On not listening (and turning into my mother!!)

Some years ago, after a lifetime of packet and tinned soup usage, I began slowly to turn into a (weak) version of 'mother earth' and started to make my own!
Second youngest son, on coming into the kitchen to find the (very limited, I must add here) surfaces covered with various peelings and scrapings of vegetable matter, came out with the unforgettable (to me) remark, "Mum, you're turning into Nanna!!"
(My mother lived with us for ten years so her cooking habits were a very noticeable aspect of our daily culinary life!).
How many of us 'over-sixty' year olds find ourselves saying something very similar. Husband gives himself many a fright on looking into the mirror. "I'm turning into my dad!!", he'll say with a grimace. No disrespects to his dad at all, just an intimation of mortality, I suppose.
Anyway, I find myself falling into a habit that used to drive me mad about my mum. I ask a question and don't listen to the answer (mind having gone into overdrive about something else immediately after said question had left mouth!).
Ah well, another example of the need to turn my eyes towards heaven and silently breathe "Sorry Mum"! (The 'sorry' being for the impatience and annoyance with her which I frequently felt and, quite sadly, often showed. She was, in contrast, extremely tolerant towards me; good job, eh!

On gauging when not to engage

Oh how I wish I could improve in this area!!
Why do I feel the necessity to jump in and add my two-penneth on anything and everything going??!!
How old do you have to be before you begin to learn wisdom?!

PS I had to look up the spelling of two-penneth (short for pennyworth) on google - and yes, I'd spelt it wrongly - and saw a wonderful 'Urban Dictionary' definition, (hadn't heard of that before but very impressed - completely hit the spot!)

On a 'bad-weather' day

I am one of those annoying people who really doesn't mind any type of weather and can genuinely find benefits in all of them. Now, be fair, this is an asset, surely, in countries like ours!
Today is a case in point; it has been dull and gloomy, and now rainy, ALL day. I rub my internal hands together and think, aaah, a great day for just being in all day, doing those little jobs which we LIKE to put off for a rainy day OR, even better, for phoning friends we haven't spoken to for ages (as I have been doing since yesterday - gorgeous!).
I had sorted all my favourite pictures from last year's many calendars, all landscapes or trees or the beautiful things that family and friends know I love. I gave the tiled wall in the kitchen its once yearly fairy-liquid winter-clean and this afternoon, have spread out my collection and positioned them, for a change, to my satisfaction at the first go.
I actually based the idea on best friend S's mum's kitchen which I visited once many years ago. She had pictures up and down the walls and they looked marvellous. She said she preferred them where she could see them all the time. My efforts are part of her legacy to the world, I reckon.
I have taken a photo of them and posted it on our family whatsapp site, dubbing it 'Kitchen gallery 2017'. Some of the family who understand my ways and like to humour me have commented; daughter no. 1 'Lovely', son no.2 'Nice hang, Mum', granddaughter no.1 'Lovely, Gran'.
So, come rain or shine, it's all one with me.
The very best thing was, of course, the chats. I was poorly too, so I was actually, for a change, on lighter duties. Old school friend, T, over the phone, said it sounded like the Queen's flu so if it's good enough for Her Lovely Majesty, it has to be good enough for me.

