A Thundering Roar

It wasn't really a thundering roar. That sounded good as a title. It sounded more like a large flag flapping and snapping in a high wind.We were coming back across the sands after a long sunny afternoon at the Bluffer's Park beach when we heard what we thought was a flag making a lot of noise. Looking everywhere for the non existent flag we both saw the dust rising up from one of the Bluffs. Maybe they have names but I don't know them. This Bluff close to us had shed rather a lot of itself and slid 200 feet to rest in the trees and grass back of the beach. An avalanche for goodness sakes right here in Scarborough. I thought the Bluffs melted a bit when it rained and that is what caused their erosion but no. They go in for drama just like the rest of us.
Two days later and we were back at the beach and the path of the slide was very clear now that the dust had settled. Literately. Small trees and shrubs and a big chunk of Bluff were all gone. Wow! What next? Earthquakes?

All Aboard

We drove Anthony to Billy Bishop Airport and crossed over on the Marilyn Bell. We saw him off into security then went outside to watch the Porter planes take off. Made a nice change from watching them fly over the beach. After a while our tums stared growling so back we went on to the old Marilyn Bell for the two minute crossing to Toronto and traffic. Sitting by our side was an enormous cement truck.They are building the tunnel after all.We were parked by its last wheels. I looked out my window up at the wheel and before I could think I had hopped out and scuttled to the back of the ferry. There are signs everywhere telling you to stay in your car. Of course the First Mate or whatever he was saw me and started shouting to go back and get in the car. I stood right beside him at the back of the ferry and said no I was staying right there.No way was I sitting beside that huge wheel.He told me it was dangerous to be on the deck with the traffic, as someone had been hit by a departing car. I said I would stay right beside him and that was that. There was no way I was staying in the car. He said fine, he would look after me and next time I should go upstairs with the other foot traffic. So for a full two minutes I clutched the rail and looked at Lake Ontario rather than a big wheel.When we docked I hopped into the back seat away from the Huge Wheel and off we went. I'm still not sure what happened. If I get spazzy like that in my First Class Pod on Air Canada on take off there may be a wee problem. Perhaps they will let the old granny sit on the fight deck where the co-pilot can take care of her. Yeah sure!

The Stones Live On

I heard a recording of Franki singing Ruby Tuesday the other day.She was belting it out as only a three year old can.
"Wooobeee Tooosday no one can put a name on yoooo...girl I'm gonna miss yooo.... Woooobeee Toooosday "and so forth. More of a chant than a song but certainly more mind sticking than the original.

Oscar Hammerstein Says....

A bell is no bell till you ring it,
A song is no song till you sing it,
And love wasn't put in your heart to stay,
Love isn't love till you give it away.

Sung by Mary Martin as Maria in The Sound of Music

The Queen and I

I spent the morning watching the Queen's Barge plod up the Thames surrounded by the Flotilla boats of all shapes and sizes. It was really a crashing bore but I kept with it in the hope it would improve.It didn't except for the bit when the choir was singing in the pouring rain and blinking like mad to keep the rain out of their eyes. They looked like drowned rats.The women had raccoon eyes.
Watching the Queen on T.V.is pretty dull. Seeing her in person is also pretty dull but for the excitement of the crowd around you.You think something thrilling is happening but it's not.
I first saw the Queen when she was Princess Elizabeth.This was when we lived in London. Her train came through the bottom of our street one summer night. We were all there with our little flags waving like mad as the train rumbled by.It was dark and there was nothing to be seen.My sister had a ride on my Dad's shoulders. I had to leg it. It seemed an awful long walk for little tired legs and no Princess in sight.
Next I saw her twice in one year when the Royal Yacht Britannia came to Toronto. She was walking around the street after the ship docked. She seemed very small with shiny hair and pink cheeks.I saw her a few days later when she opened the Golden Mile. She was standing up in a car waving to us. She looked hot and pale and grumpy.Poor thing was pregnant with Prince Andrew.
That was my contact with Royalty in the flesh. I was going to take my offspring to see Princess Diana when she came to Kingston but I had no idea where I could leave the car. I consoled myself with the thought that I would be better organized next time she came to visit. How did I know she would get divorced then die on us?I'm still kicking myself over that.
I don't know should I ever have the opportunity again that I would brave the mobs to have a peek at Royalty. I would prefer to be introduced. Much more civilized. I missed my shot at that when I forgo my invitation to a garden party in the Queen's honour when she and I were both in Vienna at the same time.More kicking.The food would have been great and there would have been an introduction!

