Grannymar

Darlene sent this the other day, it is subtitled but worth the effort!

UPDATE: For anyone having difficulty in viewing the video please try this link

Rev. Jack was well loved by his entire congregation. I met him one bright and sunny September morning as he walked from the vicarage to his church for the morning service. He stopped to chat for a few moments and I welcomed him home from his month long summer holiday. He looked refreshed and relaxed and his face bore the glow of sunshine from days outdoors on his well deserved break.

As we chatted, a parishioner on her way to church stopped with words of welcome. “Morning Reverend! She said, adding “I am glad to see you back. That fellow we had while you were away waffled on forever; the dinner was burned every week. At least now we will have short sermons”. With that she went on her way into the churchyard.

“Not a very diplomatic lady”. I said

Smiling, Rev Jack looked at me and said “If I cannot say what I want, in 10 minutes; I am wasting my time, the congregation loses concentration and begins to shuffle about after that!”

I have often thought of those words when listening to speakers, be they clergymen, businessmen or politicians. Rev Jack is a very wise old man indeed!

While reading an epistle of a blog post the other day, I found myself struggling to keep up. I had the impression that the author was trying to use every word in the dictionary in his post. At least four times I had to go back and start over to make some sense of the piece on the screen. It made me think of Rev Jack’s words.

If that same author was restricted to a Post-it note, how would he deliver his message?

Are we writing for ourselves, or do we really have a message we want to share…..

You must learn that it is OK to be sad.

The Sad is not to be ashamed of.

The Sad is a part of life.

But it is to be a ladder to greater things, not a stone that is thrown at you and makes you fall.

You must take The Sad and let it grow you.

You must climb up.

You must let pain make you stronger and wiser.

The Sad is not your enemy unless you let it attach to you and choke you, and pull you down.

You must feel The Sad before you can leave it behind you.

Everything happens for a reason, it is true.

But that does not mean you cannot have The Sad, for a time.

~ Tomás, Hailey’s Mr Happy.

Tuesday was a busy day and I was away from home for several hours.  My last port of call was the supermarket.  Time to replenish my store cupboard and stock up on dry goods.  Supermarket shopping is very tiring… I handled each and every item SIX times before I even thought of cooking anything.  Think about it!

1. Put the items in the trolley
2. Lift onto the conveyor belt
3. Put back into the trolley
4. Lift into car
5. Lift out of car
6. Pack away in cupboards

By the time all that was done and I had a very late lunch, it was time for a rest.  Feet up for half an hour followed by a tour of the world on the blogs and I was ready to sort out the ironing.  A couple of long distance chats and a phone call or three later and my tummy called for dinner.

Crossing the living floor about 8pm I wondered if I had put the car away.  Stepping out the front door the car was patiently waiting. Tapping my jeans pocket I was happy to pull the door behind me, no need to give any local cats or mice an invitation to investigate inside.

My hand was just about inside my pocket as the door clicked shut.  The bulk in my pocket was from a bundle of clothes pegs and not my keys!  So there was I standing in the garden looking at my car.  The front door was SHUT and all the windows were closed!

Disaster I hear you shriek!

Not at all.  I am well prepared.  I keep a key buried in the garden.  No it is not under the mat, a flowerpot or a stone,  I have no intention of telling the world where it is.  I keep it well protected from the elements and I remember where it is.

So I recovered the spare key and went to the back door.  WHAAAA!  I had the correct key but it would not work.

Why?

When you lock the back door from the inside I suggest you then remove the key!

Dangling from the inside were my bunch of keys.

My back door leads out into a north facing garden.  There are a few flagged steps to drop down to the level of the patio.  In winter the frost seldom leaves the garden so I do not open that door for the duration.  Were I to fall in the back garden I would lie there preserved until springtime!  I access the garage and the various bins from the front door.  With the return of the better weather I began to open the back door and use the outdoor line to dry my washing.

On Tuesday when I carried in the dry clothes for ironing, I turned the key and left it hanging from the lock.  Why?  The phone was ringing.  Well you never know it might be a toyboy! :roll:  It was a gentleman and he asked if he could speak to JOE.

Quick as lightening I said “No, I am sorry, you cannot speak to Joe!”

“Why?” asked the caller.

“Because he is in the wardrobe!” I said and hung up quickly.  Come on, when you live alone you need some fun!

So there I was locked out of my house and not a toyboy in sight.  Tobias was sitting inside on the table with pings and dings all over the shop.  The car was unlocked so I sat into it, to gather my thoughts and sort out my options.  There was no car at the house opposite but perhaps one of the young couple would be there.  All I needed was a metal coat hanger.  I knew it would work.  Three years previously it cost me £83 to learn that much.  I had locked myself out once before.  On that occasion I had to call a Locksmith.  That was before I buried the spare key.  I watched closely how he solved the problem, I would never be stuck again.  Well I would not be stuck so long as I had a metal coat hanger.

No joy at the young couples house, they were out for the evening.  Who would I turn to next.  Which household would have a metal clothes hanger.  Which neighbour would help without causing a fuss or add stress to the situation.  Which neighbour would I approach and ask ” Do you have a metal coat hanger, I want it to break into my house?