On Shakespeare

All through this special anniversary year in honour of Shakespeare, I have wanted to express my thoughts about his writings.
It is not, of course, because I am an expert on the subject; far from it. My knowledge, such as it is, comes from my school curriculum, which had us, from the age of 11 to 16, studying one of his plays each year, to my sixth form 'English for the science students' lessons, from radio, television and film, and, like most people who go to local theatres reasonably regularly, from seeing some of them performed live.
I have also read some of his sonnets from the 'Complete works of Shakespeare' given to me, many years ago, by son, R.
At school, we read The Merchant of Venice, Twelfth Night and Julius Caesar. (We did Twelfth Night for O-level so I had to put up with it for 2 more years.) In the sixth form, we read King Lear, The Tempest and one of the 'King' plays, the one that has the 'sceptred isle' speech.
I saw Macbeth at our local and excellent theatre-in-the-round (I thought it would never end, it seemed so long!), Julius Caesar at Stratford many years ago (John Nettles ('Inspector Barnaby') was the star) and Much ado about Nothing (I couldn't understand the story at all) fairly recently. I know a little something of other plays and find Polonius' speech to his son, from Hamlet, to be totally brilliant.
"Beware of entrance to a quarrel........
And this above all, to thine own self be true....."
Marvellous!!
These then are my thoughts. Much as I can see the unbelievable genius of his language, I do not feel emotionally engaged with the work at all. I enjoyed Julius Caesar because it was so clever and just like the machinations of life today and King Lear, because of its similarity to a fairy story I've written about before and because of its truthfulness.
The comedies always seemed totally silly, despite the amazing language. The power of the tragedies is there but I could never warm to any of them or care about the characters.
The very best version of Romeo and Juliet is, to my mind, 'West Side Story' which, from my perspective, has a more powerful and positive ending. I was always so annoyed that everyone seemed to end up dead because of the stupid misunderstandings. The ballet, to the music of Prokofiev, is by far the greatest way to see that play, as far as I'm concerned.
When best friend S and I saw the Royal Northern Ballet production at Manchester, some years ago now, after my amazement that no-one was speaking passed (yes, I know that's silly but you forget it in 5 minutes!), I rushed into school the next day, full of questions for my English teaching colleagues, such as "Did Juliet's mother have a thing for her nephew(?) because she seemed more upset by his death than at the (apparent) death of her own daughter! I even had to try and find out by looking at the text!!
Only in the sonnets, did I personally find any resonance with the feelings there.
The language is very deep and you often have to work hard to interpret it but I love especially,

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love,
Which alters when it alteration finds.
(I still haven't figured out the meaning of the next line.)
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark........"

I love that and quite a lot more but have not had enough time or the will to read them as much as I could to find even more in them.
If I want to find real emotion, I turn again to my beloved 'Persuasion' by Jane Austen. Now there's a love story. I can read it over and over again; understated, but real. Thank goodness.

On our brushes with cancer - story no.1

Five years ago, in 2011, son-at-home, who was 41 at the time, and I both had brushes with cancer. His story is as follows.

He had begun to be unwell at the beginning of the previous October, with what we thought at first was a digestive problem. He began not to be able to eat certain foods; he couldn't swallow them properly. He started to go to the toilet in the night, something which had never happened before. He also started to lose quite a lot of weight in a fairly short time.
Not for one moment though, did I think it was cancer. I even said so to the doctor, to show that I was open enough to say the word out loud.
After various scans, he was found to have two large tumours in his abdomen which could have been lymphoma. This would have been extremely bad news but he was in fact finally diagnosed with testicular cancer, producing the comment, "When is testicular cancer good news; answer, When it's not anything much worse!"
It was a stage 2 cancer but we were given a very hopeful prognosis from the team at Queen Elizabeth Hospital Birmingham (QEHB). This proved to be accurate in his case because he has been amazingly well since the ending of his 4 sessions of chemotherapy in that first year and we had the final all-clear this June; joyous and grateful times.
When we first attended the outpatients department, it was strange to see all the other patients and think,"They must have cancer", but by the end of our 5 year visiting stint, it had all become quite matter-of-fact.
Our son, who has a mild learning disability, did extremely well, as the marvellous consultant told us he would, not coming to it with the usual preconceptions and fears that most of us have to deal with. He learned to cope with his 4 day sessions of chemotherapy, involving trailing his treatment stand around with him and weeing in a container which he had to leave in the toilet.
The other men in his wards soon picked up on his special needs and were really good with him. We were able to stay in accommodation in the hospital each time and our family were brilliant in conveying us to and fro. Family and friends came to visit him. We were old hands by June when his 4th and final session ended.
Funnily enough, in fact, we felt that he gained confidence from the experience because, although we were nearby the whole time, we could only visit at the usual times, so he had to deal with life in the ward on his own. It's an ill-wind etc.
This summer, as we left the QEHB for the last time, with tears of gratitude in our eyes, he almost danced along the path to University railway station, because he had become so familiar and confident with the routines. We can never thank the staff enough or feel more grateful for the care, support and treatment we all received.
Are we as scared now as we may have been then at the thought of a diagnosis of cancer? No, honestly, I don't think we are, which is why I wanted to write about it.

