Grannymar

The quick answer is Yes, I have been known to commit stitches to needles at times over the years. My bones do as well! They had the chance to prove it a couple of years ago when I broke my wrist!

First off there was the strip of garter stitch on the short plastic needles in wool that started out as my ‘most’ favourite colour and then some months later became the one colour I hated for life! My problem with the strip of school knitting was that I never managed to have the same number of stitches on any one row. I think the ideal was twenty, while I had 18 or 19 with a lacy pattern (dropped stitches or holes), then later magically the stitch count was 21. Mammy spent hours sitting in front of the fire showing me what to do. I remember the rhyme: ‘In around, out and off’. It sounded easy but never seemed to work for me.

Brother No.2 was quietly watching these lessons one day and then disappeared. Ten minutes later he was back! “Is this the right way mammy?” he asked. He was back with two wooden skewers that had started life in joints of meat from the butchers and a ball of string! Are you allowed to hate your brother? He was standing there with a strip of garter stitch as long as his arm and there were no dropped stitches!

Then there was the year we were learning to make socks! We learned to turn the heel and fashion the toe. They took me the whole school year to complete and then a brother would only wear them inside his Wellington Boots. I did improve and made several cardigans and jumpers for myself.

Recently I have felt the urge to try again and while surfing the net I discovered this lovely looking yarn

Recycled Sari Silk is popping up on the web. Generally sold by the ounce, every skein varies greatly in its colour way, gauge, twist and texture. This yarn is 100% silk in a myriad of vibrant colours.

It is imported from Nepal, where it is spun from the snipped ends of saris into this wonderful textured yarn. Each skein is unique in its colour ways and natural inconsistencies of the fibre, turns the simplest project into something very special. The women use these skills to provide additional income for their families.

It is noted that some of these yarns have a certain ‘aroma’, in other words ‘The yarn starts out dirty and musty’, It is recommended that the silks are hand washed and dried before knitting up; this loosens the fibres making it softer and nicer to knit with. Most web sites recommend if you are making a big garment that you knit a couple of rows from each hank alternately to prevent obvious colour-banding.

I have not found it in any wool shop here in Northern Ireland. I don’t know of anyone who has tried to use it. I would like to buy one skein to play about with, but on line it comes in bundles of at least ten. Did you ever hear of it? Have you used it?

When I was young the choice was porridge or corn flakes.

Corn flakes were invented in Battle Creek, Michigan in 1894 by brothers Will and Dr. John Kellogg. They baked some boiled wheat on a baking tin, the doctor was called away on an emergency, and they rolled out the stuff the next day. The result was flakes.

Dr John Kellogg was an Adventist who used this recipe as part of a strict vegetarian regimen for his patients, which also included no alcohol, tobacco or caffeine. The diet he imposed consisted entirely of bland foods. He believed that spicy or sweet foods would increase passions. The foods were therefore experimented in a psychological ward with great success. In contrast, cornflakes would have no aphrodisiac property and lower the sex drive. I doubt the modern adverts mention this fact.

John was interested in the sanatorium, which he owned, while Will who served as the business manager of the sanatorium, decided to try to mass-market the new food. He sweetened up the flakes with malt and bought the commercial rights from his brother.

Will Kellogg started the Battle Creek Toasted Corn Flake Company on this day in 1906.

Now Steph, will you ease off!

One of these days I will give a recipe with NO booze in it. I do have some, you know! I am just thinking ahead…

Mother’s Day will be the day after the Irish Blog Awards. Now if you are not going to Deborah’s Irish Food Blog Brunch in Dublin on March 2nd , then why not encourage the man in your life to have a go at making this:

Pork Portofino

Serves 6 Preheat oven to 180°C

2lb Lean Pork pieces

4 tablespoons Soy Sauce

2ozs Flour

Seasoning

4 tablespoons Redcurrant Jelly

2ozs Butter

6 tablespoons Tomato puree

2 large onions chopped

4 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

12 tablespoons Port

6ozs Mushrooms

8 tablespoons Cream

Toss pork in seasoned flour. Melt butter and brown pork and remove from pan. Add onions to juices and sauté for 5 minutes.

Put pork and all ingredients in together except mushrooms and Cream. Bring to boil, put in a casserole dish in pre heated oven for 45 minutes (can be cooled and frozen at this stage. Thaw on day required) Add mushrooms and cream and cook for a further 45 minutes until it thickens.