I made my choice.   This couple were home.  The lady of the house found me a metal hanger.  She called her husband in from the garden shed.  She would not let me go home alone with the metal coat hanger in case I had more problems.  The husband would not let me go home alone with a metal coat hanger because he was curious to know how I would break into my own house.

So I walked back home with another woman’s husband and a metal coat hanger!  This woman’s husband told me he is due to retire at the end of next month.  Retire!  I have just trained him for a new profession

No!  I am not going to tell the whole of the internet how I broke into my own house with a metal coat hanger.  If you want to know, it will cost you £83.

A man and his wife were having an argument about who
should brew the coffee each morning.

The wife said, ‘You should do it because you get up first, and then we don’t have to wait as long to get our coffee.

The husband said, ‘You are in charge of cooking around here and you should do it, because that is your job, and I can just wait for my coffee.’

Wife replies, ‘No, you should do it, and besides, it is in the Bible that the man should do the coffee.’

Husband replies, ‘I can’t believe that, show me.’

So she fetched the Bible, and opened the New Testament and showed him at the top of several pages, that it indeed says:

‘HEBREWS‘

Do you have children about to start or attending Primary School?

What do you know about the school they attend? Are you interested or aware of any problems?

Does your responsibility end when you open the door of the SUV to drop the darlings off with their satchel up market school bag, lunch money or tuck box, leaving you several hours to get on with your own life before charging up once more to stop - bang in front of the gateway - never mind the lay-by that seems to be compulsory for Health & Safety regulations. Is that it?

Who decides on the text books your child uses or how the subject is taught? I am sure you think it is that distracted school Principal losing his ability to smile. Before you criticize, walk a mile in his shoes!

How does he spend his evenings?

For ‘homework’ I have: * 6 policies to proof read and correct * 3 others to continue and * 1 to start.

Does he have help?

…..It is just not physically possible to teach and administer at the same time. All my waking hours are consumed by school … school and more school.

Only last week did I stay in school until 6.00 p.m. cutting the grass and tidying up. It’s a case of DIY or it remains undone. I have been patching holes on the roof, brushing the yard, painting classrooms, etc. …. you name it I’ve probably done it!

Our school accounts are in the black ‘cos we’re careful (not mean) with the spend.

I’m overwhelmed at times …. free education is a laugh …. someone is usually paying for it …. and it’s usually me with my time!

…..I have asked the parents in my school to get involved in policy development and/or help out around the school …. (I ask regularly) …. how many volunteers did I get? …. NONE! … yet they have no problem complaining if a decision/procedure/policy has been implemented without their input. Even when they get the policies to read … they don’t!

Nobody survives in a vacuum. An exhausted Teacher cannot give of his or her best to the children in their charge – YOUR CHILDREN.

Education is the right of all children, but that does not give parents the right to abdicate responsibility for it at the school gate. If your child showed potential in Bunge-jumping and ‘Gold at the 2012 Olympics’ was mooted, I’m sure you would travel the length and breadth of the land so they had every chance to gain experience. Would that enormous effort on your part, be for the child, or for the reflected glory that you would gain?

Gold loses its shine in time and the Bunge-jumping may not put food on the table for long, but an energetic enthusiastic unencumbered teacher can set alight the fire of learning within a young mind setting them on the road to being the next Brahms, Brontë or Brunel. So give that hour or odd Saturday, you might even surprise yourself and enjoy it. There is the chance to get to know the teachers as ‘real’ people and also earn kudos big time with the offspring.

I have an acquaintance with a life sentence!

She has received the news none of us want to hear. The illness she has is not curable and the time scale is very short. Three young children wander about the house bewildered because they know something is wrong, yet they do not know what it is. Mum is prone to crying and dad and granny are constantly trying to reassure her.

Mum realises that she will never see her children grow up, not be there for many more birthdays, or family celebrations, or to comfort them in times of need. She worries that they might forget her. Or that they will remember her as the person always lying under a rug on the couch crying.

She has baby name tags, early pictures, bootees, baby toys and locks of hair in a treasure box. I have suggested to her to have three boxes, one for each child with their name on it, in her own handwriting. Then place the items for each child in their special box. Next I suggested that she write letters to each child in turn.

“Start writing now”, I said; “beginning with how you felt when you heard that they were expected, the planning and preparations for their arrival”. I suggested she tell them how special they are and about the little things that made her heart sing. Write about her feelings for them now, and of all the hopes and dreams she carries for them.

Put each letter in an envelope and seal it, Put each child’s name, and the date when you want them to get it, on the front. Think about this date, 18th, 21st birthdays of even on your death.

What better gift can a mother give!

While writing this I received an email from a dear friend. The attachment was a story:

The Mayonnaise Jar and 2 Cups of Coffee

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “yes.”

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognise that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things…. Your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favourite passions— and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car.

The sand is everything else— the small stuff. “If you put the sand into the jar first,” he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

“Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Visit with grandparents. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and put out the rubbish. Take care of the golf balls first- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

The professor smiled and said, “I’m glad you asked.”

The coffee just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.

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!

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.

A Sunday school class was studying the Ten Commandments. They were ready to discuss the last one.

The teacher asked if anyone could tell her what it was.

Susie raised her hand, stood tall, and quoted, “Thou shall not take the covers off thy neighbour’s wife.