Sunday, February 28, 2010
She's clever (1st class Honours), talented (Freelancer of the Year 2008), a gifted writer, a wonderful cook and a marvellous mother. She's also loving, kind, supportive, encouraging, forgiving, sensitive, wise and thoughtful.
I am delighted to call her Daughter.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
I've also met up with Suburbia and soon hope to get together with Devonshire Dumpling - whose birthday it is today.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Love is truly blind. How else can you explain the way people love each other? And put up with each other? No, not blind but maybe crazy: it has its eyes opened and still loves.
It’s very odd the way we love each other; sometimes he drives me mad; sometimes, no doubt, I drive him mad, but we manage to cling on to something bigger than minor irritations.
It’s the same with the children, I suppose, only more so. They, too, can drive me mad, but I love them. If I can see all this love and how I, in spite of my human failings, can express it and feel it, and know that I could never not love them, why do I struggle with your love for me? Why do I find your love so hard to believe in? Why do I imagine that every little, or not so little, misdemeanour, is another black mark which will make me less lovable? Do I love my children any less when they’ve been naughty? Of course not.
Do you really love me because of my good points? And in spite of my bad habits? Do you really love me just because I’m me, your creation, your child?
I know you love me but there’s a big difference between knowing in my head and grasping in my heart the truth of that love.
Maybe it’s just warm feelings that I’m looking for, cheap thrills, an easy ride.
Thank God my faith has stronger foundations than that. It isn’t built on feelings; I can continue believing even if I don’t feel ... even if I don’t feel.
But a cwtch now and then would help.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
We disagree about most things.
For a start he doesn’t share my faith. He leans to the right; I have leftish tendencies. I can be moved to tears by something I see; he says it’s their own fault. He’s English; I’m Welsh. I love reading; he hates books. He loves a glass of malt whiskey; I have to go to the other side of the room because I can’t bear the smell. He can tell you what model of car it is from a quick glimpse of its bumper; I'll notice that it's blue. He’s bossy; I’m put upon. He’s organised; I’m untidy. I’m easily distracted; he’s single-minded. He likes Terminator; I like Sense and Sensibility. He cleans his shoes; I can’t remember what colour mine are.
And yet we love each other. I love the way that when we’re watching the news and the reporter says something happened at Prestatyn, he’ll say ‘Press what in?’, and I love the way we both associate the same songs with events or things that happened. And sometimes I’ll say something knowing what his response will be, and if he doesn’t say it straightaway I look at him enquiringly, and he’ll realise what I’m waiting for and he’ll say it. I love it when we both say we’re dieting and then we devour a large bar of chocolate watching a video. I love it when he has a very busy day at work and I phone him and say ‘meet me for lunch?’ and he doesn't hesitate to say ‘OK’.
I love someone who’s bossy and grumpy and he loves someone who’s disorganised and selfish. Love is strange.
True love is about knowing someone really well. It’s about knowing his little habits and loving him for them. It’s about knowing his faults and loving him in spite of them.
True love can be expressed in a word, a touch, a look, a kiss or death on a cross.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I believe the idea behind Lent, the fasting from food as it was traditionally, is to cause us to meditate on what Christ did for us in going to the cross, to share in his suffering and to be grateful. Well, I was thinking about this when we were walking. Christians believe Christ suffered so we wouldn't have to. So it seems a bit pointless to make myself undergo something meaningless. (Good cop-out, eh?)
But I've seen gratitude memes of various sorts of a number of different blogs recently so I decided I'd do my own version. Thus, for the six weeks of Lent up until Easter, I'm going to post each day on something I'm thankful for. It may be big; it may be small; it may be silly; it may be serious. And there may be days when it will be a challenge - especially if I come back from the hairdresser's tomorrow hating my hair ...
Tomorrow I'm going to the hairdresser's - I can be old and grey no longer - and the question is: shall I get rid of my dangly bits?
I mean, it will grow again if I don't like it. But if I hate it, I'll have to stay indoors for two months.
I was very brave last time and had Mark do away with my parting so perhaps I'll go that one step further tomorrow. Oh dear.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I had just about got them not under control but manageable when we had to walk past the house of George's arch-enemy. He spotted us and began throwing himself against the window and barking and growling like the hound of the Baskervilles.
At this, George who had been happily sniffing an old bottle decided that maybe Holly had the right idea after all and set off at a pace that Usain Bolt would have been proud of.
