Brrrrrrrrmmmmm!

Guess who?

 Yup,that's right, it's me! Or it least it was me last weekend at the TI Rally School in Yorkshire. 

The day was a gift, last years Christmas present actually, from my husband, and I can honestly say it has to go down as one of the best presents I've ever received. It was absolutely fantastic. I doubt very much if he will ever be able to cash in the brownie points earned on this little jaunt.

So why the rally driving experience?  I'm not by any means a petrol head (as far as I'm concerned torque is a type of neck jewellery). Nor am I an avid rally fan ( if not for the power of google I wouldn't even know who Sebastien Loeb is ) but having caught a bit of the world championships on TV, one of those channel flicking moments, I remember saying it looked like fun and I'd love to give it a go. 

Which just goes to prove he does listen to me occasionally ;o)  

Spot the lone female amongst all the raging testosterone!

Post Wedding Holiday Holiday

Eek! Where did the last three weeks get to? We arrived back from our holiday, which included the wedding, on the 19th and I had every intention of taking the time the following week to let you know how the ' killer heels ' had performed. But it would seem I needed a holiday to recover from our holiday ( does this happen to anyone else? ) and it's taken me longer than expected to get back in to the swing of things. Still, better late than never eh? 

The wedding was wonderful, a truly joyous event. The bride was radiant, the groom jubilant ( or was it the other way around?), and I swear it was almost possible to eat the accumulated joie de vivre with a spoon. I think I may just have enjoyed it a smidgen more than my own.

Living so far from home it must have been hard for my sister-in-law, planning the event without the usual input and support from family. Then again she's a bit of an organisational genius so it was no surprise the day went so well. However I'd love to know just who she spoke to in order to arrange the appearance of this particular phenomenon after the ceremony. Clever girl!

I was asked for a little help a few months before the big day. She was in need of two ring bearer pillows and hadn't seen any she liked. Initially the design was going to be a bit fun and quirky, much like her, but then I was sent a sneak preview of the dress and decided to go for something a bit more elegant. You can see why!

It was doubtful that my limited beading skills could match such stunning embellishment but I thought I could simplify it slightly. I focused on the shoulder detail of overlapping leaves and the simplicity of the front of the dress.  

A brief forage in the garden provided me with birch leaf templates to work from. Yes, yes, I know, I could have found any number of templates online but I was feeling a little bit sentimental. My Sister-in-law used to live in our house, many of the birch trees in the garden grew up with her, and I wanted a little bit of home to be with her on her day. Okay, so it's a tad lame, what can I say? Everyone gets to be as gooey as a toasted marshmallow sometimes.
Anyway, here's what I came up with and fortunately it did the trick. 

And as for those shoes of mine?  Well, I didn't fall over, not once, not even when clambering up a gangplank ( long story that doesn't involve handsome pirates so not really worth the telling) which I feel is always a good thing to be able to say of any days events ( the not falling over bit, not the lack of handsome pirates).

Now you may have guessed that I'm not keen on posting recognisable photographs on the web thingy but since I've been asked so nicely for a view of the dress here it is. 

So the fabulous footwear behaved itself and I managed 8hrs before I finally succumbed to the fanciful flatties I'd taken with me just in case.

I shouldn't have worried though, not when there were three generations of handsome men on hand to lend a supporting arm if required. Who needs pirates :o)

Dinner Shoes

Well, that's what I call them anyway. Perhaps you know the ones I mean? Fabulous shoes that make you look stylish. Sensational shoes that make you feel sexy. Awesome shoes that unfortunately will only take you from the car to the restaurant before the balls of your feet start to burn. Shoes that should have no place in the wardrobe of a woman of my age and supposed wisdom. Ha!


To be fair I've avoided the lure of such footwear for the last four years. A combination of uneven paving slabs, a ticking clock and a pair of red patent peep toe 4 inch wedges left me with a flake fracture, torn ligaments and a new respect for 'killer heels'. My shoe cupboard has become a heel free zone.


There are times however when only a pair of Stupendous shoes will do, when the fear of possible injury must be overcome for the sake of stately extra inches and well defined calves. My sister-in-law is getting married in a couple of weeks and I felt it was time to loosen my self imposed stiletto embargo. These were the result.

