Grannymar

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!

As the year draws slowly to its close, we all regardless of age seem to look back over the events of the past year, remembering lost loved ones, re-live our celebrations, rejoicing over achievements, tiptoe past disasters and move on to plan for the year ahead.

At first glance sewing seemed to overtake if not punctuate my year at every available space. In fact it was actually a year of great variety. In March I attended the Irish Blog Awards in Dublin, where I had the opportunity to meet with other Bloggers with amazing talent. A week later I turned sixty and officially become a senior citizen.

Over the months many hours were spent talking to Elly simultaneously on the phone and internet working through suggestions, ideas and plans for the wedding.

Moving forward to May I was approached on Skype and asked to help a young man in Italy to improve his English. I almost said no, but now we talk regularly and I think at this stage he can be counted as a friend.

The Wedding in June brought family and friends from across the globe to help celebrate and witness Elly & George’s Special day.

The weather was kind and Elly looked happy and glowing in her outfit. She said that it was very comfortable to wear and gave her the freedom she wanted.

The train of her outfit was detachable and was removed for dancing.

The end of May was rather scary with an emergency trip to hospital but thankfully I have recovered, and learned yet again to listen to my body! By the end of September I had sufficient energy to attend Podcamp in Kilkenny. It gave me the opportunity to learn and share, while renewing old friendships and making new ones.

November saw the passing of Cherry the mother of my new Son-in-Law George. I know that with Elly by his side, and the love of his father and siblings to share the great loss, George will feel the smile of sunshine on his face once more and hear and enjoy the birds singing.

Back in July I quietly marked the 30^th anniversary of the day I married. Sadly, and not by choice, I have been alone for a third of that time. When Jack was alive our world was wonderful and I am thankful for warm loving memories.

The mention of marriage reminds me of a radio interview I smiled at over the holiday, an 80-year-old lady was the focus, because she had just remarried — for the fourth time.

The male interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be marrying again at 80, and then about her new husband’s occupation.

He’s a funeral director,’ she answered.

Interesting, the young man thought. He then asked her if she wouldn’t mind telling him a little about her first three husbands and what they did for a living.

She paused for a few moments, needing time to reflect on all those years.

After a short time, a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she’d first married a banker when she was in her early 20’s, then a circus ringmaster when in her 40’s, later on a preacher when in her 60’s, and now in her 80’s, a funeral director.

The interviewer looked at her, quite astonished, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers.

She smiled and explained, ‘I married one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and four to go.’

Earlier this year I had a “woulda-shoulda-coulda” phase, as K8 would say. I must explain.

All my life when people greeted me, they said ‘Gosh, you are so like your mother!’ And I was! At her funeral 11 years ago, a man I had not met for twenty five years walked up to me in the graveyard and said “You have to be Grannymar! You are so like your mother”. Alas, at that point I had not erased the image of a very tiny, fragile and wasted ill old lady from my in-most eye. I had a hard job to smile and not show the shudder that ran through me.

A similar thing happened at Elly’s wedding in June. A cousin who lives in New Zealand that I last met in the late 60’s greeted me on her arrival with the same familiar phrase. My brothers always called me ‘Skinny’ or ‘Drip-dry’ when I was young. I may be long, lean and like a beanpole but now my hair is grey and my face and neck have more lines than the map of Ireland.

Mammy

In her young days my mother was a beauty with shoulder length dark hair. I inherited thick auburn tresses from both sides of the family a generation further back. None of my siblings had hair my colour, although if my brothers sported sideburns or a beard it grew a light ginger colour. My father always told me that my hair was my ‘Crowning Glory’. If that was so, then in my eyes, pale skin with large dirty looking dark freckles did not do my hair justice.

Now back to the face like a road map, and the “woulda-shoulda-coulda” question. With Elly’s wedding in sight I pondered and agonised about looking well for my Mother-of-the-Bride role. Since Elly is my one and only and cameras don’t lie, I needed to really think this one out.

Research was necessary so I scoured the ‘Net’, and read every written article I could lay my hands on. My eyes were closing with all this reading. Then I found a book that opened my eyes forever!

Mirror, Mirror (Confessions of a plastic-surgery addict)
by
Terry Prone.

Terry is someone who has experienced dozens of different kinds of plastic surgery at the hands of surgeons on both sides of the Atlantic and who tells the truth about each procedure the discomforts, results, costs and all. If you have ever contemplated going down this road I strongly recommend you find a copy of this book.

