I go for a swim to the local gym as often as I can and after 8 years have got to know a number of people. Recently a new man has joined who it is not easy to ignore.
He suddenly appears at the end of the pool and stands there stretching his limbs. He is not a young man neither is he small....he's huge, more than 6' in height and about the same in width!
He stretches out his arms to the side and looks just like the 'Angel of the North!' as he stays for quite a few minutes in that position - this give some people the chance to climb out of the pool and make a hasty exit before
he gets in and causes the tidal wave with his massive frame and his huge arms dipping in and out of the water in the style of a 'crawl'.
He thankfully only swims a couple of lengths before retiring to the jacuzzi for an hour or so, where he sits with his arms stretched out and resting on the edge of the bath whilst trying to engage anyone in conversation. Yep! he does irritate me and I admit to have changed my swimming times on occasion in the hope I would avoid him but I felt guilty when I overheard other people saying disaproving things about him and moving away stealthily
so the other morning I said 'hello' to him. Big mistake ...he's now turned into my new best friend and greets me with a smile and wave whenever he appears (and I try to disappear. I admit to a feeling of joyful relief when this morning I overheard him (yes! his voice is huge too) telling another man that he was trying to get fit before going in hospital for surgery and as that time had now come he would be missing from our ranks for quite some time. Phew!
Tuesday 31 January 2012
Saturday 28 January 2012
from: The silent Holocaust
The greatest gift of God,
I would think,
is the gift of life.
The greatest sin of humans,
it would seem,
would be to return that gift
ungratefully and unopened.
'
I would think,
is the gift of life.
The greatest sin of humans,
it would seem,
would be to return that gift
ungratefully and unopened.
'
Monday 23 January 2012
an adventure in a diverse country
When we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary and was living in Spain, my husband's boss offered us a flat in France for a holiday as a gift. Off we set one April morning as
naive and ignorant as it possible to be with our bags packed in the car and wearing our usual summer clothing. 'We'll just drive through Aragon' said my dear one in his wisdom.
Well we did eventually but had forgotten, or never knew that beautiful Aragon covers
18,000 square miles of lush green orchards and vineyards and by the time we arrived at Jaca where we had arranged to stay for the night we could hardly walk. When Catherine of Aragon was sent to this country to marry Arthur, Prince of Wales and later King Henry theVIII she is reported to have said 'Why does everyone treat me like a nobody here when
my Father's Kingdom in Spain is larger than this whole country?' Why indeed?
When we arrived in Jaca which is close to the border between Spain and France we saw all the houses had steep sloping roofs and quickly registered the many cars passing by with skis on the roof rack. Our journey into France began to look a bit challenging.
Next day we set off to the Sompas which was to take us over the Pyranees and down into France and as we climbed the snow alongside the road was piled higher than our car at each side and all our summer clothing (all we had) was piled layer on layer on our bodies.
What a relief it was to arrive at the check point and find ourselves driving down into a rainy France.
After our wonderful holiday we set off back up the Col de Pourtalet with a perfect view of the Aragonese Alps (pictured) and we talked about the feelings of the Allied airman of which we knew at least 2 who had travelled from one safe house to another until they climbed over the Pyranees into the neutral Spain and onwards back to England....but that's a story for another day.
naive and ignorant as it possible to be with our bags packed in the car and wearing our usual summer clothing. 'We'll just drive through Aragon' said my dear one in his wisdom.
Well we did eventually but had forgotten, or never knew that beautiful Aragon covers
18,000 square miles of lush green orchards and vineyards and by the time we arrived at Jaca where we had arranged to stay for the night we could hardly walk. When Catherine of Aragon was sent to this country to marry Arthur, Prince of Wales and later King Henry theVIII she is reported to have said 'Why does everyone treat me like a nobody here when
my Father's Kingdom in Spain is larger than this whole country?' Why indeed?
When we arrived in Jaca which is close to the border between Spain and France we saw all the houses had steep sloping roofs and quickly registered the many cars passing by with skis on the roof rack. Our journey into France began to look a bit challenging.