I didn't actually mean to get a pair that were quite so high. I blame the need to colour match them to my dress. These were the only pair I could find that were exactly the right shades ( yes, my dress is pink and orange, part of the whole getting used to colour I mentioned way back here, but it is tempered with some ivory and beige, can't have me getting too carried away now can I)


Having worn flatties for the last few years I look upon my new shoes as something of a challenge. I thought it would be best to wear them a few times before the wedding, breaking them in so to speak as well as acclimatising myself to the thinner air at altitude. So for the last few weeks I've been prancing around in them while doing my chores, much to the hilarity of the men of the house. 


The highlight for my charming family came when I went to do the ironing. I stood for a good 5 minutes trying to work out why the board was jamming at a lower level than normal. Try as I might I couldn't get the damn thing to rise high enough. It was bad enough when my own stupidity dawned on me, that moment when I realised the board wasn't shorter, I was taller. But my dopiness had been witnessed, and judging by the incredulous looks and voluble mirth I doubt very much if I'll ever be allowed to forget it. 


I've given up practising and have decided that if I get my 6 foot plus boys to walk at either side of me I can hook my arms through theirs and they can hoist me up half an inch. It's a bit early in the year for 'walking in the air' but needs must. Besides, having done it for them so often when they were younger I think its payback time.


One last thing before I go. Since it took soooooo long finding the shoes I decided it would be easier to make a bag myself. As luck would have it I had some pink silk in my stash and wonder of wonders it was a match. As my sewing skills still aren't quite back to normal I cheated slightly and bought a clutch case and frame. My slightly wobbly hand was actually a boon when it came to spreading the glue :o) I think it turned out rather well if I do say so myself. 

  

Nomenclature.

Housewife! Grrr. I hate the term. 


Somebody somewhere has to come up with a better name for it. I mean for goodness sake I'm not married to the damn thing am I? If I was you can rest assured it would have sued for divorce years ago on the basis of irreconcilable differences and neglect. 


Homemaker isn't much better in my book. I am not the only person responsible for making our house a home. It kinda denigrates the input of the rest of the household don't you think? Not only that but it makes it sound as if I should be following some universal recipe or pattern, which I've yet to receive by the way.


As for Stay at Home Mum! Okay, so I'm a mum and I don't actually have a paid job that requires a 9-5 Monday to Friday routine, but I sure as heck don't stay at home every day either. There are numerous volunteer positions out there that wouldn't be filled if we mum's did decide to confine our duties to our own little enclave. 

With that small rant over I have to admit that regardless of which label is eventually decided upon it's not going to change the fact that I'm not a very good one. One of the reasons is my lack of organisation in some areas and an over abundance of it in others. In other words I get caught up in the teeniest tiniest of details, often fixating on them, and subsequently ignore the bigger picture.


For instance, while all of my flatware may be polished and facing the same way in the cutlery drawer, there could very well be a couple of casserole dishes soaking in the sink. For every pair of socks patiently matched and flyped ( and believe me with 3 males in the house there are more than a few ) there is likely to be a shirt languishing in the ironing basket. While the mirrors in the house may be sparkling and smudge free its debatable whether the sun would be able to shine through the grime on the windows to reflect in them.


But my particular domestic drawback is never more obvious than when I go grocery shopping. The usual weekly provisions are deposited in the basket with little thought, so ingrained that if I were a spy I would probably recite bread, milk and cheese instead of name, rank and serial number. It's when I have to replenish an occasional consumable, the ingredients that are only used once in a while, the problem presents itself.

You see I don't write things down, it would be a waste of time since I've never quite got the hang of taking a list with me. Instead I try to remember the required items. And shockingly I do remember them - quite often for the next five shopping trips! Once its in my head its there to stay , no matter how many times I buy it. So I find myself with cupboards filled with a glut of bottled lemon juice, mango chutney, Worcestershire sauce, desiccated coconut, mushroom ketchup ....... the list goes on. My latest fixation was mayonnaise. I now have 6 large jars of it at my disposal. 


In an attempt to rectify the situation, and since I have still to return to my workroom, my creativity has moved to the kitchen and I'm currently experimenting with ways and means of incorporating mayonnaise into our meals. So far the results have been edible, always a boon I feel, and while many efforts will never see a saucepan again two new family favourites have emerged. One uses the mayonnaise almost as a carbonara sauce substitute. I figured it almost had the same ingredients so why not give it a go with some bacon and tagliatelle. The second one is this....

