FOOT ''PRINT'' FOR POSTERITY!

The Blog Dashboard informs me that a total of 82 (intermittent) posts have been published - since May 2008. (This will be 83.....).

And while I know that this is small stuff, compared to you true blogging veterans out there with your 100's - and even 1000's - of postings and millions of words (!) *applause and respect*... it is still a surprise to me to realise the extent of the Geri chuntering and mumbling, since those first tentative steps to set up AU and share a bit of the Geri Attric 'AT' (anti-technological) experience.

Of course not every posting has been about a fight with 'new technology' (... !). But the general theme of confusion with the challenges of everyday life, have been and will in all probability continue to be the connecting thread of AU, for as long as it lasts....

I would like to achieve the milestone of 100 postings. However, a member of my family recently asked me to 'print off' AU and make a 'family heirloom' (?) of it, for the amusement of future family generations...... And so, full of good intention, that is what I have been doing these past couple of days. Printing, printing and more printing and running out of ink and A4 paper and having to nip to the shops for more of both....

Was rather clever though (!) Had the ink cartridge refilled at one of those ink-filling places and saved myself quite a bit of cash. The only real fly in the ointment, was that the printer did not seem to recognise the refilled cartridge (?) and wouldn't stay turned 'on'.

A bit of thumping and repeated readjustment of ink cartridge and paper finally got it working though - and the whole blog is now filed neatly away for posterity in a very large plastic folder !!

Only 82 postings, including all comments..... but still quite an impressive manuscript! They say we all have at least one book inside of us. Perhaps this one is mine(?).

I am content. Hope the 'future family generations' enjoy it!!

And now onwards... *drum roll*... to Post number 84 !!!> > > > > >..........????????

POLITICS FULLY EXPLAINED !!!!!

An email received from family in the UK. (Making sure I'm kept up-to-date with British news)!

A little boy goes to his dad and asks, 'What is Politics?'

Dad says, 'Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I am the head of the family, so call me The Prime Minister. Your mother is the administrator of the money, so we call her the Government. We are here to take care of your needs, so we will call you the People. The nanny, we will consider her the Working Class. And your baby brother, we will call him the Future. Now think about that and see if it makes sense.'

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his nappy. So the little boy goes to his parent's room and finds his mother asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny's room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny.. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy say's to his father, 'Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now. '

The father says, 'Good, son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.'

The little boy replies, 'The Prime Minister is screwing the Working Class while the Government is sound asleep. The People are being ignored and the Future is in deep shit.'

TOUCHDOWN!

Hooray - worry warting over!!

Grandkids arrived safely back from France yesterday - and daughter's Cairo flight landed safely on Dutch soil this morning.

Eat your firey heart out Eyjafjollajukull!

Although I did read on online news this morning that besides still wafting over parts of Britain and Ireland, there is a new volcanic ash threat to Atlantic flights: i.e., UK-US. So good luck to all those travellers.

It seems this angry Icelandic giant could carry on spewing its guts - without respite - for a couple of years yet.

Meanwhile, youngest daughter has invited me to a small family reunion this afternoon.
Wonder what she's brought me....? Just kidding!

Volcano latest.

ARE YOU SEEING WHAT ISN'T THERE?

There is a distinct difference between accepting that you are glimpsing the ghost of a little black cat darting about your house - and of thinking that you are 'imagining things', every time said cat cavorts playfully at the periphery of your vision!

I have no doubt, that the ghost of a little black cat has been living with me for a number of years now; and that she occasionally disappears for weeks at a time, to visit other members of my family in their own houses. (Sort of goes off on her 'holidays'!).

All this came to light of course when I casually, and half jokingly mentioned that I was being 'haunted' by this animal and surprised family members also admitted that they too sometimes 'saw' a little black cat, flitting silently around their houses.

