Collecting Rainbows

I was glad I had my camera when I saw these daffodils.
I would have kicked myself otherwise. They are fading fast.

One of the biggest habit changes I've had to make with starting to blog again is to remember to carry my camera around. On our front door a post-it note faces outwards to remind us to 'Wash Your Hands!' while another faces inwards so that before I go out I'll remember to get my 'camera'.

This is a weird picture, I know. The rainbow is made of a bunch of dots, 
which was different. And I loved the flowers in the window. But then glass
makes life awkward at times and that darn shadow
on my camera lens - it comes and goes.

Bill is still running and we both go for walks several times a week. One day on my normal route around the park, the riverside and the seafront I counted 91 people with whom I needed to negotiate space, doing that little dance we all do these days if we are sane and sensible. After that Bill and I started finding other places to walk. Beautiful as the sea is, it's not worth dying to see. 

Then we started walking after a slightly earlier dinner and there were a lot fewer people around. 

When all this started it seems the kids staying at home were encouraged to paint rainbows to put in the windows. As I originally understood it this was about giving older people something to count / collect as it were. Then it changed into being about the NHS workers, then other essential workers like in the food sector. Later people began putting stuffed bears and other animals in their windows, I gather for children to count / visually collect.

At least that's how I understand it. In the first week or two of March we weren't watching BBC news and so other people seemed to have information we didn't about how things were developing, in spite of reading newspapers online every day. We've gone back to not watching the news as it is just a bunch of numbers we can't do anything about other that what we are already doing. 

Do they do rainbows in the States I wonder?

Flowers

I'm quite ambivalent about cut flowers. I love the way they cheer up any room. I enjoy arranging and re-arranging them as they die off, finding the right sized vessel and not necessarily flower vases, in fact most often not vases. 

On the other hand, my frugal side sees them as a waste of money. I'm aware that most flowers are shipped stupid distances which makes them environmentally wasteful and some die off ridiculously quick - I find roses are the worst extravagance for this reason never mind the cost. I dream of having a cut flower garden but my softer side knows I'll shy away from cutting (killing) them even though I know they'll die in the garden eventually anyhow. 

Bill and I are both classed as 'vulnerable' to coronavirus, because he's 72 and I have asthma. We don't plan to visit any supermarkets any time soon. We've found local shops that can meet most of our needs and that we like to support. However, when this lock down first began I started thinking about what small things might make staying home more pleasurable and it made me reconsider my stance on cut flowers. They do lift my spirits and they would be unusual enough around our house that I thought they might also lift Bill's. And I was right. Only I've not found flowers on any supermarket delivery list and florists around us are all closed. 

I mentioned being sad about this at a Zoom conference of our WI Committee. A few days later my front door bell rang and there in front of my door was a bouquet of flowers. My fellow committee member, Angela, was standing at my front gate several feet away. 

L-R: Christmas poinsetta from Aldi still surviving sitting on a silicone poppy, a gift
from Vivien; red pointy glass souvenirs from a visit to Mexico in the 1980s;
 green flowers from Angela in a vase that belonged to Bill's mother, Ella; two
glass pots of lettuce stumps growing leaves behind a ruby glass goblet that belonged
 to my Mom; two of three decorative squashes I picked up to display on the front
porch last autumn (I'm amazed they  haven't rotted); more about the third squash later;
a pot containing a spider plant, confused Christmas cactus and a bit of aloe vera
(picked off a gift from one of Simon's old girlfriends), sitting on a glass brick -
one of four bought at a local salvage shop (Huscroft's in North Shields);
a fused glass ornament depicting Souter Light House in South Shields,
 a memento of a race Bill did there last year.
A lot of stuff for one window sill, I know, but we look at it a lot
while washing dishes.

I chastised her that the police might not see this as a reasonable excuse for her, but since she is a nurse and is out and about in the world anyhow, I could see why she'd feel this was permitted. Another lady on the committee said she'd had the same intent and been beaten to it. I felt very loved. I had hoped someone could tell me about a source of flowers, I certainly didn't expect to be gifted some. I won't forget that unexpected kindness soon.

We've enjoyed these flowers on our dining table for a full month now. The orange rose was the first to go. Then the hot pink ?chrysanthemums? When I moved to a smaller vase the tree foliage had to go. I couldn't get all the green whatever-they-are into the next smaller container and when I left one on the kitchen counter Bill picked it up at put it in a vase to add to the kitchen window, which I thought worked nicely. He surprises me like that sometimes. 

