All about my Mother

On Mothers Day, some random thoughts about my mother.

My life is completely different from hers. By my age, my mother was married with three children. Her glory days as Miss Trimcraft, Miss Siemens Plessey and eventually Miss South Tyneside were far behind her.

Things I've inherited from my mother: a strong work ethic, an inate sense of fairness and justice, "the Sanddancer bum", and a love of Bruce Springsteen.

Some things I wish I'd inherited: her looks, her practical nature, her ability with mental arithmetic, her cooking skills.

My mother mispronounces the name "Malcolm" and the word "balcony", pronouncing them "Mollcom" and "Bolcony" respectively. Asked why she does this, she claimed that pronouncing them with an "A" sounds common.

She has an inexplicable mental block about the black suits in playing cards and has always referred to them as "shovels" and "cauliflowers".

Christmas is always tinged with subterfuge, as she disguises presents in different sized boxes or tells people they are getting something completely different, to add an element of surprise to the proceedings.

Puppy Love

The latest editions to the Sanddancer family (Northern branch):

Petal



and

Monty




They belong, one each, to my sisters and I'm very jealous. When I heard that they'd bought Chihuahua-Jack Russell crosses, I was sceptical. I was imaging some silly delicate little things, but I fell in love with them when I met them.

They are tiny, but they are pretty sturdy. Like very small big dogs!



They are only eleven weeks old but already have distinct personalities. Petal is boisterous, but affectionate, and loves to climb. She is determined to get upstairs. Monty is calmer, curious, but not very brave. He likes to pull up the hall carpet.

They have been lots of fun over Christmas.

And of course, Ellie was there too - the Grande Dame of the Sanddancer household. She watched the new editions good naturedly from her position on the sofa.

2 down 1 to go (or 1 down 2 to go)

The first refers to the number of the summer weddings we’ve been to out of the three we are invited to.

The second is my mother’s perspective since her middle daughter out of three was married on Saturday.

The first wedding was two weekends ago. A countryside setting, with drinks in the parents’ garden, a marquee, a speech that name dropped Jacqueline du Pre and in sharp contrast, a DJ-set by my OH that involved a medley of Chas and Dave records.

The second wedding was my sister’s this weekend, which was a very different affair, but none the less still lovely. Despite being in the rain-soaked North, the weather was bright for most of the day. The little bridesmaids were cute, but proved the rule of “never working with animals and children”.

As the OH once said in a Best Man's Speech "Weddings are emotional occasions. Even the cake is in tiers". I came close to tears no fewer than three times during the day. The first was in the morning when we were all in our dresses ready for the photographer. I was banished to the kitchen to avoid setting my sister off, only to find that my other sister was already in there trying not the cry as well.

The second time was during the speeches, where my sister made the unconventional move of doing a speech, mainly with the purpose of thanking our mother for giving her away and how it was a shame our father wasn’t there to do it. The OH held my hand to see me through that, and luckily the Groom gave his hilarious speech next that cheered us up.

The third was when they did their first dance. My sister has a great love of show tunes, so it was “All Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera. Not a song I had any great love for, but again the tears started to fall. The Groom’s father was so overcome by this that he had to go outside.

The only bad point of the day was the Groom’s mother’s hair. For some reason known only to herself and the world’s worst hairdresser, her hair had been badly dyed purple for the occasion. It was so bad that on seeing from a distance, the Groom had asked why she was wearing a stupid hat! It really will be a blight on the photographs, but perhaps Photoshop can make it a normal colour.

We have a few weeks off now until the third wedding.

Hen Dos and Don'ts

Hello. Apologies for the silence. I've been preoccupied with something and didn't feel like talking, even to myself on the internet, but I'm coaxing myself out of it and thought I'd post the overdue hen report. Actually there isn't really much to report, but I should write something.

The T-Shirt
At 6am in Newcastle airport, wearing a t-shirt printed with the slogan "Hen Do" was actually pretty subtle. There were girls in tutus, a large party dressed in what I hope was meant to be bad taste and several stags in silly garb. We also had to wear it for our "big" night out on the Saturday. Again, it was pretty tasteful compared with the hens in bondage, the stags as superheros and the cowgirls.

The Accommodation
It really wasn't as bad as my sister had feared, except (and this is probably a pretty big except) there was an overwhelming smell in the corridors that I can only describe as chemical fish. We never quite managed to work out what it was or where it was coming from, except it wasn't so bad on the day that the cleaners didn't come round, so we thought they might be using some fish-based detergent.