We did have a real, live black cat once. In fact we had five family cats, during the years my children were growing up. All of whom came to us either as young strays, or were born in the house, or from another litter - and all lived to a ripe old age (17, 18, 19 and 20). All except the little black one that is. She was the first cat we ever had - a young stray (found by yours truly) starving and sick in the snow - and who when recovered, became mother to four kittens; two of whom found homes elsewhere and two we kept, because they got too big waiting for homes - and we'd become too soppy about them to want to part with them anyway...

Our little black mama cat was about 14 when she became very ill and had to be 'put to sleep'.

I sobbed all the way back from the vet's on the bus, with her little lifeless body wrapped in a blanket on my knee..... and buried her in the garden - and my heart ached for months. Nay, years!

What the heck, I hear you say. It's just a cat...

Yes, they were all 'just cats'; and they all got ill in the end, with quite serious old-age illnesses (brain tumour; hyperthyroidism/heart problems; kidney failure) and all had to be 'put to sleep' and buried in the garden. Except for the fifth one - a little grey and white cat. She moved with me to my present abode - where there is no garden - and I had to have her cremated and her ashes 'scattered at sea' in The Hague.
Actually, I was a bit bothered by that afterwards, because cats don't like water and it didn't 'feel right'. But there was no other choice (council rules and regulations) so it wouldn't therefore have surprised me, if she hadn't turned up on a few celestial visits - to reproach me for her soggy end...! But no. It's not her.

It's definitely the little black cat.

That's her in the photograph (taken when she was alive)!

On the other hand. For those of you who prefer a more rational explanation for my feline phantom, I have googled up this site:

http://www.amd.org/living-with-amd/33-charles-bonnet-syndrome.html

I came across the phenomenon of 'animal hallucination' during a psychology course.

It's not the worst hallucination in the world! Rather comforting actually. And I don't have problems with my eyes, apart from needing glasses for reading, so am still convinced that in mine and my family's' case, this is not some kind of brain/eye syndrome - but a true haunting! And just so you know, our hearts and minds will remain open to our little black cat ghostie, for as long as she needs us. And that's just purrrrrrfect!!!

EYJAFJOLLAJUKULL...!

I suppose this isn't so much a new Post, as a bit of 'worry warting'.....

1). Youngest daughter flying off (volcanic ash permitting) to warmer climes at the end of next week, for a well earned 7 day break of culture, rest and relaxation - without the kids... First time ever - and mixed feelings... (Hers, not mine. She deserves this).

2). Grandkids motoring off to a holiday park in France with their dad and other grandparents for that same week...

3). Fast forward: Dad and kids return; Mum/daughter is about to fly home - and then that second and much larger 'beast of Eyjafjollajukullamaflip' (next to the one that's spewing up now) blows its gasket (!) and strands daughter in the Middle-East for the unforeseeable future!!

4). Dad goes back to work and other grandparents back home to the other end of Holland - and Grandma Geri packs a bag and nips up 'post haste' to daughter's house, to care for the grandkids.....

5). Not that I mind that, at all. Already help out now two days and one night a week. A few more days will be all the more fun - as long as daughter is safe and the tour company look after her - and bus(?) train(?) or sail(?) her home again, without it costing the earth... and the kids don't put the telly on during the day - 'cus I always fall asleep in front of it!! (And if those two little 'monsters' suss that one out.... oh boy)!

O.M.G.! What am I saying? This isn't like me at all! The old Geri can always seem to find the 'sense of ridiculous' in most of life's situations - so what's with all this panicky stuff....?

Aeroplanes; volcanic ash; looking after two very young kids properly - for lord knows how long? Cleaning, cooking, (their dad can do the shopping) bringing and fetching to school and nursery; not forgetting to fetch their pet cats back from the cat kennels; remembering to take my pills...

You know what... I think it's time for a big mug of morning coffee and a walk in the park - and a fresh psychological reboot to this weirdly foggy day!

NIT-PICKIN A CHICKEN!

Just recently I had to face my eldest daughter’s indignation.

Daughter: (confrontational). Mam! Do you remember when I was a little girl and you read me the story of Chicken Licken?

Me: Er..yes..

Daughter: Well, you lied to me!

Me: (warily). I did…?