We are down to the last of this bouquet, some yellow and some green flowers and they are just beginning to turn brown underneath. I shall have to consult Fiona at Perennial Favourites in Blyth about what these are. She and her husband Adam talked at our WI some time in the past and I've kept in touch since, attending workshops and shopping at their Royal Quays outlet, which has since shut. We've never made it up to their nursery in Blyth but hopefully that will be on the cards one day when we are out of lock down. 

What remains now are yellow and green flowers;
sparse but still attractive. I know the orange and yellow
don't exactly go with the red and pink table cloth,
but do I care?

I see the peonies in my garden are in bud. I'm hoping I'll have the nerve to clip one or two gorgeous blooms to take inside. They'll make a real mess they make when they shed petals but I won't mind. It will remind me of the opening to Downtown Abbey, where a white petal is falling off the roses in the etched glass vase. 

[No further flower gifts required.]

Candied Orange Peel

I have designated Friday as Kitchen Day. There are always chores to be done in the kitchen and grouping them together in one day seems an efficient way to tackle them...or procrastinating until Friday seems a more comfortable way to live, take your pick. The bottom drawer of my freezer in the kitchen is dedicated for collecting scraps of one kind and another. This is about the orange and satsuma peels I saved for a few weeks. 

I belong to a Facebook group about making do and mending - actually several groups - about sewing with scraps, up-cycling etc. Anyhow, one member talked about making candied orange peel with her scraps and her method really appealed because it wasn't fussed about removing the pith on the inside of the peel, a hassle that put me off the idea when I read it years ago in Tightwad Gazette. 

How do you like my replacement lid handle? A cork. Bill thought it ought
to be the fake cork instead of real cork but when he tried it, the thing melted.
I do love being right!

This involved boiling the peels until soft, then replacing the water and boiling for 20 minutes. You cut the peels into strips or whatever shape you like. Then you make up sugar syrup, 300 g sugar to 150 ml water. She didn't specify whether to use fresh water or that second boiling water so I did the later. Turns out it was supposed to be the former as boiling is to remove the bitterness. I didn't find my syrup in the least bitter, so I got away with it. She mentioned scaling up the syrup recipe and I wasn't sure how much I needed, so I made extra according to the amount of boiled orange water I had. This was a mistake as I had far too much! On the other hand, it tastes pretty nice and may be a great addition to some of my jellies. Or nice on cereal like we use rose hip syrup now. Over over ice cream perhaps? 

Anyhow, you pour the syrup over the sliced peels and cook over a low heat until the syrup is absorbed. The next time I do this I will make the minimum amount of syrup and see what happens. As I did it this time I had far too much and ended up drawing a lot of of it off. Then after a couple of hours I gave up and left it on the low heat only you know what I came back to...burnt orange syrup. 

The burnt ones are on the far side and they taste just as nice - maybe even
nicer - as the ones in the foreground.

I pulled out as many of the orange slices as I could, including some dark brown ones, and left the pot full of boiled water to soak. I carefully placed these slices on two cookie sheets and I put them in the front porch - the driest place in the house I could think of. Now drying foods in the north of England is sort of a race with the mould. I've heard of people's thick terry towels growing mould in winter, which is why I keep our tumble dryer in spite of the fact we only use it maybe twice a year for emergencies. 

The lady on Facebook said to turn the peels a few times to aid in drying and that it would take about 3 days. I turned them once, they were pretty much glued to the metal - turns out I should have put paper down first, she didn't mention that. However, on the third day they did come up pretty easily. Only they were still pretty sticky and I didn't want to keep them in the fridge as we would just eat them. (She told me this wasn't nibbling, it was Quality Control!). 

I must admit they strongly resemble worms - orange and brown sticky worms.
How appetising!

So I rolled each piece in regular sugar until it wasn't sticky anymore and placed them in jars (another reason to save them) and put them - 2 1/2 jars - in the chest freezer. I'm thinking they might make nice additions to the Christmas hampers we do each year for Bill's kids. However that might all work out this Christmas...

After being rolled in sugar they all look more the same, but now like
sugar-coated worms. They are delicious though!

The Reason We Went

When I told Bill what I'd been doing all morning (writing that last post) and I explained about the three posts concerning our trip to Easingwold, he asked if I had this photo (which I didn't). He pointed out I'd not mentioned the whole reason we went. Which was so Bill could hand over as the coordinator for Northumberland to the next area that is supposed to organise a 100-mile walk, South Wales. I understand they were well underway to doing this planning, including having a garage full of food. That food has since been donated to the local food bank.

That's Bill on the left.