The Pool
Before I went I was on an excercising binge and it continued well into the first day of the trip when I swam loads and tried to start an aqua aerobics class in the pool. My plans to get up early for morning swim were scuppered not by too much alcohol, but by the policy of locking the gates to the pool until 10am.

There really wasn't any scandal or gossip. There weren't any fallings out although by the time I came home I was looking forward to some time to myself. I'm off on another one this weekend though, this time to York.

Vive España (Part 2)

Tomorrow I’m off to Spain. Not to congratulate the team in person on their football win, but for my sister’s hen do.

Our destination isn’t Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, Seville or any other place that I’d have welcome the chance to go to. Our destination is the Costa del Sol.

Months ago when it was being planned, my sister’s opening line about it was “Now I know this won’t be your kind of thing but…” Of course, I was always going to go, although jokingly I did say that I couldn’t guarantee that I would enjoy myself.

I was looking forward to it (you’ll notice the use of the past tense here). A few days in the sun with my sisters (and a few complete strangers) sounded quite nice. Even on the Costa del Sol, I should be able to have sangria and tapas.

Then last week, my sister informs me that she has had some t-shirts printed with “D’s Hen Do 2008” and mine has the word “Bridesmaid” on the back. I questioned the need for the year on the t-shirt as it implied that it might be an annual event but they had already gone to print. Apparently we are all wearing our t-shirts on the journey. “At least you won’t get lost”, smirked the OH.

Fatherless Day

My Dad died three and a half years ago. I'd like to be able to say its getting easier but I'm not sure that would be true. I still feel guilty, lonely and at times utterly lost. I'm not putting him on a pedastal. He wasn't perfect. He could be difficult, petty and stubborn. At times, he perhaps wasn't even that good a father, but he was mine.

He still appears in my dreams, sometimes I wake up crying, other times I'm happy just to have seen him again, one time recently he turned up in the dream and was being difficult, and I told him that he was behaving ridiculously as he was, afterall, dead.

Father's Day this year has been particularly bad. I'm not sure it has bothered me as much other years as I realise other people still have Father's and have every right to give them cards and gifts, but this year there doesn't seem to have been any escape from it. Every other email I've received in the last week has been from a website suggesting Father's Day presents and I've felt particularly sensitive about it. I was quite close to emailing HMV to tell them that even if he had been alive, he wouldn't have been interested in a brain training game, but as he's dead, he's got even less use for it.

Strangely though when he was alive he was incredibly difficult to buy presents for, but since he's died, at Christmas, around his birthday and Father's Day, I see things in the shops that I think he would like and sometimes I wonder if I was to buy them for him, it might bring him back.

I'd like to be able to write something beautiful in tribute to him, but I don't have the words.

The Hitched Hitch

The wedding season is upon us again. I can tell because the stall near work that once sold fruit, then starting selling t-shirts, it now selling pashminas.


My summer is being dominated by weddings. The OH is best man at one in August. Then I'm bridesmaid for my sister and my oldest friend. With hen weekends and visits for dress fittings, its costing a scary amount - more than our week's holiday in San Francisco, in fact.


So I've been worrying about how I'm going to pay of it all, but reasoning that some of it at least should be fun.

Then I get an email from my sister, distraught.

The hotel she had booked to hold her reception has been sold to another company and is closing for refurbishment. She has had this venue booked for a year. Nobody there told her this was happening. She found out by chance because a friend went there for lunch and overheard staff talking about the takeover. Quite when they were planning to tell her if her friend hadn't stumbled upon this, we don't know.

Tomorrow she has a meeting with the venue to discuss what can be done. I hope some alternative can be found, otherwise its looking like all going back my mother's for the reception. And as much as my mother does put on a lovely a spread, that is certainly not what my sister wanted for a her big day.

Me and Neil

Or as my father would point out if he was alive, “Neil and I.”

The Neil in question is Neil Diamond. I love Neil Diamond. I make no apology for this fact.

He has a new album out this week, produced by Rick Rubins, who revitalised Johnny Cash’s career. Apparently he’s doing the same for Mr Diamond. But in my book, that didn’t need doing. He has written some of the best pop songs ever in the work he did for the Monkees (a band I may have claimed to prefer to the Beatles,)

Whilst to some, he might be in the category of “guilty pleasure”, to me he has never been anything other than great. There may have been a year when grunge ruled my stereo and I may have temporarily forgotten about the majesty of Neil, but for the past decade, his place in my heart has not been questioned.