This looks terrible when you put it in the oven at first but it tastes lovely when cooked. Serve with Rice or potatoes.

~+~+~+~

We will have another Food Monday before Mother’s Day, and I’m thinking of sharing my Chocolate Cake recipe. Would you like that?

Chrisb has an interesting honey and carrot cake using plain wholemeal flour.

La Mon. Two words that send shivers down my back. I was seven months into my new life here in Northern Ireland. A challenge unfolding all around me, the discovery of people, places and the sharing of new love, and new life growing deep inside me.

Twelve people were killed and many more badly burned on 17 February 1978. The bomb turned La Mon House, a small country hotel, in the Castlereagh hills east of Belfast, into a raging inferno. The events surrounding that fateful evening will for ever be imprinted on the minds of the scores of people who escaped from the clutches of death. Some of those injured may well still carry scars and suffer physical pain to this day. Even those fortunate enough to walk away without a physical mark were haunted by the memories of that dreadful night.

It began as a Saturday night of celebration. It was a happy get-together for members of the Irish Collie Club and their friends. They had converged on the hotel from around the Province. They had been allocated a private function room known as the Peacock room.

The terrorists strapped their explosives to two cans of petrol and attached them to the security grille over the windows of the room. They then retreated under the cover of darkness. The massive explosion that resulted sent a sheet of burning petrol through the small function room, incinerating those in its path. In addition, the glass and materials from the explosion shredded the many helpless, innocent and unsuspecting victims. In addition to the many guests in the hotel that evening, there were in the region of 90 staff on the premises.

This was a time of hormonal overdrive for me, newly married, and six months pregnant, no wonder the details seem etched in my brain. There was also the fact that exactly I week later we were to attend the annual dinner for all the staff of the company where Jack worked. It was the quietest week of my life. Nobody wanted to broach the subject. We all worried about attending, yet none of us wanted to be responsible for cancelling the event.

The evening of the Dinner Dance arrived and with it, thick freezing fog. It was impossible to see much further than the nose of the car. We debated whether to cry off or not. I know Jack was worried about me and the safety of our growing baby. We often have bad weather around us and when we travel a few miles south in the direction of Belfast, discover a different climate altogether.

Jack never wanting to let people down decided we would set out and if we found it difficult, we could circle round and come home. The driving condition I hate most of all is fog, never mind freezing fog but I stayed stumb and agreed that we should make an effort to get there. Our destination was Clanbrassil House Hotel, A Georgian Terrace on the sea front at Holywood, Co Down. I think it has since been converted into apartments.

We set forth on our journey, heading for the M2, neither of us wanting to say a word. All concentration was focused on the road and searching for red tail lights ahead. The journey down the M2 southwards into Belfast is lovely on a bright day. On your right Belfast Castle is set into the hillside and peeping through the trees of the Cave Hill. While on the left is the sweep of Belfast Lough glinting in sunshine, forming a natural divide between County Antrim and County Down. Had the night been clear we would have been able to pick out the cluster of lights at Holywood.

That night there was no cluster of lights, we did make out red tail lights of a car in front and tucked well in behind it and followed at a safe speed and distance. Finally reaching the hotel I gave an enormous sigh of relief. I thanked God twice over, once for a safe journey and secondly because there were NO grilles on the windows. We were the first to arrive and Jack found me a comfortable corner and headed to get a warming drink for us. It was only then I realised that my teeth and hands were clenched.

Soon the other members of the party started to arrive and seeing Jack they relaxed. Everyone felt as we did, yet turned out more in support of each other than the desire to party and also not wanting to let terrorism win. We soon had the call to our table. Good food and wine warmed and relaxed everyone. Jack and I shared the good news of our forthcoming event. The band was excellent and we all danced to the wee small hours.

We had a representative over from Head Office, and between the weather that night, and the chat at the table during the meal, he realised the conditions that the staff and particularly those out on the road, had to contend with on a daily basis in Northern Ireland. To give him his due, he picked up the tab for the whole evening!

When the band finally packed up for the night and we said our Goodnights, we headed outside to the car. The fog had cleared and the sky was a mass of stars. Jack and I sang all the way home.

Who would credit the difference a week can make!

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera

So goes the song, and it is fast becoming my daily mantra.

On Friday I was looking forward to some great big hugs! Elly & George were coming North to do an enormous number a few calls and ‘the mammy’ was about fourth on the list. It was to be a short well timed visit. Leave some stuff for me to deal with, sort something for my computer (well there is no point in having two experts in the family if you cannot make use of them!), have something to eat and collect a bag full of items waiting here for them. I will have the opportunity to pester see them in a couple of weeks time when I go south for the Irish Blog Awards.