...I can assure you it tastes much better than it looks, please put it down to poor photography. A combination of beef strips, mushrooms, onions, mayonnaise, french mustard, horseradish, stock and mushroom ketchup ( see what I did there, I managed to use two of my excesses! ) We haven't given it a name yet, I just get asked for that beefy mayonnaise thing, but I have taken the time to write down ingredients and amounts so I'm not the only person in the household who knows how to make it.


So does that make me a chef? A cook? No, it just makes me a slightly obsessive compulsive 'housewife' who needs to clear out her cupboards and learn to make lists. 

An awkward silence

Actually that should be "awkward silences" since they seem to me to occur with frightening regularity. Quite surprising really for someone who is known amongst close friends for my ability to talk for Britain.  


There I'll be at some do or another exchanging polite chit chat, keeping things going, passing the discussion back and forth like a ball in some PE warm up exercise. My attention will begin to wander, diverted perhaps by something on the periphery, and before you know it the conversational ball has been dropped. Silence ensues. 

I now have two options. I can scurry after the ball, not quite sure which direction it was headed in,  and try to get it back in play. Or I can bow out of the game and move on ( it's not been the first time a glass of wine has been perfunctorily quaffed to allow an excuse for escape). The option taken depends on the company I'm in, how brave I'm feeling, and quite possibly the number of wine glasses I've emptied already. 


But what happens when the uncomfortable interlude is not just a lull in conversation due to a lack of concentration. What happens when its due to an unreturned phone call or a letter that deserves a reply? I'm ashamed to say I have created more than my fair share of those particular silences. A silence that grows more awkward as time ticks by, a silence that becomes increasingly difficult to break with each day that passes. I consider myself very lucky to have friends and family that are very accepting of this failing of mine and are willing to forgive my lapses in communication.


I do eventually pick up the phone or put pen to paper. So getting back to blogging shouldn't be so different....should it? 

Onwards.....

I've been a bit lax with my blogging and blog reading these last few months. I do hope none of you lovely bloggers out there that I usually comment on have taken offence at my silence, it's nothing personal I assure you. It's just that I'm afraid life has intruded somewhat and I've found it difficult to concentrate. Some things take a bit of time to get your head around and don't leave room for much else.


However the other day I decided to go for a walk in the woods. I hadn't taken that particular path since Deefer, our beloved dog, left us 18 months ago. It was a bright Spring morning, one to be taken advantage of since they have been in short supply here since the season began.

The ground was slightly moist underfoot and each step I took released the pungent odour of nurturing decay. I caught myself inhaling deeply and realised I had missed the smell. With every breath I could feel my heart lighten and a smile tug at my lips. The sun shone through acid green leaves, the undergrowth rustled with wildlife and lambs were making a rammy in the field beside me. And the turmoil in my head became calm.


No, I didn't have a miraculous revelation or some blinding flash of insight. I simply felt good. I passed a couple who were sharing a small picnic on a fallen log. We exchanged pleasantries, commented briefly on the weather, as you do, then I moved on. I smiled at them as I left, and I think it was my first genuine smile in almost three months.


I continued round Gallow Hill with a renewed spring in my step. Well I did until I stumbled, nearly fell, righted myself then looked around self consciously to make sure no one had witnessed my inelegant flailing of arms ( think 'windmill'). The journey was concluded at a more sedate pace. A spring in your step is all very good but only if it doesn't lead to a bruised derriere!


I arrived home with my head in a much better place than when I had left, much to the delight of the man of the house (he hates seeing me distressed, dislikes it even more when he can't fix things for me).  

I've believed for some time that life doesn't throw anything at you that you are not equipped to deal with, I'd just forgotten that for a while. Time, I think, to get on with it :o)

  

April showers

I like to think I have my inner drama queen under control. Yes, occasionally I can feel her struggle against her restraints, like when I drop a gloopey spoon on my newly washed kitchen floor or discover I've been sewing for the last few minutes without thread in the bobbin, but generally she stays put and fumes quietly to herself.


These last few weeks however have seriously tested that control. 