It must be said I’m from a family of Neil Diamond lovers. Whatever else we may or may not have in common, this one thing is certain. My sisters love him, my mum loves him and my dad loved him. So I grew up listening to him, in the car, on holiday (the song America was on heavy rotation the year we went to Florida!) and watching The Jazz Singer on video.

There is also a lot of poignancy tied in with this. We choose a Neil Diamond song to be played at my dad’s funeral. It was our choice so we’ve nobody else to blame if the even the first note of the song (Songs of Life) can reduce us to tears.

But still I love Neil. I’m disappointed that I won’t be able to go see him play at Glastonbury but I’m still contemplating going to see his Wembley show next month. But as much as I love Neil, £70 seems way too much, no one will go with me and I don’t want to run the risk of flooding the arena with tears. Perhaps I shall just buy the new album instead.

Christmas Catch Up

Should I do a little round up of what has happened in the eons since I last posted?

Christmas
We spent in the north with my family. It was the first time the OH and I had actually spent Christmas together as he normally spends it with his family. I was apprehensive about this to say the least, but it went ok. Yes, my family bickered and irritated me, but really it wasn’t so bad. We all survived.

It was very sad going to visit my auntie in hospital where she is making slow progress after her stroke. She is making some progress, but when her speech is limited to Good Morning, Yes and No (which she often gets around the wrong way) it is frustrating, and clearly gets her down. On the upside, the MRSA has gone so she should be able to start proper therapy soon.

The OH bought me a great present which wasn’t what I was expecting at all – he bought me a day at the Sanctuary Spa which I’ve always wanted to go to but have been put off by the price. So I’ve got a day of pampering and relaxation to look forward to at some point in 2008. I also received lots of other good gifts, including the book of the exhibition I went to a while ago (Amazon Wishlists are a wonderful thing for guiding the family in the right direction!).


New Year
We decide to opt out of New Years Eve celebrations by going away, just the two of us. We went to Canterbury to stay at the Abode Hotel, having enjoyed the one in Glasgow so much. So we watched films and drank champagne in bed as midnight struck and I enjoyed it enormously.

The strangest thing that happened over the holiday was that I got quite into the darts! I was scathing of it at first but was sucked in by Wayne “Hawaii 501” Mardle, his garish shirts and his range of facial expressions. Sadly, just after I’d adopted him as my favourite, he went out of the competition. But I still enjoyed the final and was amusing the OH with my almost insightful observations by the end of the tournament.

Waiting Room

My mum rang night to tell me that my auntie had a stroke yesterday. At that point they couldn’t tell how severe it had been but should know today, so I’m waiting to hear back. I feel rather numb but am trying not to think too much until I know what is happening. But one thing has stuck in my mind.

Last year my auntie was seriously ill with bowel related problems and caught both types of hospital superbug during her stay. She has never made a full recovery and has been feeling very sick again in the past couple of weeks. On visiting her doctor last week, he commented ‘Well, you’ve certainly had your money’s worth out of the NHS’.

My auntie has lived and worked here all of her life, contributing to the system. She has never been ill before last year and on entering the hospital to receive the treatment that she had been paying for all her working life, she caught not one, but two killer infections. Not what I would call ‘getting your money’s worth’.

I was angry enough about this when my mum told me that last week, but now I’m livid at the thought that this is what passes for healthcare – the word ‘care’ is sadly lacking.

Quote of the Weekend

My mother has just returned from a holiday in Egypt. Yesterday, we had our catch-up phone call, where she told me about the holiday.

Amidst this conversation she started one sentence with 'We've got a lot to learn from the rest of Europe...'

There was a bit of a pause at this point which gave me room to wonder what was coming next. There are plenty of things we could learn from the rest of Europe. Better attitude towards alcohol? Relaxed attitude towards prostituition? Armed police? I wasn't sure which of these controversial topics she was about to tackle (especially since she hadn't been on holiday in Europe),

She continued

'We've got a lot to learn from the rest of Europe when it comes to eating fruit'

Apparently, you should have seen the amount of fruit the French and German holidaymakers ate each lunchtime.

Happy Birthday, Caravan Club!