Baby's Head Pudden

Thought it were about toime oi let you lot know how we are gettin on. We are still retired loik but oi gets down to the medders to see the little maids whenever oi loikes. Mother is still traipsin about. She were in Portugal larst week with the girls.Going to Tunis next whereever that may be. Oi never saw the loik but it keeps er appy and that's what matters.
Oi has to tell ee that we has lost our little Fruitcake. She were taken to the knackers a fortnight ago sad to say. There are two new uns; Meddersweet and Ivy,both frolickin in their new ome and a sight to gladden the eart. Martin as is ands full but never minds me keepin an eye on the little maids!
While Mother were abroad, an she's always abroad, oi got an ankerin for a Baby's Ead Pudden as what my Ma used to make. She used to make a smasher. It were covered with custard and stuffed with raisins. Set moi mouth to waterin just thinkin of ee.
Well oi got Mother's cookery book out and set to but oi has to say what came out of the pot was a very sad Baby's Ead if ever oi saw one.Poor toad looked as if it ad it a wall.Well never you moind Goiles oi says to moiself it may look orrible but oi reckon it'll taste roight good with a lashin of custard.
Down oi sets with the custard jug and an me knife and fork and ad at er.Well oi tried to have at er. Thing was you see oi couldn't cut the buggar. It were loik a piece of of wet rubber. All that work down the Swanney!I think oi moight ave boiled her a tad too long is what oi'm thinking.So much work an you should ave seen the state of the kitchen. No wonder Mother as eaded out after doing this for all these years.Who could blame?
Oi headed out too, straight to the pub. They do a very noice Spotted Dick of a Thursday. It ain't a Baby's Ead but oi could get a spoon in it easy peasy.Washed down with a point of best bitters it were a treat!

The Worm Ranch

Karin von Blixen may have had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills but Rosalind Swanton and I had a worm ranch on the front lawn of 21 Lingard Avenue.
We were ten and nine respectively and played together every day after school and on weekends if we weren't being hauled off on parental expeditions. I was a class ahead of Rosalind in school so could not be seen with one of the juniors or my reputation in the schoolyard would have been shot. After hours, away from the tyranny of the playground one could hang where one pleased and for a few years we were the best of buds.
One spring day we decided we would build a ranch in a large white tin basin. We were going for ants at first but the buggars wouldn't stay home and bit if you picked them up. That's when we felt worms were the answer. Slow, gentle and very forgiving of being rehoused.The ranch came along nicely. I gathered worms and Rosalind dug some soil from her Mum's flower beds. Mum was not asked. I was good with worms. I could pick them up no problem. Lots of people are squeamish about worms. I chased a classmate named David through Wexford Woods with a huge worm in my hand.He was very upset about that worm. I was not a nice child.
The worm ranch went on for days. The worms had water and grass and the best flower bed soil. We dug them out every other day to see how they were coming along. They slept at night in Rosalind's basement. Uncle Bill and Auntie Phyllis were living in ours and nice as they were would probably not have cared to share with the worms.
We kept an eagle eye out for robins that seemed keen on the worms when they were being left in peace in their tin tub taking the air.Everything was going along fine with the ranch when disaster struck in the form of Kyle McKay.
Kyle was an eight year old ripsnorter who lived further down the street and had a bit of a reputation as a naughty boy. We were not close. He came by one day as we were out on the front lawn crooning over the worms and digging them out for some fresh air. He leaned over to see what was in the basin. People often did. Depending how they felt about worms they would stay for a display or beat a hasty retreat. Kyle did neither. He stood up and kicked the basin flying. Our ranch!Our worms!
While Rosalind was trying to find our lost livestock I shot off after Kyle who was beetling home as fast as his little legs could carry him. I grabbed him just as he was opening his side door, spun him around and socked him in the jaw. I am still astounded today that I did that. A response to cruelty to animals I guess. He responded with a double punch to my guts. Bent like a hair pin I staggered home and I vaguely remember the various mothers getting nasty with each other. I was at risk of never having children it seemed as punching girls in the guts was a no-no. I should have kept my hands to myself as well even though Kyle was the instigator. After all it was only a few worms and boys will be boys. Mrs. Swanton got into it over the dirt all over her front lawn. No-one was happy except the worms.
I was so steamed over the boys will be boys injustice that I took to sitting in the willow for a while reading and being sour about the world.
Rosalind and I took up a game called flight deck played with Mrs. Swantons' tulips.That came to an abrupt end when the tulips kept snapping and Mrs. Swanton found out. The worms were more fun.

Spring?