Daughter: Yes! Remember how an acorn falls on Chicken Licken’s head and he thinks the sky is falling in and so he sets off to tell the King? And on the way he meets Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Turkey Lurky and Foxy Loxy, who all want to go with him?

Me: (bewildered). Yes…

Daughter: Well Foxy Loxy apparently said that he was sure his wife would want to tag along too, so he invited them all back to his den to meet her – but once there, he gobbled them all up!

Me: (nervously). Yes, well I’m sure he did. Yes, he did.

Daughter: (indignantly). Well you told me that Foxy Loxy invited them all back to meet his wife and they all sat down and had jam sandwiches!!!

Me: (spluttering) Ahem. Yes, well, you were so young. What were you? Three? Four? You were all excited and enjoying the story so much, I couldn’t bare to tell you the cold, evil truth and wipe that happy smile off your little face. So yes. I lied!

Daughter: (tongue in cheek) Well, I can understand that - but you should have told me later. You shouldn’t lie to kids. I went through childhood defending your version!

Me: (contrite). Okay. I’m sorry. I forgot. But look at it this way. You slept serenely afterwards. No nightmares of being eaten by foxes. No years of therapy needed.

Daughter: There is that, of course. Now… about Red Riding Hood and the Wolf………?

Me: (gulp..).

Moral of this true conversation: (Yes, surreal as it seems, it really did take place!). Don’t ever tell fibs to your kids - even with their welfare in mind - because they will always come back to roost! Even more than 40 years later. LOL!

HO! HO! HO! NOW ALREADY?

Its that day of the year again in The Netherlands. Santa Claus is coming – or as the Dutch call him; 'Sintaklaas'.

Yes, that’s right, in Holland, Hollanda, Pays Bas, The Neths., little and grown up kids everywhere, are paid a visit by St. Nikolaas the 'good holy man', sometime during the evening of December 5th. – which also happens to be ‘the Sints’ birthday.

Bishop Nicholas of Myra, Turkey, as he originally was - except that little Dutch children are told that he now lives in Spain - travels to Holland every year towards the end of November in his steamboat; accompanied by his piebald horse 'Amerigo' and a bevy of 'Zwarte Pieten' or Moorish helpers. (Except, I have had this nagging suspicion - ever since seeing black make up on the Chief Piet's ruff (aha!) - that they are not real Moores, but rather a large group of Dutch chappies, with their faces painted black and dressed in brightly coloured silk knickerbockers and jackets, with black hose and a jaunty feather in their hats). But whoever they are, these Pieten will then dance through the streets of Holland and into the shops, throwing handfuls of sweets and pepernoten - pepper nuts - at throngs of delighted, excited children.

In the lead up to Dec. 5th. - the kids may periodically place one of their shoes on the window ledge of their bedrooms, or by the fireplace if they have one, complete with a carrot for Amerigo - and one of the Pieten will ..er.. break into the house, take the carrot and leave a small token gift in the shoe.

But December the 5th. is the really Big Day (!) - and I have been invited to share in this one, at my youngest daughter’s house this evening, where we will wait for that loud knocking on the windows and ringing on the doorbell, that will announce that Sint and his Pieten have galloped by and left a huge box of presents outside the front door..!!
Except that Grandma will not be in the room, because she will have left just a minute before to ‘spend a penny’ (darn this old bladder!) and after carrying what will seem like a whole toyshop, on tiptoe, out of the shed and placing it by the front door and banging on the windows and ringing the bell, will have just made it back into the downstairs toilet - a split second before…

‘Presents! Presents!’ The kiddies will burst from the sitting room into the hall, eyes and mouths wide and almost wetting their own pants with excitement…!
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Mama will chant, opening the front door to a ton of brightly wrapped packages.
‘Yaaay!’ Grandma will manage, feebly, hobbling after them and wincing at pulled muscles.
‘You forgot to throw the pepper nuts around,’ Mama will hiss.
‘Oh h*ll’, I'll mutter, reaching into the hall cupboard and belatedly and surreptitiously chucking handfuls of the things, into the box of toys and all over the front door step.