I heard on the news this morning that today is the birthday of the Caravan Club (its always some sort of strange national day or birthday). The Caravan Club is 100 years old. It shares its birthday with Che Guevara - I'm not sure his thoughts on this matter were documented.

Caravanning is another of those activities that I assume to be a British thing. I know travelling people the world over live in caravans and the US has its trailer parks, but holidaying in a mobile caravan strikes me as being a British thing.

We had a caravan when I was growing up. Not a mobile one - a static one on a caravan site only about 30 minutes drive from our home (admittedly it was in a beautiful area of the Northumberland coast, but still it seemed a bit silly).

I've no idea what possessed my parents to buy it - we always holidayed abroad. We used to visit the caravan for the odd weekend here and there, but more often than not we'd just go there on a Sunday - it was near enough to do that easily. Ridiculously, my mum used to still cook a full Sunday dinner but just relocating it to the caravan so the car would be loaded up with a roast and ready prepared veg, for her to cook there.

Often, it being the north east of England, the weather would be bad, so after lunch we'd stay in the caravan, watching Bonanza on a portable television before returning home early evening.

Old Age

Ellie, our family dog, is now eleven. That is 77 in dog years.

Although she is still pretty much just a little ball of fluff, she is now a little old lady. Some of her fur is going grey, her eyesight is getting worse, she can no longer come down the stairs on her own because of her vision (despite, this she always follows my mum upstairs) and she is no longer able to jump onto the windowsill to watch the world go by.

She is still happy enough - she loves trips out in the car, digging and chasing her food around the lounge. But it worries me that she is getting old.

Driving Miss Daisy

I've been up north for a few days - to a world without internet i.e. my mum's. It was a good trip but pretty uneventful.

One thing that happened was we went for a drive in my sister D's new car. D just passed her test two weeks go and has bought herself this car, who she has christened Daisy. Whilst it wouldn't have been my choice, it has made her very happy.

Going for a drive in Daisy doesn't exactly make you inconspicious and attracts a lot of attention around the quiet streets of the north east. However, whilst D expects you to coo over Daisy as if she was a newborn (including taking her photograph), once she is behind the wheel, she seems to forget she is driving a pink floral mobile, and was puzzled the other day as to why a group of people at a bus stop were pointing and laughing. She thought they were laughing at her glasses which she only wears for driving!

Just one more day

In about 24 hours time we will get the keys to our new place, but it isn't making me feel happy. Part of the deposit money, was money I inherited when my Dad died, so no matter how pleased I am about buying our own place, part of me is sad because of what that money represents.
I would swap it and live the rest of my life in an awful rented flat if I could have just one more day with him.

Mrs SandDancer Goes to Work

My mother has got a new job. I'm so pleased for her. She hadn't been working for the past year or so - at first she was officially my gran's carer but since she went to live in the home, she hasn't really been doing anything (well, apart from the endless decorating she seems to do) and she was getting bored.

The new job is chef in a respite home (where disabled people go temporarily to give their families a rest). She didn't think she had any chance of getting the job but they rang her back the day she had the interview to offer her the job. The conversation we had at this point was bizarre - the lack of self-belief things she said, were things I've said myself e.g. 'I thought it had gone badly, but I suppose they must have liked me to offer me the job, but I can't see why'. It was like talking to myself and I realised how frustrating it must be!

It was her first day yesterday. They hadn't agreed exact hours yet but told her to come in for 8am. I called her at 7pm to see how the day went and there was no answer. I called back at 8pm and she had just got home. A 12 hour day on her first day. She was exhausted. Apparently she was dropped in at the deep end as the other chef is off sick all week. But she thinks it will be ok once she's settled in and she was so happy when she got the job that she would be 'working somewhere that is doing some good'.

I'm very proud of her and perhaps not as alarmed as I once would have been by how similar we are.

Gifts and Ghosts

So that's Christmas over with for another year.

I was expecting it to be worse but it was ok. I got through it and it was easier this year.

Two years ago, my Dad died on the day after Boxing Day. So Christmas is a bit of a struggle now.

But it was easier this year. The urge to still buy presents for him seems to have subsided - while he was alive it was always so difficult to buy for him but last year the shops were full of things he would have liked. And the day passed without tears, which made me feel guilty, which is perhaps why I'm writing this now, to show that even though we weren't sat around sad all Christmas (or worse, the forced jollity of last year), I still missed him.