Next day we set off to the Sompas which was to take us over the Pyranees and down into France and as we climbed the snow alongside the road was piled higher than our car at each side and all our summer clothing (all we had) was piled layer on layer on our bodies.
What a relief it was to arrive at the check point and find ourselves driving down into a rainy France.
After our wonderful holiday we set off back up the Col de Pourtalet with a perfect view of the Aragonese Alps (pictured) and we talked about the feelings of the Allied airman of which we knew at least 2 who had travelled from one safe house to another until they climbed over the Pyranees into the neutral Spain and onwards back to England....but that's a story for another day.
Monday 16 January 2012
The hat
A female friend arrived at the Cathedral on Sunday wearing trilby hat; she looked good and told us when she cleared up her father's possessions after his death his hats were the only things she could not dispose of as he had loved them so much. My dearest dad used to buy a trilby hat every year for his holiday by the sea. It cannot be imagined nowadays that comparatively young men with young families felt the need for a new hat to walk by the sea.
One year dad bought a moss green hat which he particularly loved and he rarely took it off.
He used to tell us he had spent the whole of the first World War wearing headgear and boots and until the end of his very long life was hardly ever seen without either.
However, back to the hat story. On our last morning, all packed up and ready to leave for the train station dad decided to have one last look at the sea but chose to do so as a 15' wave crashed over the sea wall and soaked him. He refused to do anything but rush us all off for our train saying he had been in worse situations on the Somme - so we caught the train home.
Mother fussed over him all the way, sometimes shaking his wet clothes out of the tr4ain window and when we arrived at our home station I was given the task of carrying the precious and soaked hat whilst they carried our cases. When we arrived safely home mum had the bright idea of turning the cooker on and placing the hat inside to dry out - not a good idea as later when she took it out it had fallen out of shape and into a little hot green pie. Dad insisted on pulling it on to his head so that it could find it's shape again as it cooled. We all sat around
stifling hysterics whilst he lit a cigarette and read his paper, waiting for the miracle to happen. Later my eldest sister came in from work, greeted us all and looking at dad said 'Are the other Marx brothers coming later? It seemed like hours before the hilarity settled down. The hat did not of course ever return to normal and was relegated to a gardening hat and later something that the dog insisted on lying his head on for a good sleep!
One year dad bought a moss green hat which he particularly loved and he rarely took it off.
He used to tell us he had spent the whole of the first World War wearing headgear and boots and until the end of his very long life was hardly ever seen without either.
However, back to the hat story. On our last morning, all packed up and ready to leave for the train station dad decided to have one last look at the sea but chose to do so as a 15' wave crashed over the sea wall and soaked him. He refused to do anything but rush us all off for our train saying he had been in worse situations on the Somme - so we caught the train home.
Mother fussed over him all the way, sometimes shaking his wet clothes out of the tr4ain window and when we arrived at our home station I was given the task of carrying the precious and soaked hat whilst they carried our cases. When we arrived safely home mum had the bright idea of turning the cooker on and placing the hat inside to dry out - not a good idea as later when she took it out it had fallen out of shape and into a little hot green pie. Dad insisted on pulling it on to his head so that it could find it's shape again as it cooled. We all sat around
stifling hysterics whilst he lit a cigarette and read his paper, waiting for the miracle to happen. Later my eldest sister came in from work, greeted us all and looking at dad said 'Are the other Marx brothers coming later? It seemed like hours before the hilarity settled down. The hat did not of course ever return to normal and was relegated to a gardening hat and later something that the dog insisted on lying his head on for a good sleep!
Thursday 12 January 2012
My Irish relatives
Publication of the latest census reminded me that I have a half finished family tree on line that perhaps I could carry on with and my thoughts ran on to the many family members I have already discovered who were totally unknown to me. My mother was of Irish decent and the fact that many gaps were created by my not being able to trace Irish records made me lose patience with the whole thing. It raised a lot of memories for me which made me both laugh and almost cry.
When I was a child my mother's family would arrive from Sligo and Antrim in a great gang.
It was no easy journey in those days, long before RyanAir, and took them at least 24 hours.
