tagged - part 2: a memory

Smitonius:

This entry is actually about lack of memory, when you know something took place but can't recall how that was. And I don't quite mean those evenings involving a bit too much wine!

When I recall my early childhood what comes to mind are small snatches of sights and sounds: sitting on the stairs with my father whilst he taught me it was not a good idea to light matches; certain toys like the space hopper or television programmes like the Clangers; being convinced that a girl at the playschool was a real eskimo because she had a fur trimmed hood (I probably had seen a copy of Lucy Fitch Perkins The Eskimo Twins). Otherwise it is all overlayed with stories told by others or photographs.

That was my British childhood. When I was about 4 and half, we moved to Spain, and then I also remember very little until I reach about the age of 6 or 7. My childhood became a Spanish one: sugar mice were replaced with Mentolines (Eucalypts sweets, for smokers really but one coin bought a lot of these small sweets), Cuba Libres (cola flavoured, and, despite the cocktail inspired name, no rum - I think!) or Conguitos (chocolate covered peanuts, with a mascot as innapropriate as Robinson's Golliwog, as it displayed a colonial caricature: see this advert on youtube); cinemas became open air in the Summer, a social experience not a reverential one given the cacophony of children playing, women eating sunflower seeds and chatting, and men smoking; we ceebrated an additional feast day at Christmas, given that at that point Epiphany or the day of the Three Magi was when Spanish children received their presents (so we got an extra something!); and, during the Feria week, the chance to wear flamenco dresses - my hair was striped blonde and brunette then:
But what I do not remember is learning Spanish. My sister and I were sent to a Convent school with no Spanish language skills at all, although aparently we had been taught how to ask permission to go to the loo (which seems very sensible), but we obviously just got on with it and became bilingual. My sister and I still speak Spanish between ourselves, as if it were a secret but shared language, and often feel formal or odd speaking in English together. I dream in both languages and use them everyday with my work, and, according to my partner, my bilingualism extends to my sneezing - apparently I have a Spanish sneeze (atchis) and an English sneeze (atchoo). Is this failure to recall the process of learning Spanish indicative of it being a good experience or a bad one? Who knows, but I am very glad I had to.

As part of this meme, we are supposed to tag 5 more: but please, dear reader, feel yourself tagged if you wish. Will it be a good memory or a bad memory that you reveal?

Tagged ... Part 1 . A Memory

Sonata :

Tattie Weasle has tagged us both . The meme is to reveal a memory , be it a dark or a happy one . Smitonius did all the work on the last meme so I thought I'd do my share of this one tonight .





Like most children born in the '40s , I spent my early years encased in tickly wool , lovingly fashioned by female relatives , in this case possibly my uncle's girlfriend's mother .

There were still endless shortages and clothes for chubby , growing children were in short supply . In fact , about this time my cousin Elizabeth and I were each made a pinafore out of Harris tweed that had been someone's cousin's coat . Very tickly .

About three years after this photo was taken , my mother got hold of some lovely soft fine wool and knitted me a cardigan , even though she loathed making buttonholes . The trouble was it was beige . I hated it , even though she found little pink see-through buttons for it . "Look darling , aren't they pretty ! ". Father , nudged , joined in "Oh , yes . Very nice . Mary , where's my pipe? "

Anyway , I was dressed up in it the next day for school and sent off over the pink bridge and up the hill .

School over , I and friends leapt off back down the hill to the Botanic Gardens and the swings , the Kibble Palace ( huge greenhouse ) and the little lodge where Lillibet's Grandpa lived , along the Kelvin to throw sticks in and giggle at cuddling couples till my mother appeared and waved from the other side of the road . You could do all these things in 1950s Glasgow when you were 6 or 7 and no one worried about you , of course .

But , much to my mother's dismay , I'd lost the cardigan .... and to this day , I don't remember whether I did it on purpose .

The Grapefruit Diet

Sonata :

While not this ancient , I 'm no spring chicken . I was prescribed Statins a few weeks ago , a low dose , because , as the specialist explained , though my cholesterol levels have been borderline for a couple of years , the borders had recently been lowered . I'm diabetic , have been for decades and am over 55 . Ergo . Statins .

I wasn't very happy about it but it's true , I don't really want to keel over just yet so I started on 20 mg. a day . Reluctantly .... for the rest of my life ? And , when the pharmacist said that I couldn't drink grapefruit juice while taking it , I was sad . Never , ever again then ?

By the second week I was feeling peaky and by the beginning of week three I had agonising pain round one shoulder blade . No , not the statins apparently but a pulled muscle . But I've decided , with the doctor's consent , to stop the wretched pills anyway . I'll give a low cholesterol diet a whirl first . Hard for someone who loves cream and cheese ....but on the bright side , I can go back to squeezing my own pink grapefruit juice again .