It started with a hospital appointment. I'm not going to bore you with all the details but that pinched nerve I mentioned way back when, well it wasn't. It turned out to be the result of inflammation which has caused another few issues ( hence my workroom being a no sew area!)
Anyway I had to go for some tests to see what's causing it. The procedure itself wasn't a problem but the poking and prodding required before hand by the registrar and the ubiquitous trainee left my lower back feeling as if a troupe of Leprechauns had just performed Riverdance on it, and stayed for four encores.


She'd raised her head having sensed the possibility of a rant. 


After getting the boys off to school the following morning I decided the safest and most comfortable place for me would be back in bed. I hadn't taken No 1 sons desire to tussle with a hedge in to account, or his inability to keep a cycle helmet on his head past our garden gate. The hedge won, his head lost.

He takes his helmet with him but it spends more time strapped to his bag than on his head

One mild concussion later and there I was, trying to find a comfortable spot on the couch beside him in order to monitor his condition as per the GP's instructions, all the time fluctuating between the desire to hold him, comfort him and berate him for not wearing his helmet. The conflict of motherhood! How often does the hand that soothes the fevered brow itch to administer a clip round the ear?


She'd now thrown her hands in the air, gesturing wildly.


A few days after that the plumber called to let me know our new water heater had arrived and could be installed the following week. We needed to move our existing one to allow for remodelling the bathroom and had decided to replace it with one that could be used with solar panels - it all seemed such a good idea at the time. Ah, hindsight!

Our new, all singing, all dancing Dalek of a hot water tank

A flurry of cleaning ensued.(Ridiculous really since from previous experience I know that the house will descend into chaos within minutes of any workman arriving, but it somehow makes me feel better knowing it's clean to begin with.) Halfway through this frenzy the vacuum cleaner started to make some very strange noises. The drive belt had gone! Well, I guess the hoovering would just have to wait until it was repaired. 


The first week of the holidays arrived and at 8 a.m on the dot so did Dave the plumber, much to the disgust of my two teenage sons who had been looking forward to a fortnight of 'lie ins'. They made sure everyone was aware of their displeasure.
The swap over of tanks did not go as smoothly as planned (now there's a surprise). Years of extensions and remodelling had left a labyrinth of pipes under the floor as well as in the loft that Daedalus would have been proud of. Poor Dave spent three full days trying to find out which ones were redundant before he could complete the job. 

Just some of the pipes under the floor

That wasn't the only problem. We knew that the shower in the bathroom would no longer be usable but since it was due to be replaced it wasn't an issue. What we didn't know was the two remaining showers would also be unusable as they were supplied by a different source and there would be incompatible water pressure. To get to the pipes to rectify this we had to sacrifice our en suite.

My de-tiled en suite. Oh well I wanted the tiles replaced at some point anyway.

By this point my inner drama queen was tearing theatrically at her hair.


Two days in to the four of us using the remaining shower, the one we'd had fitted last year in preparation for the destruction of the main bathroom, I discovered it was leaking. While I was searching for more old towels to mop up the water the phone rang. My vacuum cleaner couldn't be fixed without considerable outlay. Great! The carpet hadn't been hoovered for a week and was beginning to make me twitch. 
Okay, I can deal with this I thought. I decided to borrow the spare that my husband keeps in his workroom. Twenty minutes after switching it on it suddenly stopped. I'd managed to kill another one, only there was no possibility of an expensive resurrection this time.


She was beginning to slip free of her restraints.


Trying to see a silver lining I remembered an ad. for a Dyson special offer that would give 20% off a new vacuum if you sent them back an old one. The man of the house was dispatched to retrieve the belt deficient hoover. His van was blocked in by the joiners who at that moment were tearing the rest of the bathroom apart so he decided to take my car. It wasn't playing. Since I hadn't driven it for three months it would seem that in a fit of pique the battery had discharged itself. That's when we discovered the jump leads that had been in the shed were now conspicuous by their absence.


I let her out. I'm not proud of myself. The collected towels were thrown on to the floor, a few choice words were expelled and the deceased vacuum was kicked on the way past as I flounced with Bette Davies haughtiness from the room. It took a couple of damp hankies and a few glasses of red but eventually I regained control.


So today when the bathroom fitters went through an electrical cable and took out all the plug points in the kitchen I smiled serenely 


She collapsed in a swoon, the back of her hand raised to her head.