I'm really glad that Bill just organising and assists with 100's, he doesn't attempt to do them. However, one of the guys in this photo did the marshal's walk in Northumberland last year and made a pretty neat video of it, showcasing Northumberland. The weather was much kinder to the marshals than to the actual walkers the next week, but you takes your chances with these things.

David's video is pretty wonderful, I thought, not to mention a decent soundtrack. 

Easingwold - Part III

This is my final post about our last weekend of freedom before life changed so drastically. We were attending the Long Distance Walkers' Association AGM. They are good at finding inexpensive and interesting accommodation, in my experience. This year we were at the Cabinet Office's Emergency Planning College, an odd arrangement of old and modern that one often finds here in Britain. I never did explore the area much given the short time we were there, but we pulled into an estate called The Hawkhills, checked in at a rather grand building and were housed across the car park in a somewhat modern building, using a card for entry at multiple points.

I'd heard of this Emergency Planning College from a former college who worked in ... emergency planning, a former ambulance driver. His job was to represent the health service at meetings of police, fire and ambulance types to plan what to do in the event of major catastrophes like bombs, chemical accidents and ... pandemics. I was rather gratified to see the place for myself even if it was 12 + years after my retirement.

The reception and meeting rooms are in this building

We were given a room for disabled people which while not very attractive probably did have the advantage of more space. Neither of us were excited about the wet room arrangement, but it turned out this was inflicted on everyone. The closet space was pretty generous, but the hangers were as usual scant. However, the kettle and the hair dryer worked fine, the bed was comfy and the view from the window quite pleasant and private.

The view from our room - and the window was quite large. 

As I said at the beginning I had my doubts about coming to this gathering and there was the odd hint of something different, mainly large pump bottles of hand sanitiser at the front desk and in the dining hall above where you picked up a tray at the buffet.

It took me many shots to get a sideways view of this bird, a pheasant, I believe.

On Saturday night there was a speaker, a mechanical engineer who had served on nuclear submarines for a couple of decades but, retired from that, now led groups on mountain walks and travelled the world. He began his talk saying it was be about motivation and change, which interested me, but it ended up being more about submarines and walking, which he felt would more interest his main audience - I had a brief chat with him on our way to our respective cars. The main thing I remember was that the LDWA president greeted him with an elbow knock, which made everyone laugh nervously, before introducing him. Of course there was no social distancing at that point as the concept was yet to be introduced.

Just past reception, notice board on right, heading to the dining hall.

Elbow bumping clearly wasn't going to take off very quickly, though. On Sunday morning I sat knitting in reception waiting for the official business meeting to end. I noticed a young couple arrive and be greeted by the staff with handshakes all around. I suppose old habits die hard. 

No idea what was upstairs. Likely too grand for the likes of us.

Before sitting down to knit, I looked over the bulletin board showing courses to be held in the next week (I rather doubt they were). I considered the coming pandemic and had the ridiculous thought that it was about time we had a real event instead of just a bunch of boys (because they are mostly men) running around 'practicing'. At least the training might be put to use, though judging from the government's performance to date, they didn't train the right people. 

Even Bill remarked on the oddity of a fireplace in a hallway.

Apparently there is an even grander building somewhere on the grounds which I never saw. There was the occasional reference to 'the Love family' who were in coal mining in County Durham, whereas The Hawkhills is located in North Yorkshire, which is just south of County Durham (which is just south of Northumberland, except that in 1974 they invented a new county called Tyne & Wear, but lots of people ignore it - North of the Tyne is Northumberland, south of it is Durham). People would mention this other building and 'the Love family', and Bill knew they were in coal mining in Durham.

I believe behind this grand window is the kitchen - which produces excellent food.

It took me a while to find anything about this Love family other than a Mrs. Katherine Love had a cottage hospital built on the grounds in 1893, but couldn't find anything else about her. I did find a mining history website that linked the name Joseph Horatio Love with Brancepeth Colliery in County Durham. I was astonished to read the the colliery opened in 1840 and didn't close until 1967. With a male name I eventually found this great website, which I gather is a collaboration between universities. It indicates that Durham University has 2 boxes containing 107 items to do with the Love, Pearson, Ferens and Marshall families. 

Another mysterious - and rather twirly - staircase.

