Grannymar

I know several people with itchy feet syndrome.

It seems to be more evident as spring raises its sleepy head from the grey blanket of winter. The new life we see around us like the first snowdrop or crocus pushing its way through frozen ground or daffodils fluttering in the breeze make us hanker for new growth in our lives. The new growth might manifest itself in a change of routine, a new hobby, a career move or a new relationship.

None of these will happen unless we are open and willing to accept change. Sometimes the idea of change is difficult to accept. We are changing every day without realising it. We are a day older and the happenings of the previous day have left a mark, even if we are unable to see it.

Firstly we must be open to the change and prepare for it. If you are going to a party, and know your heart’s desire will be there, what do you do? Have a shower, wash the hair, wear clean pressed clothes etc. In other words = Prepare

If you are going to the Gym, well you need the new shorts & top and of course the right trainers = Prepare

If you are going to an Art class, well you need to buy a sketch pad and pencils or paints and brushes = Prepare

What about the career move? = Prepare

How do I suggest you do that? Go read an excellent blog post from one of my Toyboys; Rowan Manahan puts it so much better than I ever could. I would go as far as saying keep a copy of the post close to you and read it on a regular basis. It applies not only to job hunting but to life itself:

Being prepared - getting a foot in the door and not in your mouth

Now when you find your truelove and make your millions, don’t forget to come back and tell Grannymar.

Oh yes! It was me. I mentioned it yesterday in Five minutes of fame!

Today while trying to follow the goings-on at Creative Camp in Kilkenny via Twitter and Jaiku, well I need to keep a beady eye on the Toyboys, I found this via seanabc onTwitter:

The Many Uses of Vodka. I am not sure it was a good idea to read it.

Mine’s a lime juice and soda, thank you very much! You may keep the Vodka!

Ian wrote about ‘Unhappy school days. It rather opened an old wound for me. So far I have skirted around those years trying to convince myself that I was over them.

Primary school was normal enough I think, apart from all the days I was kept at home to open the door and allow the doctor in to see my mother, unfortunately her health was not the best at times. Among other problems she had a serious heart attack when I was ten. I was also needed to prepare meals for the family. I remember my first attempts at making dinner involved going upstairs to find out from mammy what to do at every stage. The meals were cooked on the gas stove or in the oven. I avoided the grill as I considered it dangerous. My father and brothers would consume at least five potatoes each without those for my mother, sister and myself. Peeling the potatoes and vegetables took an hour each day. I became quite adept at making stews and casseroles. My eldest brother helped when food was cooked and pans and dishes were hot. No way as a slight small 8-10 year old was I capable of lifting them. Daddy NEVER entered the kitchen and expected his food on the table as usual! Homework! Why would I need to do that, when there were men to be fed!

At secondary level I went to a new school (3 years old) run by the order of Nuns that taught my mother. We had to sit a written examination to gain entrance. Our class of thirty whittled down to 15 after Intermediate Certificate. We were constantly reminded that it was a College (this allowed them charge higher fees) and that they did not teach us - they educated us! Their main priority was to reduce the debt incurred in building the school. We had a wonderful Gym, equipped with bars, ropes, horse, mats etc. It was the envy of many another school and we used it only as a supplementary examination hall! The pupils’ parents were bombarded with books of raffle tickets on a weekly basis, at least 12 books at a time. I refused to take them home – I was the only one with nerve to stand up and say so.

It was the early 60’s and I was one of 6 children, my father had spent almost a year in and out of hospital. Daddy was diagnosed with Addison’s disease, a visit to the library told my eldest brother and I that it was fatal. At that time there was no cure. My reading of the situation at the time was that if my mother handed out money for 12 books of raffle tickets to me each week then she would have to do the same for my 5 siblings. At that point there were three of us in Fee paying schools. No way was I going to ask for £12 a week.

No allowance was made for late developers, slow learners or difficult home situations. Pupils were told which subjects they were allocated, there was no such thing as choice. Abuse both physical and mental was employed on a daily basis. If you didn’t keep up you were lost from the radar. Pupils not thought to bring glory were encouraged to leave. I was considered a rebel and not at all bright.