I like to be prepared when they come, so I spent Thursday hiding the evidence of Toyboys deleting any incriminating evidence from my files tidying up the place. Now tell me, can you overwork the internet? I ask because my Internet connection died! Zilch! No Firefox, no Internet Explorer, no emails, No RSS!!! What was I going to do? How would I keep tabs on my Toyboys?

Feeling a little cross about this I closed down and went to bed.

Bright and early on Friday I opened up the computer and the Internet was still on holidays, so I phoned BT my provider. I had to phone as there was no way of reporting it on-line without the internet! Now I looked at the last bill and it gave only one number for reporting faults. I phoned and you know the procedure, 57 varieties of options and finally what I was looking for: If you are reporting a fault with Broadband please phone 0845 XXX XX XXX! WHY, oh why, was that number not printed on the bill? It makes sense surely.

I spoke to a very nice young man who asked about 7000 questions, but forgot to ask what I had for breakfast! Do you think they have deleted that one? I did ask him to suggest to his manager to arrange putting the phone number for Broadband faults on the bill. It might mean his callers being a little less frustrated!

So I had to unplug this, and plug in that, etc, you know the form. Not very successful, he would have to pass it on to the Diagnostic team. “Did I have another number so they could contact me?” the young man asked casually. “Do you mean have I a mobile number?” I said. “Why do you need a mobile number? Please don’t tell me you are going to cut off my land-line! I need it to be able to contact the Toyboys ‘Nee Naws’ Emergency services!

The young man promised they would not cut the phone line but that it might be 12-24 hours before the internet was up and running. Now that was serious! I was out of control! Well there were Steph, Hails and K8 all with the perfect chance to steal MY Toyboys! I needed the spray and I needed distraction.

I went to the kitchen and set about making soup and a dinner for my travellers. I had my soup for lunch and cleared up all the dishes. I returned to the living room about an hour later and the modem was flashing away to itself. I had email! I had Firefox! We were back in action. Ten minutes later the nice young man phoned to tell all was working again. Their was a fault their end - yes he said that! So I thanked him and let him go to the next person in distress.

Now why did I use that word (distress)? I sat down to rest and check on the toyboys read the blogs. Suddenly my body went into shock and I was frozen, it felt like someone had put me in a walk-in freezer! Having no pain I was not worried. I put on the electric blanket and went to bed for an hour or so. I warmed up and the feeling passed. The dinner was sitting in the oven ready to be switched on and Elly could serve it up. No worries, I was fine!

They came, we hugged, we talked and they did the swapping about and we eat. It was wonderful to have them here even for a short visit. Everything was cleared away before they left and I had a call to let me know they were home safely.

So Que Sera, Sera, the moral of the story is live for the moment and let the hours take care of themselves

Toyboys, I’m back, but we will take it slowly.

Ann of the pigtails For the Long Run had a very simple little meme, she was originally tagged by Babaloo to try it.

Here are the rules:

* Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!)
* Find Page 123.
* Find the first 5 sentences.
* Post the next 3 sentences.
* Tag 5 people.

My choice of book is:

Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes, by Martha Long.

It is a heart-rending true story of her early childhood in the slums of 1950’s Dublin. Martha was born a bastard to a teenage mother, who moved from man to man, as more children arrived, they lived hand-to mouth in squalid, freezing tenements, dressed in rags and having to beg for food. Then Jackser came into their lives….

Now for page 123 - Martha is telling us about Jackser:

(It works best if you read it with a strong Dublin accent!)

I put the coat on me, an it went down te me shoes. Then he lifted me by the neck, opened the door, an roared, ‘Get back on the streets. An if I see ye aroun, ye’re fuckin dead!’

Every time I look at the cover of this book the little girl’s pretty face reminds me of Chris at Ms Cellania! Do you agree?

Now if you fancy trying this meme consider yourself tagged.

You’ll ask me if I loved you

If once I loved you dearly

I loved you once,

I love you now

I love you most sincerely

Though time is on the wing,

As all the world agree

It has not borne away

The love I have for thee

These words are from the back of this Valentine Plate 1978

A man from New York and his ever-nagging wife went on holiday to Jerusalem. While they were there, the wife passed away. The undertaker was called and he told the husband “You can have her shipped home for $5,000, or you can bury her here in the Holy Land, for $150.”

