from the lovely home and sanctuary he had lived in for nearly sixty years. Well the bugger of a stroke didn't let him die in his bed but made him linger for about 3 weeks in hospital.

I placed a framed family photo on the unit next to him in the hospital. An image of us all taken a few summers before this catastrophic event. It shows my mum and dad, my brothers and their partners, nieces, nephew, my auntie, cousin and husband, my little family unit too. It portrays fifteen smiling souls. It wasn't for my Dad that I positioned it there so strategically but for the doctors and nurses to see that my dad had had a life before this. It seemed important to remind them that the sum of this man was not what they saw before them lying in that bed.

I went to see my mum in the residential home the other day. Frank Sinatra was performing love songs. It was a big gig, risen from the grave and choosing a small residential home in the north west of England for his comeback gig. Mmmm....the CD continued.

I'd been sat with my mum chatting a little and being silent a lot (when you go see someone everyday it's sometimes hard to think up new conversation) when I realised that three of the residents were singing along to Old Blue Eyes. Isabel in one corner was just audible but was singing Frank's lines just before he actually sang them. Pitch perfect she was not but word perfect she most definitely was. I then realised that Dora in another corner was quietly half whispering half singing the lines just after Frank had crooned them, followed swiftly by Lucy in another corner. Each quite unaware of the other. Frank and his girls. This went on quite poignantly for about three songs. Each doing it their way, having their own tete a tete with Mr Sinatra.

How did they know the lines so well? Where had they danced to these melodies? Who had they danced with? I was reminded that the sum of these ladies was not all before me, sat in these old people's chairs in a residential home in the north west of England.

I chift, you chift, we all chift

Apparently it's the OED's birthday today. Many Happy Returns. Can you really wish a dictionary happy birthday? Anyway apparently it first appeared on February 1st 1884. In a former life I was a Reference Librarian and the OED featured quite a lot in my life, looking up meanings and derivations.

I have an ambition to get a word into this prestigious dictionary before I'm 88. I have invented one: 'chifting'. I wrote my first article about the august practice of chifting....and it has to be admitted the only article thus far. I got paid for it - yippee. Just find a copy of The Green Parent Nov/Dec 2012 and there it is. It doesn't matter that in the 'Other Contributors' bit there is a typo on my name - admittedly in very very teeny tiny type. I am not bitter. The main thing it's spelt correctly in the article. (Note to self - subject of a good post: annoying mispellings of names in my family). Sorry I was distracted there. Of course, it's wonderful that my article appeared. I'm there now permanently in the annals. As we say in Yorkshire I'm very chuffed.

Chifting? You ponder. What does it mean? I have a bit of a charity shop fixation. I love them. I love the anticipation as I go into one as to what I am going to find. Serendipity is a wonderful thing. Sometimes there is nothing but often there is that fortunate discovery come upon by accident.


Bought from British Red Cross and given to
my friend's little boy for Christmas


Chifting! You scream. What is it? I decided to feed my charity retail urges and save some money and be greener all at the same time. I bought all my birthday and Christmas presents for friends and family from charity shops during 2011. And what is more all my friends and family are still talking to me.

"Chifting - vb - the action of giving second hand gifts bought in charity shops. (First used by Virginia Blakeney Blakeley in Green Parent Nov/Dec 2012)". Get it: charity and gift equals chift. Took me a long time to come up with that!



Poole pottery, found in a hospice charity shop
 - given to my niece who lives near Poole
 

My sales pitch

OK now comes the sales pitch. If you've read my first post, you knew it was only a matter of time. I write but I also make beaded jewellery (beadsat88). I make necklaces and bracelets - have yet to explore earrings - out of recycled beads. I get bead treasure from charity, bric-a-brac and second hand shops and transform it into new creations. In other words I buy tatty necklaces and cut them up for their beads and sometimes fastenings and rejig, redesign them into new beautiful wares.

Each piece of jewellery is unique and green.....and yellow and pink and red and blue and indeed sometimes genuinely green. You might say each piece contains lots of little histories. Who wore this bead before? Where did it travel? Which bead did it sit next to in its previous incarnation? How did it end up in a charity shop?

So there you go that's my USP - upcycled, recycled, pre-loved beads. And here's the sales pitch: Go on treat yourself. You know it's the green thing to do. Apologies I've just finished the boxed set of Mad Men (series 5) - why oh why did BBC 4 let it go to Sky? - and advertising is running through my veins.

http://folksy.com/shops/beadsat88
www.facebook.com/thefruitiques



A very green green necklace



Ramekin hell

Teeny tiny rubber band sculpture

Further to my post of the 23rd Jan I just thought you'd like to see progress on the manila brown rubber band sculpture. Progress is very slow thankfully. Not many being dropped in and around 88. Will keep you posted!

A very small rubber band sculpture

Simple things in life

Just got a new car......well new to us. Have been out in the rain today and the window screen wipers adjust their speed automatically depending on how much rain is falling on the screen. I don't have to twiddle anything. In the wise word of my son, "Awesome".

Ramekin hell

Out shopping with my best friend yesterday and she bought eight very nice ramekins - duck egg blue. I have to admit ramekins are the type of useless pottery items (a bit like timbale molds) that potentially sit in your cupboard never to be used. But apply some imaginative thought and ramekins can be very useful such as containing little souffles and creme brulees (go on admit it you are always making them); serving peanuts, dips and homemade pate; making baked eggs (just the best way to have a quick tasty snack); giving the children a portion of their 5-a-day raisins and so on. They can even be adapted for non-culinary pursuits: good for mixing children's paints in, a dice shaker, coralling stray bits of lego, an instant tea light holder and so on.

Later on at teatime my friend was using one or two of the ramekins (for creme fraiche if you are curious). The assembled family group including me and my friend's in-laws were admiring said ramekins. We decided they were a good addition to the modern kitchen especially in duck egg blue. It was then that my friend's mum-in-law quietly let it drop. When her niece had got married the bride and groom had received quite a few ramekins as wedding presents from various friends and relatives. In fact, the couple had been overwhelmed with people's generosity. You might say their ramekins had runneth over. They had received seventy-two ramekins.

Around our table stunned silence ensued.

A little fairy cake

My mum is (88) and lives in a residential home. It's a 10 minute walk to the home and I go every day unless one of my brothers is visiting. They live about an hour away and work so they visit once a week.

The daily ritual is that I take my mum two homemade buns and the newspaper. It's her habit to save the buns and the newspaper until the evening when she is in her room. It's her little treat for the day; something she looks forward to. The little cakes are now known as Grandma's buns in our household.

I know mum loves these treats. If I haven't had chance to bake or I forget to take them, her look of disappointment is ever so slight but still palpable. She jokes about it. She's too much of a wonderful mum to make me feel really guilty but I know she will miss them in the evening.

The care home is very good. Mum says the carers are very kind but nothing changes the fact that it isn't her home. I guess that small gift of the daily bun and newspaper is more than a little treat. Not only does it give her something to do and savour but also in a strange way represents a point of contact with her family and a reminder of our love for her. It makes her happy for a few minutes.

I got to wondering what my little treat of the day is? I guess it's my morning cup of strong real coffee that I make for myself after I have dropped the children off. But I don't think it has the significance of the little fairy cake and the newspaper.

Anyway the children and I are off now to see Grandma, buns and paper in hand.