On Aberfan

All these years of silence - and now, an outpouring of the unimaginable pain, sorrow and loss of all those who were affected then, and in the intervening years, by the horrific catastrophe of Aberfan; told with almost unbelievable dignity and stoic strength; and, even more amazingly, showing a picture of creativity, sharing, friendship, survival and new life coming from the unspeakable disaster.

Why have these grief-stricken people had to wait so long,  FIFTY YEARS,  to tell their story!!!!!!!!!???????

Shame on you BBC for showing these most moving and powerful testaments to such suffering on BBC4. Why not BBC2 which is far more accessible to far more people? WHY? The programmes this evening have been a true and fitting memorial. It has been a privilege to watch them and has made me feel, in some small way, solidarity with the people of Aberfan.

This was a worldwide grief, a horror, a sacrilege!! It should have been a front page story at least!! It is not simply a Welsh tragedy; it wounds all people on earth, all those of us who care and grieve for the loss of others, wherever they may be.

Thank you ITV for the marvellous programme on the Young Wives Club of Aberfan. It was so well-told; moving and uplifting too; not mawkish or intrusive. I shall remember its images and the amazing courage and dignity of those people forever. They were, to me, a lesson for us all.

Perhaps it's as well that the National Coal Board no longer exists. How could all of those involved live with themselves!? If only people could face up to and acknowledge their failings. But are we surprised? I don't think so. The history of mankind shows that people are always ready to 'wash their hands' of all blame in such situations. Are we our brothers' keepers? Well no, but we are our children's and their families' carers or so we should be!

"Father forgive them for they know not what they do."

No-one intended those children and adults to die but all those who should have taken responsibility, shut their eyes until it was too late. May we all learn from this so as not to have the blood of innocent lives on our hands.

"On first Meeting": a poem for a friend

On First Meeting

I saw you - and I knew you,
as if in some long time before
we were well-known to one another.

And in that glance there was -
a meeting of eyes - surprise -
recognition.

That knowledge has not proved false.
Our friendship fits our lives. It began that day -
and has stayed the course of time. 

We speak, we write but rarely;
meet less often - but always it is there;
instant, constant connection.

You are my friend - and I am yours.
That's it and all of it.


On September 30th, many years ago, my friend and I met on our first evening as students, when a group of us gathered in my room. We are best friends to this day, although two more different people it would be hard to find.
We meet a few times each year and are immediately back in the day of that first meeting. We have a totally honest relationship. We do not feel the same about many things but our relationship is an indelible constant in our lives.
For this, I am infinitely grateful. What an amazing gift is friendship.

On having the temerity to want to write about parenting

I have two major qualifications for daring to write on this subject. Firstly, I am a parent, both through giving birth and through marriage; and secondly, I've probably made most of the mistakes in the book (if there were such a thing as a definitive manual on the subject!).
Others include having had parents myself along with the rest of humanity, which makes us all experts, we probably feel. I've also had the great blessing of very good friends with whom to share the ups and downs of family life. We have all observed and learned from each other along the way.
In recent years, too, there have been some excellent programmes on this subject from some of which I've gained really helpful insights, sadly too late in the day for my own children's benefit (I hear them groan).
Being as good a parent as most of us would like to be is such a hard job I reckon, so any help along the way has always been a boon to me. If I can share any thoughts and experiences that have helped me and that might be of use to others, I would be more than pleased.
As thoughts come to me, I'd like to share them from time to time but couldn't contemplate doing so without first writing this preamble.