The man thought about it and told the undertaker he would just have her shipped home.

The undertaker asked, “Why would you spend $5,000 to ship your wife home, when it would be wonderful to be buried here and you would spend only $150?”

The man replied, “Long ago a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can’t take that chance…

Last night I spoke to my one and only offspring. Did you know I had an offspring? Elly is not a bad little girl really. The fact that she is now taller than me, is by the way. I suppose I am now on the way down.

Well we had a good mother/ daughter chat. Sorry I am not going to tell you what we bitched talked about. We have our secrets!

She did tell me she got a letter yesterday. Now getting the odd letter is not unusual for me. My Elly however, lives in the modern world. The world of ether – no I don’t mean a funny substance, I mean the world of the airwaves, I mean the internet thingy stuff! Letters are a little ‘olde-worldly’ to her! The bills come in letters, but cute egg that she is; they all come addressed to George! I wonder at times how he got mixed up with her.

Well back to the letter. It came from the wee North. Yes, this part of the world where I live. It had a Royal Mail post mark (that’s twice in two days they got a mention here, but I am still better value)! The letter was addressed to herself and George.

St James’s Street tonight! Will you pick me up off the floor! It was a wedding invitation acceptance. “What is going on here”? You might ask. No wonder they have not come to see me so far this year. Is there something I am missing here? I thought that they were already well and truly married. I made the outfit. I gave her away. I made the speech. They must be married!

It was a wedding acceptance for the wedding that happened on 23 June 2007. Now I would like to know where the letter was all this time. Did it arrive in your post box? Did you have it sitting behind the clock on the mantelpiece?

Will we have to hold the wedding all over again?

Will I need a new hat?

Help!

Yesterday I was better value than Royal Mail. You had two posts, but now how do I follow that?

Struggling to think of a topic for today my email pinged. A new comment was added to the post Poor Mary. Now thanks to Magpie 11, I have found my subject!

I have been trying to find the origins of a saying of my Grandmother’s…

Q, “What’s for lunch Grannie?”
Her answer Three Jumps at the cupboard door the only reference I could find was by Grannymar on another site which led me here.
Can you help?

‘Three jumps at the cupboard door’ was a phrase I learned from my late husband. He grew up in Co Durham in the 1920-30’s and his mother used it regularly when he asked “What is for lunch or tea”.
All young children ask at some time when feeling hungry “What’s for (insert meal)?” Mother’s or Grannies gave the quick answer ‘Three Jumps at the cupboard door’.

It means any of the following:
“Away out and play and let me get on, or there will be no dinner!”
“Stop annoying me or you will have to make it yourself!”
“You will have to jump up to the cupboard and see what you can reach!”

Magpie came back with another phrase in the same vein:

‘Dried Bread and Scratch it’

This was from the days of poverty when children were given dry bread, sometimes several days old. The ‘Scratch it’ meant scraping at the lump of bread with a finger to loosen the crumbs. On good days they had dripping (fat from cooking meat) to dip the bread in for flavour and to let it soften.

And my mother had her own version

‘Potatoes and point’

Humorous as it is, it scarcely falls short of the truth. Prior to famine times many an Irish family, hung up a herring, or “small taste” of bacon, to smoke or dry (cure) over the open fire. Using their imagination each individual points the potato he is going to eat, at it, thinking the flavour of the herring or bacon will transfer to the potato.

Daddy often said “You are the apple of my eye!”

This phrase comes from the Bible. In Psalm 17:8 the writer asks God ‘to keep me as the apple of your eye’.

Another of Daddies sayings was “A little bird told me”

This phrase comes from the Bible. In Ecclesiastes 10:20 the writer warns us not to curse the king or the rich even in private or a ‘bird of the air’ may report what you say.

A bakers dozen

This means thirteen. It is said to come from the days when bakers were severely punished for baking underweight loaves. Some added a loaf to a batch of a dozen to be above suspicion.

That’s a load of codswallop

In the 19th century wallop was slang for beer. A man named Codd began selling lemonade and it was called Codswallop. In time codswallop began to mean anything worthless or inferior and later anything untrue.

“Go to pot”

Any farm animal that had outlived its usefulness such as a hen that no longer laid eggs would literally go to pot. It was cooked and eaten.

“To start from scratch”

This phrase comes from the days when a line was scratched in the ground for a race. The racers would start from the scratch.

Now you start from scratch and share a well worn old family phrase.