I was at the other end of the road before I'd regained what little control I'd had. Panting and puffing and yelling, 'You stupid dogs!! Stop will you!!!'
No wonder the neighbours all avoid me ...
P.S. Did you notice my post title? Now I am dithering what to post for my 3,000th. I feel it should be of significance and meaningful as so many of my posts - like this one - are. Shall I look back over my past writings? Or look to the future? Or just post a photo of Grand-daughter?! This could take me some time.
It was a lovely weekend.
So much to catch up on!
Friday, February 05, 2010
Along with Daughter and Son-in-law obviously. And we're delighted because Elder Son and Daughter-in-law are also coming for the weekend. the reason for the gathering is that it's Daughter's 30th birthday next Tuesday. (I can't believe she is thirty. There must have been an accounting error. I can't possibly have a 30-year-old daughter.)
So I've been out to buy a bath, nappies and doggy treats - we can't have George and Holly Dog feeling left out by the celebrations - and I am suitably excited.
When our children were babies the only decision we had to make when buying a bath was what colour we wanted; it's not that simple today as I realised after I'd spent 40 minutes perusing the selection. As well as the choice of styles there's a whole range of different options. I settled for ... a bath. And a bath thermometer and big soft wrap. Well, it'll come in useful for all our grand-babies whenever they arrive.
And today, when I was in work, Pat, one of the quilters meeting downstairs popped up to give me a hand-made cot quilt!
Quilters are a lovely bunch (apart from the one or two awkward ones I've met through work)! Katney, my blogging quilting friend in America, sent a quilt over for Baby and now I have another. Daughter can take one back home with her and I'll keep one here.
And to round off my day today, I'm going to play bingo! I'm going with two young - in their twenties - friends so I'm hoping they'll be able to keep up with the action and shout loudly when we win - as we inevitably will!!!!
Must remember to take my glasses, must remember to take my glasses, must ...
Thursday, February 04, 2010
'Tell me about it!'
The Six Nations rugby tournament starts on Saturday and throughout Wales thousands are suffering pre-match tension.
Of course, each team wants to win their first game but Wales take on England, the old enemy, at Twickenham, England's home ground. Oh my, oh my, oh my. It's the game that means more than any other. Victory and the rest of the tournament can be faced with equanimity; defeat - defeat is unthinkable.
Each of the last 3 years I've joined a fantasy rugby league. (You choose your players then depending on how the team does, you get points. You're allowed a maximum of 4 players from any one country and you're allowed to make substitutions in between games.)
I have a very scientific way of choosing my players:
a) do I recognise the name?
b) is he good-looking?
Add to that the fact that I have been known to choose players who aren't even playing and it explains why, in a league of several thousands, I usually end up in 2,745th position, give or take a few hundred.
But this time I'm really trying hard. I checked the matches out and decided which I thought would be the winning teams this weekend - Wales, Ireland and France - and have chosen the majority of my players from these teams. But that only gives me 12 players and I need 15.
My head tells me to put in some English players - Wales' record at Twickers isn't good - but my heart says that is disloyal, that by acknowledging the very possibility of an English win, I'm allowing it to happen.
Husband has entered 3 teams and has drawn up a very complicated system of odds and options, giving him a good chance of doing well in the league. He doesn't allow sentiment or national pride to get in the way.
But I'm Welsh; it matters to me.
P.S. Ladies, I'm going to look for some photos now ...
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
We were looking at worship last night in Zac's and what it means to people. Preparing for it earlier in the day I remembered a piece of writing I'd done, probably about 10 years ago.
At the time the children were still in school and I was struggling with anxiety and depression. Just the thought of going to Sainsburys was enough to panic me. We had a writers' group in church and our set task one evening was to write about worship. I'd recently read in the Message version of the bible the first verse of Romans chapter 12, and using that as my reference point I wrote this:
Got up. Made porridge and sandwiches. Dressed. Took children to school. Went to Sainsburys. Came home. Resisted temptation to leave shopping on kitchen floor and unpacked bag after bag after bag of shopping. Listened to the Archers. Walked the dog. Fetched children from school. Cooked dinner. Took son to football training. Fetched son from football training. Watched TV. Went to bed. Fell in gratefully, relieved to have got through another day. Thank God.
(Continued on my bits that are too long)