The other (much lesser) thing about going 'home' as that it always stirs up memories of the ex. Its been 9 years now, so really I should be over it but visits to my mum's are always haunted by dreams of him and wondering what could have been.

So now having been fully depressing, I will move onto the good bit of Christmas - the presents! With our immient house-move (actually still some time off due to problems with the lease now), this was the focus of our Christmas presents. Here's some highlights:

2 Alessi Storage jars for the kitchen (to add to the 3 I already have)
Metal fruit bowl, mug tree and kitchen roll holder
Ceramic bathroom set (toothbrush holder, soap dish etc)
Spice rack
A hefty sum of money in John Lewis vouchers
Dark brown slouchy boots
Beautifully soft dressing gown (its been a struggle to get dressed most days since receiving this)
Pyjamas & slippers (it wouldn't be Christmas without them)
Various DVDs - Ross Noble, Mighty Boosh Live, State of Play and Brick
A bag of Haribo!


And here we are waiting around for another year to begin, with a fridge full of chocolate and cheese.

Lost your love of life, too much apple pie

As well as turning the lounge into the Blue Peter studio, I also watched a documentary about JFK last night. I can't say I found it particularly shocking. A powerful man takes risks by having sex with a lot of unsuitable women.

I'm sure I knew this already, but it might have been because the Kennedy family is one of my mother's favourite subjects. She can't get enough of them. She is also interested in the Mafia, Henry VIII and Biblical epics (somewhat unusual for a staunch atheist - 'Such good plots' being her defence').

Its seems my grandmother also had a pet subject, which came up in conversation with my mum recently. My gran apparently was very interested in true crime! 'Oh yes, she loved Crippen and all that lot' said my mum. Nice, although I am partial to a detective programmes and watch Law & Order SVU more than can is probably healthy, so perhaps this is what I've inherited from Grandma Molly.

The title of this post, is lyrics from 'Kennedy' by the Wedding Present, which popped into my head this morning after years of absence. I suppose unpopular indie music is another of my interests. I'm quite tempted to download a few of their songs for old times sake. Their version of Pleasant Valley Sunday is particularly good - my favourite Monkee's song sung in a strong Leeds accent!

Wrestle-Mania and Grandma Dolly

In bed the other morning, we were talking about how wrestling is surprisingly popular. The OH had been in a pub in the South West recently where it was being shown on the television and the locals were all watching it closely.

This conversation led me onto thinking about my Dad's mother, Grandma Dolly (as opposed to my mum's mother, Grandma Molly, about whom I've already written).

Grandma Dolly was a big wrestling fan.

On a Saturday afternoon, she used to pull up a chair right in front of the television to watch the wrestling. She got right into it, shouting at the screen, cheering for the goodies, booing the bad guys. This was not the expected behaviour for a woman like her. Grandma Dolly was quite 'well to do', a respected local business woman, pillar of the community etc.

I never met Grandma Dolly as she died before I was born, so sadly, I don't know much else about her. Other than her love of wrestling, these are the only things I know about her.

1. Every year she left her Christmas shopping until the last minute, doing it all on Christas Eve. The local department store, Binns, would stay open late especially for her.

2. The family business would have been alot more prosperous had she not frequently refused payment in cash and insisting that the debtor bought her a nice hat instead. We are still uncertain how she then paid the rest of the staff, but it does go somewhere to explaining the special treatment she received at Binns.

3. She had a purple rinse. This is in no way unusual for a woman of that time, but its a look I've never understood and I thought there should be three points of the list.

Hit the North

Tomorrow, I'm going back up north for a few days. The original intention was to do very little other than relax, but given the recent bouts of ill health in my family, it will now mainly consist of accompanying my mum on hospital visits, so it might actually be quite stressful. There can't be many wards left in the hospital that we haven't visited over the year - perhaps we'll get a prize for collecting the full set.

Tomorrow night I'm going to my niece's school play - I'm quite excited at this as I've never been to a school play that I wasn't in. I've also volunteered to mow the lawn at my gran's - I've never actually mown a lawn before (is mown even a word - that's how little I know about it!) but I've had a yearning to do some gardening for a while now.

Hopefully, there might be time to take Ellie to the beach (pictured below at its brooding best). She does a great stylised prance when she's on sand that always amuses me.

Not sure how I'll cope without internet access for five days though.