As we all know the winter has been grey and mild with the odd cold nip here and there. The poor demented daffs are half out of the ground with their ends all frost bitten and have been there since mid February.Now we have tulips and lilies up to say hello. It's too early folks but perhaps not.On my way home from work where the day started at 12 degrees I took a detour to see the lake. By this time it was 4 degrees and raining. I stopped at a small meadow on the edge of the Bluffs and there I did spy with my little eye nine robins!!
I have been hearing them at dusk so I know they are around but nary a sighting until last Thursday. They were in a little flock being rained on and not doing much about it.
But still....What a nice thing to see the first week of March. Wet robins.

War Zone Two

Saturday morning and we are still in the thick of it.Tiles are going up in the shower and we have a working toilet but no sink and bathing is done with soap and face cloth. As they say in Lark Rise... "You wash down as far as possible and up as far as possible. Poor possible!"
The job is going to stretch now till Monday or so we have been told.This could be a Monday in May, how would we know? The builder certainly works hard. There is a lot of huffing and puffing and thundering up and down stairs hauling stuff. The driveway is set up to cut things that from the sound of them would rather not be cut. This attracts male attention from the neighbours so time has to be spent in discussing machinery and scratching etc. A great deal of hot air is floating around here all of it loaded with testosterone.
"Now I remember back in the day when all I had was a stone and another stone so I thought hmmm... I'll just sharpen that stone and that's how I built my first house."You get my drift.
I, lucky woman that I am, have a studio to retire to and various paying culinary chores to complete so between hiding behind a wall of turps and linseed oil and fleeing around researching where to get the best deals on apples I can be away from all this.
The Better Half gets to supervise and scratch with the guys. Everybody's happy.

War Zone

We are in the middle of Day Three of the the Great Granard Bathroom Reno. I call it this because the others on the street who never speak to us have been rubbernecking like mad since the contractors arrived with their trucks and bins and trailer.
We have as builder number One a big husky German called Peter who is deaf and shouts. He loves to talk. To himself if no one else is available. I now know more about his life than I do about my own. He is not being paid by the hour.He also has had a number of closed head injuries and has no short term memory at all.He is an anthropologist's dream.
His boss is a short stout Italian chap with joint and breathing problems.I spend my days listening to what Ram Dass calls the Organ Recital.When one has finished moaning about his aches and pains the other starts up. They should put music to it and take it on the road.
Then we have the MESS.The upstairs landing looks like an explosion in a junkyard. I have to turn a blind eye never mind a deaf ear to the din and the dust.Right now Peter has gone to get his tile saw and said he would be back in less than half an hour. That was well over an hour ago. I know contractors live by their own rules but I have a feeling he may have forgotten he was working here and wandered off to some other project only to find he has finished it.
We are supposed to be all done by Saturday but cleverly they didn't say which Saturday.I will keep you all posted.

Margaret Atwood Says...

Wanting to meet a writer because you like their work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pate.

Roll Out The Barrel

We were taking a trip down memory lane one evening,like you do, when we remembered the evening with the barrel. The talk had been about children being taken into care. Apparently one evening my offspring told me they were going to report me to the Children's Aid for my cruel behaviour. It seems I wouldn't let them stay up late to watch T.V. or something along those lines. I remember nothing of this.Evidently I told them to go right ahead and call, bearing in mind it might take them a while to get to us, it being late at night and out in the middle of nowhere. A lot could happen in that time. They thought better of it and went to bed.
Right... the barrel.
We were providing a barrel for the pantomime Ali Baba that was being put on by the Milford Mummers for their Christmas play. I was doing sets and props and the girls both had parts.We had a dress rehersal after supper and there we were, me and two small girls trying to heave a wet wooden full sized barrel into the back of our sedan. Of course it didn't fit. The best we could do was prop it at the edge of the trunk, lash it down and hope it stayed put.
Off we went into the night,Toria on point keeping an eye on the road behind and Hannah in the front saying Hail Marys. We did this in heavy fog and blizzards too. One driving, one watching for mail boxes and one saying her prayers. Teamwork.
As we poked along I began to ruminate about what would happen if the barrel got loose and rolled into whoever might be behind us. I couldn't see a thing out the back , the trunk was up hence Toria spotting. It basically came down to the police locking me up and throwing away the key and the nippers going to the Childrens Aid if the worst should happen.That was all little Hannah needed to hear never mind that she was all set to rat me out to the CAS a few nights before. The sobs and howls started up and kept up until we got to Milford.By the time we had wrestled the barrel out of the car and rolled it into the church hall the wails were now snuffles.We weren't going to lose Ma that night anyway so she was safe for a little bit longer.Very quiet on the way home though.