And when the gifts are gathered in, we’ll sit by a roaring log fire with a glass of something deep red and delicious or brown and fizzy and devour plates of ‘lekker’s: i.e., tasty nibbles on sticks and chocolates and crisps etc.. and dole out the presents and count our blessings and try and build up some energy for December the 25th…and Christmas Eve, when the 'Kerstman' or rather, Father Christmas/Santa Claus (?) will be coming to Holland from Lapland (?)with his little elf helpers and dropping down the chimney and leaving a bunch of presents under the tree.. and oh yes, this fat, jolly, ho-ho-ho-ing (Coca-cola) fellow is a completely different chap to Bishop St. Nicholas of December 5th…. (er, isn't he....?)

Confused? You me both and every kid and adult in the Neths.! But who cares? Better to just go with the flow…. it’s expensive … but after all, isn't that what the next 11 months are for? To save up...?
Ho-Ho-Ho! Merry December 5th.!!!!

LEAVING THE PAST BEHIND

Whilst away in the U.K. recently, helping empty and clean out the old family 'ghost' house, I came across this remarkable example of ancient toy technology - my old 24 inch, plaster walking doll! Very modern for her time; her legs jerking stiffly into place with just the faintest of clicks, as I moved her forwards. Left, right.. left, right... and away we would go. Jerky dolly and little 5 - 6 year old girl, her long plaits swinging...

I don't remember how many wigs she had - I practiced my hairdressing skills on her with fierce enthusiasm - or how many sets of open/close eyes and new pairs of pink, plastic strap over shoes; all bought from the 'Doll's Hospital' in town.... a grand title for a tiny, poky, rather scary (with hundreds of staring eyes and other dolly spare parts hanging on the walls!) little shop in a side street.

Sadly, although I don't really know why I say that - she was after all just a doll, she was in pieces when I found her. Wrapped in a plastic bag on top of a very dusty wardrobe, chipped nose and fingers, devoid of hair and sight, her legs and arms arranged loosely around her - the elastics inside having corroded long ago......

She was never my favourite doll - and to be truthful, I have even forgotten what I called her.

Nameless and broken. I threw her in the bin. She was just a doll..... a piece of childhood long gone and for many reasons, best forgotten...

Back to the present and onwards to the future and the living! Give love to the living.

A new era.

New inward peace.

PASSING ON

Out of circulation for a while, due to a bereavement in the family.

A lot of travelling back and forth between The Neths. and UK..

Best wishes to all,

Geri.

ZWIJNPEST!

Don't know whether to blame this ridiculous looking pink creature I found lurking around - whilst clearing up the grandkids' toy box last Wednesday - but with mounting trepidation the list of today, includes:

Chills; coughing; very sore throat; horrible pain in back of neck; thumping head; aching all over, sore skin and runny nose.

Could of course be just a bad cold, but considering what happened last winter - when I felt ill but ignored it and carried on till I broke(!) - am now going to dive into bed and dose myself into a long healing doze. Read about that once in a James Herriot book (he was a Yorkshire vet'), how he put a 'sick sheep into a deep sleep' - Lor'.. don't say that fast! You'll lose your dentures - and when it woke up after 3 days it was cured! Brilliant stuff.

So ta-ta for now and take extra care when clearing out boxes and cupboards. Never know what might be lurking there.. My mother found a scorpion once, but that was when she was billeted in India during W.W.II..... (another time, another tale).

love and stuff,

Geri xx

INVIGORATED!

Well it’s three months later now and winter more or less gone, although you never can be sure, as it’s wet and chilly again today in my part of the Neths. - but never mind that, take a peek at the photo …

Those pesky seagulls even followed me to Menorca ! Of course, they could have already been there…(radical thought). This one was particularly persistent in its attempts to dive-bomb my grandson’s lunch.