Reading was not a priority in our home. Latin and French were difficult for me, Irish was a torture. The fact that if you failed Irish you failed the whole exam in those days, added to my burden. Back then Irish was not standardised and in one school year alone we had four teachers. They happened to come from the four provinces, Ulster, Leinster, Munster, and Connacht, each with their own dialect. To my ear they were four different languages. I never really recovered.

Maths I managed but science was not offered to me. Art and Domestic Science were on my programme and I actually knew more about cooking and hygiene than the teacher. She knew little about sewing, but a sister of my father’s took me under her wing and nurtured in me the love of the needle.

By now you all know my level of English! Elly constantly corrects my grammar and spelling. The fact that I am borderline dyslexic adds to the problems. Reading justified text, or light print on a dark background is torture. There are many blogs I would love to read, but if I have to struggle to find the content in amongst the flashing lights, bells, whistles and distracting adverts, well I walk away. Am I the only one to do so?

The nuns did try to move me out. Mammy stood her ground; she had to leave school at 16 in favour of her brothers’ education, so she was determined to let me go as far as the boys. I passed my leaving certificate with a couple of honours thrown in, much to everyone’s surprise. I was glad to leave school and never returned for any of the reunions.

My best pal was at school with me. Despite distance, family and other commitments we are still close and in touch on a regular basis. She has been a second mother for Elly, and her sons the brothers Elly never had. As I often say some good came out of those dark years!

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?

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.

When you think of your mother, how and where do you imagine her? For me it has to be in the kitchen wearing a pinafore with hands covered in flour while baking, or standing at the cooker stirring or checking a saucepan or casserole dish before moving on to the next stage of preparation of a meal.

Another dull grey day and I had so many little items to annoy keep me from boredom.

The wheels on my vacuum cleaner needed de-squeaking.

Shower head needed scouring. Well that one was easy, once disconnected an hour in a bucket of water with vinegar and it scoured itself.

Bake some fresh wheaten bread. While the oven was on and only half full, a Lemon Drizzle Cake was just the thing to fill the oven and take the empty look off my tins. Bet you are sorry not to call for coffee that day!

Time for a break, a rest and to check the blogs! I also needed to sort out the printer/scanner. Why? Well, my racist printer took a dislike to yellow and red. Perhaps it had a touch of the January Blues! The ink levels said black 60% and coloured 60%. I did all the usual things like checking the print head nozzles and cleaning the print head. Nothing for it but change the Cartridge. Thankfully it is once again working well.

Now thinking I earned my rest for an hour or three what do I find? That young whipper snapper Hayles with the hole in her head nose over at Coffee Helps has tagged me for a meme. It’s going the rounds like a Norovirus! Grandad was at it first then K8, I was trying to keep well under the Radar on this one since the the only thing I can draw is a chair - and not far across the floor either!

Well the bread was not ready so I thought I would have a go at this here meme.

Here’s how it works.

This random article title is the name of your band.

The last four words of the very last quote is the name of your album.

The third picture on this page is your cover.

Ok, fingers crossed and here we go! So we have a title.

Now on to stage 2. Last quote and only the last four words, pity since quotes two or three sound better, but I have to play by the rules!
Finally the third picture on the page! What in *##*#* am I to do with that?

What I am told of course! And here it is: Dah Daaa!

So what do you think? Don’t say rubbish or my tender ego will shatter.

Now go buy it and make me a fortune!

So who will I annoy today? Let me see….

No point in having a daughter if not to annoy her so Elly, and Chrisb who is always game and Ian who nobody tags, and I’m jealous ’cause he is back fresh and well from his holiday.

Red Mum wrote about the difficulty of carrying large cumbersome purchases around busy shopping areas by hand. Nowadays shopping and goods are supposed to go magically into standard sized plastic bags. It is surprising how often that the larger the bag the weaker the handle.