And I have some amazing pain killers and an excercise to do . Breathe in and hold ....

though I can't help feeling that overdoing this might be , in itself , stroke inducing . So gently , perhaps .

I'm planning to combine it with the bottom wiggling warm-up one Smitonius taught me a while ago .

Should liven up waits at bus stops now that it's snowing ... again .

Is this a form of torture?

Smitonius:

On speaking last night on the phone with Sonata, she talked about the freezing temperatures and the daily wrestling with icy weather in northern Holland where she lives. Having bought a new gadget over Xmas (the Ipod touch), I have been comparing the difference in the weather between the various cities and countries our relatives live in: press on weather icon, swipe across daily temperature tables for London, Leeuwarden, Leicester and Tiverton, and it is clear that my mother is living through an ice age. So, in the face of this, should I be uploading this photo of my recent visit to Jekyll Island?

I was thinking of her though, see what I wrote on the sand!

Locals were complaining of the cold, but it was like a mild Autumn day for us northern Europeans. Plus, whilst we visited, there was a special treasure hunt for glass floats: click on 'discover island treasures' to have a look. We were not lucky, but plenty of people have been....

The Great Escape

Sonata:

I had to get away for a bit yesterday . What with snow and ice , it's been difficult to leave town for the last few weeks and I was beginning to feel antsy .

So off to Groningen on the train . Even easier now they've added a fast train to the Saturday service . Not that I'm ever unhappy on a train .... I take a book and a crossword and the other passengers can sometimes be rather entertaining too . Except the chap yesterday who whistled ..... he was that horror , a warbling whistler . More trills than a budgie .

This is a little onetrack country service though , if one had the stamina and made the right connections , one could end up , a few days later , in Vladivostock . The couple in front of me were speaking Polish , which rather increased the whole Great Escape feel to the day . Mind you , the family behind were from Cap Verde . Bits of Portugese mingled with Polish , Fresian and even a little Dutch to make , whistling apart , a comfortable white sound and the crossword began to fill up nicely .

Why do I love Groningen so much ? It's very pretty , but then so is Leeuwarden . It's got lots of cafes , but then so does Leeuwarden . I think it's the people . They're chattier and , at the same time , quite happy to leave you alone to wander about , peering into doorways , take photos .

And wonder at odd things

It's full of nice corners , too .

But the big reason has to be The Souk . One of the best North African shops ever . The snows meant that our larder was bare so I stocked up . They have everything . Turkish bread , mint , quinces , Camargue rice , dried Broad Beans to make Byesar ( Morrocan hummus ) , prunes from Agen , bulgur , Turkish figs , 3 kinds of lentils , almonds , a vast array of olives , marinaded anchovies , 6 different sorts of Ras El Hanout , stuffed peppers , 5 different sorts of Feta , about 12 different flours ....... But not meat . For that you have to go down the street to the Halal butcher .

And it was COLD . I stood by one of the canals admiring a weird mosaic of broken ice between the houseboats , wondering how well-heated they'd be . I even took a photo

but the quality leaves something to be desired .

That can happen when you're passing the time of day with a charming woman in a fur coat , green wellies and Day-Glo orange earmuffs . ..

On why it is hard to have a Scarlet 17" waist

Smitonius:

In Atlanta we visited the Margaret Mitchell House and Museum, given my long term fascination with Gone with the Wind (movie and book). We toured her tiny little flat (restored) with a group of fascinated Japanese tourists - although nothing had been hers, apart from some framed photographs, it looked suitably period. The museum also now has the oil painting of Vivien Leigh as Scarlett used in the movie:

Even if I had to use a corset (heaven forbid!), I would not have a 17" wist, and particularly not after a surfeit of Shrimps n' grits, flounder, she-crab soup, and fried green tomatoes during the holiday:
I found that I really like good quality grits - though, sometimes, they can remind one of tapioca, so wouldn't be to everyones taste! Even the desserts were heavenly: sweet and salted brownie and a red velvet cake...
I think my waistband is closer to this cutie than to Mitchell's Southern heroine (neon sign in Charleston, a place for another tasty favourite 'pulled pork' and BBQ ribs):

touch typing with bandaged finger

Smitonius:

A brief entry - longer post to follow! Returned on Friday, and, after unpacking and so on, proceded to prepare supper. A serious prawn addiction has taken hold in this household after dozens of Wild Georgia Shrimp dishes, so I was preparing prawn tagliatelle for supper. Picked up knife, held lemon down, and sliced both the fruit and my finger. So, whose the real lemon?

Received on of these beauties in the post too - thanks Tania! (This is Myrtle and Eunice's own photo BTW)

I should be able to type somewhat more quickly once finger is released from its current cocoon on Wednesday....