On Daniel Barenboim and Mozart

Some background first; my earliest and greatest love in music was, and still is, Beethoven. He was my parents' favourite, their most beloved pieces being the Pastoral Symphony and the Emperor Piano Concerto.
At that time, Mozart wasn't as popular as he is now and I wasn't that keen. Nor was I particularly keen on the persona of the young Daniel Barenboim; somewhat precocious, I felt!
Still, when we found he was coming to our local (and excellent) concert hall, best friend, S, and I bought tickets. It was a Friday evening in the summer. I can even remember where we were sitting. The hall was completely sold out.
He was playing and conducting a small and brilliant orchestra whose name I can no longer remember (I'll have the programme somewhere in the recesses of my souvenir cupboard - the contents of which will land in a 'bonfire of the vanities' when I die - as the children warn me!).
The concert consisted of three Mozart concertos, and we, the audience, were held in the palm of the pianist's hands. It was totally true to say that you could have heard a pin drop. It was as though we all held our breath while he played.
It wasn't as if he played completely perfectly; he didn't, but the feeling, the delicacy, the beauty were matchless. It still remains one of the most memorable concerts which I have ever attended.
I am reminded of this, this afternoon, as, while husband and son-at-home are pursuing their usual after-Sunday-lunch occupation of watching the football (well it is Man-U, and though they both support our local team, they follow Man-U as well), I listen to my CDs as I try to write in the daytime rather than snatched half-hours in the late evening.
My alphabetical choice had brought me to
'MOZART Concertos pour piano 9,20,21,23 & 27 with the English Chamber Orchestra DANIEL BARENBOIM - EMI CLASSICS' ie very old, from 1967.
I think that was the orchestra he was with, now I come to think of it. Listening to his playing has brought tears to my eyes in the sad parts and incredulity at the sparkling brilliance of the playing.
He has so many achievements of which to be proud but nothing can top the genius of that rare and amazing gift. I feel privileged to be able to say that I heard him play live.

(I feel I must also add that Mozart is now higher up my play-list too!)

On listening to Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau singing Mahler's "Lieder eines Fahrenden Gesellen"

If God had a voice,
then God would sound like this.

(Especially in the last movement which is enough to break one's heart in its ineffable and poignant beauty.)

On our self-catering idyll in the Dordogne, at Les Taloches, Tourtoirac

A question: which two words in the above title are, in my books anyway, a contradiction in terms?
Yes, you spotted them; they are, of course, 'self-catering' and 'idyll'! In our younger days, such holidays had been the stuff of our family life, from choice mostly but also from financial necessity, as they are for multitudes of families, I know.
What then drove us to even contemplate such a venture, a full eight years after my unilateral declaration that hotels were the way ahead (or down-bank, if you prefer - well I certainly did)!
The culprits, in this case, were one of our lovely granddaughters and her, now, husband! A chateau in the Dordogne seemed a beautifully romantic idea to them and their friends and to most people to whom I mentioned it. "Oh how wonderful", was the general response; "you'll love it!"
How grouchy does it sound to say that husband and I were thinking, 'What!; arranging flights to Limoges, foreign car-hire a necessity, finding somewhere to stay etc etc!'
In the event, husband, himself, found a marvellous place for us, 25 minutes away from the wedding venue, (see above). It looked and sounded absolutely marvellous online and turned out to be even more marvellous in reality!
We had a fantastic week. The wedding, the family get-together the following day at our amazing holiday home, the scenery, the people, the food, France itself, were all a joy.
I promised Suzie and Gary, the lovely new owners of Les Taloches, who couldn't have been kinder and more helpful, that I would spread the word and this is my effort (and, no, I'm not on commission, honestly!).
I was also very pleased to be able to try to show solidarity with the French people at this tragic time of atrocity and sorrow.
Family members, who hadn't been on holiday in France before, were so taken with it, they are planning to return next year. As son, R, said, "If this is to be your last self-catering holiday, it might as well be somewhere this special" and, do you know, it was, it really was.