My final decision was made when I read the following story:

A 45 year old woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital
While on the operating table she had a near death experience.

Seeing God she asked “Is my time up?”

God said, “No, you have another 43 years, 2 months and 8 days to live.”

Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have face-lift, liposuction, breast implants and a tummy tuck. She even had someone come in and change her hair colour and brighten her teeth! Since she had so much more time to live, she figured she might as well make the most of it.

After her last operation, she was released from the hospital. While crossing the street on her way home, she was killed by an ambulance.

Arriving in front of God, she demanded, “I thought you said I had another 43 years! Why didn’t you pull me from out of the path of the ambulance?”

God replied: “I didn’t recognize you.”

My face is still like a road map, but Toy-boys remember that:
A Lady who has no lines
Is a Lady who never smiles!

I made a promise and so I must keep it.

While concentrating on my many sewing tasks over the past few months, Podcasting was relegated to the back burner. The longer the gap the harder it is to begin again. So where will I start?

At the wedding on Saturday several people suggested that my speech might work well as a Podcast. There are friends and relations who follow my blog, but were unable to attend so for you I will re-do the speech.

You will have to imagine the heckling and the rotten tomatoes flying through the air!

Today I am home from Elly & George’s wedding and am feeling a little fragile:

So where do I start?

Thursday dawned and I woke early, the car was packed and ready to go. I spoke to Elly and she was in very good form (for a bride) and seemed quite relaxed! I had a good breakfast and set off on the road of a wonderful adventure.

Where have the 29 years gone, it seems at times as if while I blinked she changed from a tiny baby to the beautiful, capable, organised and independent young lady I now see. Her Dad would have been proud!

The journey was uneventful with some heavy rain as I crossed the border from Northern Ireland to the south. I called with Elly and we had some quality time before going to check into the hotel. Elly still had some things to sort out so she left me to get my bearings in the hotel and have an early quiet night.

Friday was a rest day for me with my only task being to press the famous outfit. This I did in stages and rested until after lunch.

Reception informed me when guests checked in so I was able to meet and greet them. My cousin and her husband from California who I met and stayed with a few years ago were the first to arrive. As we caught up with family news and looked at photos, my cousin from New Zealand and her son whom I last saw in the late 60’s were next to join us. These cousins were aware of each other but never met so it was good to make the introductions. We spent several hours catching up and filling gaps in family history.

Elly and the bridesmaids checked in and joined us for dinner. We were nine in total at this stage and the banter and craic was wonderful. A good omen for the day to follow!

Saturday dawned with sunshine and no rain. I went to breakfast at 8.30 and was joined by the Bride-to-Be and her attendants before they headed to keep hairdresser appointments. The remainder of the morning passed quickly with guests arriving from all arts and parts. It was becoming a very international affair. We had representatives from north, south, east and west of Ireland, London, Paris and Troyes in France, Romania, California, New Zealand and the high point for Elly was to have an Uncle from Australia who was bringing his 18 year old daughter to Ireland for the wedding and to meet his (our) family for the very first time.

Elly announced that she did not want to miss the fun so we all changed into our finery and rejoined the guests for the pre-wedding reception. It is the only wedding I ever attended where the Bride and Groom mingled with the guests before the ceremony.

At 3p.m. I had the honour of walking Elly in and handing her over to George. Music was provided by a sister of the Groom, while another sister, a friend of the couple and an aunt of the Bride took care of the three readings.

An Uncle of George’s officiated and the couple had written the service and vows themselves. It was very moving, and the place resounded with everyone singing ‘When I’m Sixty-Four by the Beatles as the couple walked, or should I say danced out.

At this point I have no pictures but if you check Elly’s blog, not alone will find a picture but can read her vows.

The sewing is completed for the wedding, the boxes, bags and clothes hangers are all sorted and ready to load into the car. So what have I left to do?

!. Prepare a short Mother of the Bride speech of welcome and share a few of Elly’s escapades from her young life. She has not yet realised that my dementia is selective….

2, Decide on my party-piece for the evening. Now I wonder …

‘My Favourite Things’ is a harmless little ditty.

♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

Now let me see if I remember the lyrics:-

Maalox and nose drops and needles for knitting,

Walkers and handrails and new dental fittings,

Bundles of magazines tied up in string,

These are a few of my favourite things.

Cadillac’s and cataracts and hearing aids and glasses,

Polident and Fixodent and false teeth in glasses,

Pacemakers, golf carts and porches with swings,

We remember our favourite things.