Way back when Ya-di-da-di-da…

Well it was way back when I was a slip of a thing and growing up in Dublin. Everything you bought from 5 rolls of wallpaper, a pair of blankets, or a pair of shoes, to a fur coat (no I didn’t, but I did refuse a mink coat once!), they were always wrapped in strong brown paper and tied with string. Where do you think we old folk learned to wrap a neat parcel?

When we got home the parcel was unwrapped, the string rolled up and saved and the paper folded, for reuse to back school books* or to make a dress pattern. The string was always useful, for tying other parcels or with a weight attached it made a useful plumb line.

So back to tying the parcels…

When they were carefully wrapped in paper, the string was tied securely around the parcel lengthwise with a strong knot positioned about 1/3 of the way along the long side. The string was then taken over the top and back of the parcel and looped around the string at the back then on down under the parcel and back to the knot at the front. Leave no slack and knot it again around a T bar this time. Bring the line of string along the first string about another 1/3 of the way and loop and tie it. Again bring the string over the top and back of the parcel as before and loop it again, taking it on down and round to the front once more. Secure at the knot above and then take it back to the first knot, and secure with a final knot and trim end. You will note a double string in the middle and this can be used as a strong handle.

Now for the Grannymar special. I have my uses!!!!

You have heard me talk of my days living in Germany way back in the early 70’s. During my first week there I bought a duvet and it came in a cardboard box. This box was wrapped in brown paper and tied as I described above. The sales assistant was a pleasure to watch as he swiftly completed his task. Setting the parcel on the counter, keeping one hand on it he bent down and from some secret compartment he produced a little wooden handle which he attached. It was wonderful! I had no numb fingers from loss of blood supply, and my arms were not aching from trying to hold an awkward package up at elbow level.

I still have that wooden handle 36 years later and it has well served its time. The wood is worn at the edges and the wire replaced. I used part of a metal coat hanger for this purpose and my metal turning skills would never win prizes but it works! I have made several handles since using bamboo and the coat hanger wire.

If you attempt to make some from bamboo choose a smooth piece as the ridge marks hurt the hands when carrying a heavy load. Also remember to file the cut edges of the wire or it might catch and tear the skin or fabrics of clothing while on the move.

Now I will expect to see your handiwork very soon.

* When we were at school all school text and copy books had to be covered in brown paper to keep them clean. We then had to write our names and the title of the book on the new cover.

• Get out from under the bird of darkness hovering round my head for the last month or two.

• Realise that lost time can never be found.

• Spend more time outdoors.

• Enjoy the simple things.

• Feel pride bursting through my chest when Elly, George and my friends do well and are happy, and tell them that I love them, at every opportunity.

• Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until I gasp for breath. Spend lots and lots of time with friends who make me laugh.

• Learn something new - Never let the brain get idle (“You don’t lick knowledge off a stone” A quotation from Tom Murphy’s Grandmother.). “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop.” And the devil’s name is Alzheimer’s!

• Try everything twice. Now where are the Toy boys?

And finally my wish for you in 2008 is:

May peace break into your house and may the thieves come to steal your debts.

May the pockets of your jeans become a magnet of €100 notes.

May love stick to your face like Vaseline and may laughter assault your lips!

May happiness slap you across the face and may your tears be those of joy.

May the problems you had, forget your home address!

In simple words….

May 2008 be the best year of your life, try not to screw it up!!!

Now Ladies and Gentlemen just stop right now whatever you are doing!

Are you over 30? Nearly forty?

Then the signs are not good!

I was checking my RSS Feeder this morning and while reading through the postings of my regular blogging friends I came across this little Gem:

Facebook founder/media-golden-boy, 24-year-old Mark Zuckerberg, had this advice for aspiring technology entrepreneurs while speaking at a tech conference last spring “I want to stress the importance of being young and technical,’ he stated. ‘If you want to found a successful company, you should only hire young people with technical expertise… Young people are just smarter.”

Ronni Bennett at Time Goes By has a very interesting post on the ‘delights’ of Facebook with comments that stretch almost across the Atlantic. They are all worth reading.

I hope that in 20 years time some young buck still wet behind the ears, stands up at a meeting to remind Mark Zuckerberg of these words!

Maybe I will still be around to smile!