That’s right folks, after a dreadful cold winter and an eight month list of depleting family maladies ranging from pneumonia, broken bones, ear operations, stomach flu, ordinary flu, continuous coughs, colds and very low spirits all round etc., etc., we (youngest daughter, two small grandsons and yours truly) took ourselves off to Menorca on Dutch Mother’s Day, 10th May, for ten sun filled, recuperating days. Well, eight actually, it rained for two (but even that was warm).

Back home now though, healthy, tanned and relaxed - and hopefully with re-built immune systems!

Bring it on!!!!!

CRANKY GRANNY

Phew..! That was scary – just met myself coming back on the train! Must have been me. I have been dashing and sleep walking hither and thither for the last few weeks (since returning from my Scottish holiday) lending a helping hand in a family (sickness) crisis. Have been returning home every 5 days or so, to check my mail and get a bit of sleep..zz.. before rushing off again.

As I mentioned to Steph of ‘the biopsy report’, who recently enquired as to ‘wherefore art I was’ (!) my main task has involved the night-shifts, caring for two little grandsons...YAWN.. and it seems that as soon as I have fed and changed the baby, rubbed Vick on his chest, sprayed salt solution up his tiny nostrils and settled the little chap down (for the umpteenth time between midnight and dawn) the 3 year old gets up needing a drink of water, a pee, a cuddle and a bit of a chat..(SCREAM!). Ah, I don't mean that. I could eat them up with a spoon really.

Seriously though, I have plumbed depths of energy and patience unplumbed for almost 40 years (since my youngest was a babe) and have battled the complexity of applying expensive, modern day elasticated paper nappies, to a tiny wriggling bottom - and having the fastening tags keep tearing off (!) Whatever was wrong with good old Terry towelling nappies(?)…. apart from having to dunk them in a bucket of cold water first, to rinse off that gooey, smelly, yellowy stuff and then having to boil, dry and air them…. Hmm. On second thoughts, I’ll master those tags!

And what about those modern day boxes of baby milk, designed to reduce Houdini to tears of frustration?! Apparently all you need to have, to open the lid, is strength, patience and double jointed index fingers and thumbs, pressing hard in sync’ at the back and front of the lid… and voila! Or in my case ‘#!!*?! It wont open’ (scream!) and reach for a knife….

But worst of all (and the stuff of which my granny nightmares are made) are those finger fumbling, technological baby appliances; such as child car seats; maxi-cosies; adjustable high-chairs; and folding pushchairs and prams - and all of them bristling with immovable levers, knobs and complicated strap fasteners, requiring the same kind of synchronized pressing, as the milk container. Only this time it is the sides of the clasp you have to press to release the fastening straps… grr.. And if you press one side out of sync’ with the other, the whole appliance gets stuck and won’t open (!) and the poor screaming baby is doomed to spend the rest of his/her days trapped in some unrelenting, brightly painted, musical, nursery rhyme singing appliance…sigh. Whatever happened to plain old buckles? How did (we) older generations manage without all this stuff?

Oh Lor’, as I said to Steph on ‘Highland Fling’ comments, I sound a right 'Moaning Minnie' now, don’t I, and I really don’t mean to be - but really, these last few (testing) weeks have set me thinking and I do wonder about the sanity of women in their sixties going off to that Italian fertility specialist for IVF...!!

Still, on the brighter side, all this baby-sitting activity has melted 5 kilos off my middle and I can actually zip and button my jeans again, without having to lay flat on the bed or floor, yippee!

Will be returning to my little charges tomorrow - but OOOOHHHH how blissfully I shall SLEEP in my own bed tonight!

HOUSE GHOST

Practically everyone in our family seems to have a ‘house ghost’ of the common-or-garden variety: i.e., opening doors and blowing draughts down your neck - just when you’ve got comfy in front of the telly; hiding your specs, shoes, door keys; souring the milk and causing the tap to drip in the middle of the night…etc. But all of this is minor stuff compared to the antics of my auntie’s house spook...