When the pipes leak,
when the bones creak,
when the knees go bad,
I simply remember my favourite things,

And then I don’t feel so bad.

Hot tea and crumpets and corn pads for bunions,

No spicy hot food or food cooked with onions,

Bathrobes and heating pads and hot meals they bring,

These are a few of my favourite things.

Back pains, confused brains, and no fear of sinning’,

Thin bones and fractures and hair that is thinning’,

And we won’t mention our short shrunken frames,

Then we remember our favourite things.

When the joints ache,
when the hips break,
when the eyes grow dim,
then I remember the great life I’ve had,

And then I don’t feel so bad.

These lyrics are courtesy of Julie Andrews she chose them for a performance at Manhattan’s Radio City Music Hall

I wonder where I might find a singing teacher…

The very thing the yellow Pages!

The past couple of weeks have proved rather busy for me. I am trying to finish all my sewing tasks for the wedding. I have Elly’s outfit ready for the final fitting and hopefully my calculations are not totally off the scale. I now need to make a cushion for the Ring bearer and a little bag for the Flower girl.

I have completed my own headgear and my bag for the day. My project for this afternoon is to make some decoration to hide my scrawny neck…. Alas sacks are forbidden….

These notes are by way of an apology for not posting or Podcasting more regularly. I have lurked and added the odd comment. I am depending on my store of amusing stories and graphics and hopefully they are keeping you interested until my time becomes my own again. Hang in there because like ‘Old Blue Eyes’ I will be making a come back!

So to keep you going:

Lucy spent the first day packing her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining room table by candle-light, put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of spring-water.

When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimp shells dipped in caviar into the hollow of the curtain rods.

She then cleaned up the kitchen and left. When the husband returned with his new girlfriend, all was bliss for the first few days.

Then slowly, the house began to smell. They tried everything; cleaning, mopping and airing the place out. Vents were checked for dead rodents and carpets were steam cleaned.

Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which they had to move out for a few days and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked.

People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit.

Finally, they could not take the stench any longer and decided to move.

A month later, even though they had cut their price in half, they could not find a buyer for their stinky house. Word got out and eventually even the local realtors refused to re turn their calls.

Finally, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

Lucy called her Ex and asked how things were going.

He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for getting the house back.

Knowing his ex-wife had no idea how bad the smell was, he agreed on a price that was about 1/10th of what the house had been worth, but only if she were to sign the papers that very day.

She agreed and within the hour his lawyers delivered the paperwork.

A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home………

And to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods!!!!!!

There was a time in my young days when passing the window of a shoe shop, particularly in early springtime, was an utter impossibility for me. It was a time when my hard earned cash provided me with a new outfit each spring, summer, autumn and winter. These outfits became ‘Sunday best’. The purchasing was not complete until the hat; gloves, bag and shoes all matching, were chosen.

I am talking about the days where all well mannered young ladies attending any job interview arrived punctually wearing her hat and her gloves. On entering the interview room she stood until invited to sit down. When sitting she kept her knees together and not crossed, keeping her gloves on throughout the meeting! “Why?” I hear you ask. Taking off ones gloves was considered forward and gave the impression that you were there to stay! Gosh I am so glad that things have moved on since then.

Leaving that tangent, I come back to my topic of shoes. I am not quite in the ‘Imelda Marcos’ category but I do confess to several pairs of shoes. I like to keep them clean and place shoe-trees in them as soon as I take them off. This helps keep them in shape and good condition. When they have cooled off I store them in their boxes lined with tissue. I have shoes that were purchased eight or nine years ago and still they look like new. They have spent more time on my feet than in the boxes.

Yesterday I ventured out to look for a new pair of shoes to go with the outfit that Elly helped me choose for her wedding. I headed for Ballymena and McKillen’s a well known Footwear Emporium in these parts. I walked slowly past the goods on display and realised once more that age was catching up on me. On past visits I have found difficulty in choosing only one pair of shoes. This time I was saddened that nothing appealed to me – I came away empty handed. I did find another shop who had a pair in the colour I wanted but alas not in my size. They offered to call their other branches this morning to see if they had my size. A phone call in the last hour confirmed my hunch that I was out of Luck. I am back to square one.

Now in desperation I have searched the net and think I have found the very thing. I wonder if I posted them to Granny would she wear them for a day or two to break them in for me.

So what do you think lads, would these heels do something for you?