Writing a warning letter of their impending visit never occured to them but perhaps this was because of their warm Irish culture which gave them the belief that they would be welcome any time just as they would be amongst their friends and family at home. You would have thought they would have taken the hint that the English are not very warm and inviting but the penny never seemed to drop. For a start granny and grandad took to their beds as soon as they arrived with 'serious' illness; so not to be put off they would arrive at our house. My father, a pleasant, quiet man did not like them at all, mainly I suspect because they were not born in the Oxfordshire village where he and his family hailed from, so they were met with what can only be termed hostile glances. Mother, who was struggling to raise 5 children on little money and the megre post war rations would go into silent mode and pray that our uncle would arrive with some rabbits for a stew.
For us kids it was just like having family arrive from Russia as we could not understand a word they said so we would just sit on the floor and stare at them as they laughed, shouted and jostled each other, taking up every seat and even sitting up the staircase clutching their cups of tea and never ceasing their constant chatter. Bed time was fun for us kids as everyone slept on the floor or in a chair.
When I was 10 years old we moved house and I'm ashamed to say it was quite a few years later when my older siblings had moved off that I remembered we had not seen them for a long time so asked my mother why did they not come to see us any more, after a short silence she said...'It could be because we never told them we had moved house'
Now all these years later I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
When I was a child my mother's family would arrive from Sligo and Antrim in a great gang.
It was no easy journey in those days, long before RyanAir, and took them at least 24 hours.
Writing a warning letter of their impending visit never occured to them but perhaps this was because of their warm Irish culture which gave them the belief that they would be welcome any time just as they would be amongst their friends and family at home. You would have thought they would have taken the hint that the English are not very warm and inviting but the penny never seemed to drop. For a start granny and grandad took to their beds as soon as they arrived with 'serious' illness; so not to be put off they would arrive at our house. My father, a pleasant, quiet man did not like them at all, mainly I suspect because they were not born in the Oxfordshire village where he and his family hailed from, so they were met with what can only be termed hostile glances. Mother, who was struggling to raise 5 children on little money and the megre post war rations would go into silent mode and pray that our uncle would arrive with some rabbits for a stew.
For us kids it was just like having family arrive from Russia as we could not understand a word they said so we would just sit on the floor and stare at them as they laughed, shouted and jostled each other, taking up every seat and even sitting up the staircase clutching their cups of tea and never ceasing their constant chatter. Bed time was fun for us kids as everyone slept on the floor or in a chair.
When I was 10 years old we moved house and I'm ashamed to say it was quite a few years later when my older siblings had moved off that I remembered we had not seen them for a long time so asked my mother why did they not come to see us any more, after a short silence she said...'It could be because we never told them we had moved house'
Now all these years later I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Saturday 7 January 2012
I can make NOISE!
I have had a whole week of silence, suffering a bout of laryngitus. It is not a serious or painful condition but very frustrating: for a start I have had to follow people and tap them so that they can pay attention whilst I whisper to them, that is inevitably followed by them saying - 'pardon' and the whole process has to be repeated sometimes more than once where my dear one is concerned as he is deaf! Another strange thing was
almost everyone whispers back in the acknowledged fashion of showing sympathy
without realising they are doing it, even the lady on the till at the Supermarket whispered at me 'are you having trouble with your voice dear?' forcing me to say 'pardon!'
However, today whilst pottering about in I the kitchen I began to sing along to the radio and suddenly found I had a voice again.
It won't be a lot of fun for the residents of our house from tomorrow as I have a whole 6 days of missed chatter and song to make up for....hee,hee,hee.
almost everyone whispers back in the acknowledged fashion of showing sympathy
without realising they are doing it, even the lady on the till at the Supermarket whispered at me 'are you having trouble with your voice dear?' forcing me to say 'pardon!'
However, today whilst pottering about in I the kitchen I began to sing along to the radio and suddenly found I had a voice again.
It won't be a lot of fun for the residents of our house from tomorrow as I have a whole 6 days of missed chatter and song to make up for....hee,hee,hee.
Monday 2 January 2012
hello 2012
first day of 2012 and we woke to a frosty start with a temperature of 2 degrees; have to admitt that I did not stray far from the front doorstep from where I took the pictures. Lovely sunshine later on cleared away the white stuff.
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