Eons ago, whilst still a teenager, I was visiting my aunt when she suddenly exclaimed that her cup of tea had disappeared. Thinking that she might have walked into the kitchen with it, we searched there and even checked the cupboards to make sure she hadn’t absentmindedly finished the tea and rinsed the cup and saucer and put them away... but no luck.

‘Perhaps you took your cuppa up the garden with you when we went to admire the runner beans’, I ventured.
And so we searched the whole garden and even looked in the dustbin, thinking that she might have drank the tea and (again) absentmindedly thrown the empty cup and saucer away - but all to no avail. Cup, contents and saucer were gone - apparently vanished into a parallel universe(!)

A few years later, after I had moved to The Netherlands, a Dutch relative by marriage, went to England on business for a few days and stayed with my aunt, in her big old spooky house. But on returning home, he told me he would never stay there again!

Me: Oh, why on earth not?

Him: Well…on the first night, I was almost asleep when I heard the coins I’d put on the dressing table being moved. Not toppling over, but being methodically moved- you know - one by one… I thought it might be a mouse…

Me: Haha! A mathematical mouse? Ahem. Sorry, what did you do?

Him: I put the light on - but there was nothing there. Then on the second night, I woke up suddenly to hear the bedroom door handle rattling, so I leaped out of bed and rushed over and grabbed the handle and pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge. It felt as if someone was holding it, so I gave it a big yank and there was suddenly no resistance and I rushed out onto the landing – but there was no one there!

Me: A suction draught perhaps? From open windows..?

Him: There weren’t any windows open… But then on the third night, I was laying in bed listening to your auntie snoring when I heard the stairs creaking, one by one, from top to bottom… (shiver).

Me: Well perhaps Auntie was sleep walking?

Him: No. The snores were coming from her room. I checked. But when I was back in bed the creaking started again and there was a rustling noise like someone going through the coat pockets in the hallway downstairs. So I rushed downstairs to look and even called out – but once again, there was no one and nothing there....

Me: More mice…. perhaps? (Said without conviction).

Him: (Pale faced by now). No. Then on the fourth and last night, after I’d put the light out in my room, I saw a shadowy figure standing by the window (!) but when I put the light on again, it wasn’t there. Might have been the fall of the curtain…but I…er… (sheepishly) left the light on all night.....

Me: (Even paler). Oo-er….Did you tell my aunt all this?

Him: Yes, just before I left.

Me: And….?

Him: Well she didn’t laugh at me or anything, in fact she was seriously interested, staring intently at my face all the time - although by the time I had finished I was sure she was mocking me!

Me: Why?

Him: Well, after telling her all that - and feeling like a right fool, all she said was:
'Tell me my dear - was that shadowy figure by any chance carrying a cup of tea?’

TRIPLE TAKE!

It has been a while since I have seen identical twins - but like the bus that never comes and then three turn up at once, last week I saw three sets of monozygotic children in two days! What are the odds? At first I thought there must be a convention in town, but not so. The four little girls and two toddler boys, were shopping with their families and playing in the park and obviously at home in the area.

What fascinated me the most though, was not so much the succession of three sets of identical twin facial features – unexpected and lovely as they all were - but the fact that in this modern day and age, with its emphasis on individuality and freedom of expression, none of the children were identically dressed. Not even colour co-ordinated!

How different western society is now from the early nineteen-twenties, when my grandmother always dressed my mother and aunt - who are twins - and another aunt, just twelve months older, in identical outfits. From their underwear right up to their bonnets, coats and little white gloves, they were always dressed exactly the same - and woe betide them if they ever mismatched themselves!

Everywhere they went they were stopped and poked and exclaimed over and pinched on the cheeks - and hated it! But never more so than when all three were sitting in their identical Sunday outfits on a park bench one day, and a little lad of about seven, stopped transfixed before them.
‘Mam! Mam! Ecstatic and wild eyed with excitement he leaped up and down, choking on his aniseed ball.
‘Mam! Maaam! Hurry! C’mon, quick! Loook, look what I’ve found! Giblets!’*

(* For the non culinary - the gizzard and visceral organs of a fowl - bleugh!)