PS If you should happen to read this, Suzie and Gary, I did say to you that my wheels mostly grind extremely slowly so, for this post to be done only a week after our return, is pretty phenomenal for me and is a testament to you both and not just because of the gorgeous lemon drizzle cake you so kindly baked for us, Suzie; honest!!! We wish you every success in your venture. You deserve it

On joy at the Proms last night

This evening, I watched the recorded programme of last night's performance, by a young Finnish violinist, of Tchaikovsky's violin Concerto.
What a joy that was, only to be followed by the funniest encore I've ever seen. Not only did he explain, make jokes about and play a Finnish folk song but he duetted with the leader of the orchestra, SANG the words, then taught and conducted the whole audience in the chorus, which was, of course, in Finnish.
An absolute star; he made me laugh out loud and filled me with the joy of his delight in music - of all sorts!!

On finding mantras to help us deal with daily life

A mantra, to me, is a phrase which I can say to myself, to help me deal with the ups and downs of life, the everyday disappointments, hurdles and hurts which seem to crop up all the time. Just when things seem to be nice and settled, relationships running pretty well, house and home generally sorted, whoops, there we go, the apple-cart is upset again!!
Over the years, I've had a few good lines, many of which have disappeared down the drain of my shocking memory. "Take no notice" was a great help ten years ago when husband was giving up smoking, having had a 'gun-at-the-head' health blip! He, of course, has no memory of my need for some sort of mental life belt - so no surprise there, then!
Over recent months, a few helpful words have come to mind, which I felt I'd like to share, in case anyone 'out there on the e-waves' might find them useful when upsetting situations arise.

• No-one's perfect.
• Nothing's perfect.
• Keep your own peace. Don't allow others to disturb you.
• Close your lips and try to remember to consciously breathe in and out.
• Walk away.
• That's the way it is.
• That's the way they are.
• That's the way you (speaking of myself) are.

The trouble is that, of course, I tend to forget to apply them when I should and there I go again, getting terribly upset at hurtful words and the injustices and inequities of life in general and mine in particular!

What I would really like do is stamp my feet and fly into a rage but, in my case, I'm too bothered about what people think of me and also scared of them shouting back at me which generally makes me want to cry. That's the seven-year old still living inside me, I reckon!
It's so easy to be philosophical after the event, I find; ah well, keep trying, eh.

On the difference between the English and Welsh football teams

On chatting over the result yesterday evening with son, S, we spoke of the marvellous spirit of the Welsh team. It was obvious that they played with a passion for and pride in their country and their team, which was marvellously reflected by the Welsh supporters. The overwhelming judgement of our team has, understandably enough, been quite the reverse, but are we being fair to them.
Do we, the people of England, feel that kind of passion for our country? I don't think we do, so why should we expect eleven footballers to take on a mantle which we have not been able to supply. We pay them a lot of money, they receive our adulation, but is that enough? Obviously not, I'd say. How could we develop that identity in which we could take pride.
Perhaps now is the time to look at our society in general and ask some searching questions along those lines. We have so much to be proud of but we need, I believe, to return to the kind of values which almost seem to be unfashionable in these times, co-operation, discipline, effort, fair play, good manners, hard work, inventiveness, justice.
Shouldn't we rather lose the game (of life) having played (lived) in this manner than win (live) in any other way.

On 'All in the Mind' and the great suicidal lie

We watched a very moving documentary last week, called 'All in the Mind'. It was made by the conductor of the choir 'Only Men Aloud', Tim Rhys-Evans, and concerned his gradual descent into depression, which ended in a severe mental breakdown, and his continued efforts to deal with his mental health.
It was an open and honest attempt to overcome the stigma and secrecy which still surround this terrible illness and, hopefully, to help others who may be in a similar situation.
As he spoke of the suicidal thoughts which began to plague him, this one line struck me; "They'll be better off without me."
This is one of the great lies that inner demons would have us believe.
Perfectionism and feelings of worthlessness also featured in his struggles.
If only those who battle with these issues could realise that many, if not most, people are struggling in one way or another, at one time or another, living in the throes and woes of imperfection, of getting things wrong, of failings and failures (and worse), not one of which, MOST IMPORTANTLY, is the end of the world - or , at least, shouldn't be!!!!!

May these lies be seen for what they are and may all those affected in a similar way, find family, friends - and medical staff, if need be - who will help to see them through and 'keep them alive in famine'.

On remaining

Please don't pull up the draw bridge, people of our countries.
Don't try to shut out the world. It doesn't work.
We are the world and the world is us.
We are each others brothers and sisters.
Today, they may need us.
Tomorrow, we may need them.

On 'special' (to us) pieces of music - 'Where Corals Lie' by Edward Elgar

Do you find that there are some pieces of music which make you stop in your tracks and really listen. I still have the urge to turn the volume up, as in the days of my youth!
This song is one such for me. It is on the CD that I'm playing at the moment.
Sung by Janet Baker, it is perfection. I LOVE it. It's slightly eerie and hauntingly beautiful; lovely.

On the transitory nature of things

Everything we have, whether good or bad, is, 

in the great scheme of things, 
fleeting, transitory.

May we learn to treasure what we have that is good,
while we have it, rather than bemoan its loss;
and withstand what is bad, while it lasts,
knowing and trusting that it will pass.

On the wonders and mysteries of the 'combi' boiler

The title of this post came to me shortly after the installation of our new boiler. Its advantages were immediately apparent but so were some initial puzzles. In recent months it had its third annual service!! (My wheels do grind extremely slowly, I know!) Perhaps it's as well because I feel as though I've finally come to grips with it.
To start with the wonders, well, firstly, it's saved us a lot of money, living, as we do, in a Victorian semi, with excessive lengths of inaccessible and uninsulated water pipes. Also, we no longer have to worry about emptying the hot water tank with more than one bath!
The water is only heated when needed and can be warm in the middle of the night (when people of our age (ie over 60) may very well need to use it). All the water in the house is fresh and drinkable, coming as it does directly from the mains, rather than standing in an open tank in the loft, collecting flies and other unmentionables.
There were a few problems initially, such as the very fierce pressure of the cold water in the kitchen, which wore out quite a good tap rather too quickly but that has been adjusted and is fine now, as is the new tap!!
The greatest problem was waiting for the hot water to come through! Having been a maths teacher, and priding myself on understanding the principle of 'inverse proportion' (think 'number of people sharing a cake'; in our case, less water, same heat should give hotter water!), I thought I was being clever by running the water slowly.
It took an absolute age for the water to come through hot; very frustrating. When someone suggested running it fast at first, I was inwardly dubious but to my puzzlement (and dudgeon) it worked.
Then, it hit me! I had forgotten about the afore-mentioned lengths of water pipes. The water only starts to warm up as it leaves the boiler as soon as the tap is turned on, so all the cold water which is in the pipes already has to be run off first. So, fast at first, slowing down when the warm water starts to come through was the answer to that problem.
My next issue was topping up the bath water! Being a lover of a long soak in the bath, when I tried to heat the water up, the tap would run pockets of cold, then hot water and so on, until it reached a steady state, by which time the overall temperature was colder than before and the bath way too full.
(We have a long history of water coming through the ceiling and down the light fitting below into our dining room. (Honestly, I'm not exaggerating, it's true!!)) Also, the over bath shower, which I use at the end of the bath, was freezing cold. Now that really was a tragedy!
Oh the joy when, a month or so ago, I finally hit on the answer to both problems. I run the bath from the shower head!! I start it off and when it's get-in-able, I turn the water down to a trickle and allow it to slowly run in until I'm ready to shower and emerge, clean - and very warm!! Oh, it's absolutely gorgeous and it's only taken me 3 and a bit years to finally crack the mysteries of the blessed combi boiler!!

On worrying about our parenting skills

Do you anguish over your failings and failures as a parent?

Please don't. It is impossible to be a perfect parent.

All we can hope to do is our best on the good days

and learn to live with our worst efforts on the bad days.

Let us try to accept this

and know that it will not damage our children

irreparably.

They too have to learn to live

with the limitations and imperfections 

of their own lives,

including their families.

Perhaps it is this, as much as anything,

which helps them to grow.

Above all, we must not kowtow to them

out of a false sense of guilt.

This is one of the worst mistakes we can make.
They will learn 'us', with all our ways, as long as we are ourselves with them
and that's the greatest lesson of all.