Part of the description includes: 

"Joseph Love (1796-1875), son of William Love, a miner of New York, near South Shields, County Durham - they are wrong, New York is near North Shields, Northumberland - married in 1825 Sarah, daughter of Isaac Pearson, timber merchant, of North Shields, Northumberland. Joseph Love became a wealthy miller, shipowner, property developer and colliery owner, associated in particular with Chester-le-Strett, Shincliffe and Willington, County Durham and Durham City. He was a generous supporter of the Methodist New Connexion.
Joseph and Sarah Love had one son, Isaac Pearson Love, who died in 1854, leaving an only child Joseph Horatio Love, born in 1853, who subsequently lived at The Hawkhills near Easingwold, Yorkshire. Isaac Pearson Love's widow Sarah (nee Stephinson) in ca. 1857 married Robinson Ferens (died 1892), originally a draper of Durham City and Willington, County Durham. Robinson Ferens became a member of the Methodist New Connextion perhaps in ca. 1857. After his marriage he was appointed manager of Joseph Love's collieries. He later joined with Love as a partner in developing new collieries and after Love's death in 1875 had sole direction of the collieries, becoming wealthy."

Several such rooms extended from the one with the buffet.

Just goes to show how marrying well can change one's fortunes. Almost makes me want to go down one day and find out how the Marshall's tied into the story.  

A little porch where I had my breakfasts when Bill was off walking.

Better yet, I'd love to return to Easingwold and explore further. 

Daddy's Birthday - and Why every girl should have her own tools

Today would have been my Dad's 102nd birthday, not that he ever would have expected to reach that age. He was born in 1918, in the midst of the "Spanish flu" pandemic that killed more young adults than the very young and the very old as most influenza does. I'm lucky his birth mother survived.

I've written elsewhere about his beginnings. Today I want to talk more about my memories of him.

1978...a lifetime ago.

He used to mostly give me money for my birthdays but one year he bought me this Stanley screwdriver. It's a special tool in that it has several changeable heads and they are held on with a magnet. The heads are also magnetised which is handy for keeping a grip on that screw. All the bits are kept in the hollow handle. Bill loves this screwdriver almost as much as I do and I expect my Dad felt much the same way. He always loved gadgets.

This screwdriver lives in the top right kitchen drawer. Now Bill isn't much of a one for putting things back where they came from. He spends a fair proportion of his life looking for mislaid items like his bus pass, his wallet, his keys... I don't judge too harshly as I was once this haphazard myself. I've found, however, that the older I get the less time I'm willing to squander hunting for things. The term 'Life's too short' has ever deeper meaning as time passes, you know?

So, because I'm so fond of this screwdriver, and because I'm not prepared to hunt for it, Bill understands absolutely that I will be very unpleasant to him if it doesn't get unfailingly returned to its proper place. 

A few months ago I bought myself a utility knife from the hardware store in Whitley Bay (F. E. Maughans). I've heard these things called a lot of other names: Stanley knife, box knife, carpet knife, it has all sorts of uses. However, I've yet to hear it called an eyebrow-pencil knife, which is why I purchased it. 

I'm currently using a Rimmel eyebrow pencil but I don't own a Rimmel sharpener; can't even recall ever seeing one. I do however own sharpeners by Cover Girl, Maybelline and The Body Shop, plus one mystery brand. They somehow manage not to work on this Rimmel pencil, though, not that they worked all that well on their own-brand pencils either. When you think about it, it just makes sense to have a sharpener that sacrifices as much product as possible to that the chump consumer returns that much sooner to make another purchase. 

I remembered my Grandpa sharpening a lot of ordinary writing pencils with his pocket knife, but I don't own one of those. So I bought this utility knife instead. I'm sure it will be useful for other things eventually, but I'll not be using it for anything other than make up pencils until I can be sure of finding new blades. So far, it's worked much better and it's safe from being mislaid since it lives in my make up drawer.

So I can recommend having your very own utility knife. And while you're at it, get a nice cheery feminine colour!

Easingwold - Part II

Though the centre of Easingwold isn't very big at all, they kindly provided signs directing me to the Tourist Information Centre. There I met a very friendly lady who rattled off all the places she thought worth seeing. She was fairly modest about the place, it had no 'great' sights, but lots of 'moderate' ones (my words, not hers). She gave me a map of streets and circled a few places. [Note, the photos were somehow removed from the blog, so I've replaced them...mostly at the bottom. Will check back later to see if they remain.]

The village green. It wouldn't really be a village without it. Though,
properly speaking, Easingwold is a Market Town.

She even knew the 'best' charity shop, right next door. So to St. Leonard's I went. They had a delicious display of scarves in the window, several of which were silk. For £1 each I bought any that fit into my colour scheme (cool, light, muted). I have now filled the pink gap in my scarf collection. Then I saw a lush piece of moss green chenille, probably something suitable for upholstery but for £3 it was irresistible. I was to regret that rather heavy purchase later in the day. 

I know I got a grey t-shirt and a blue silk sweater and another grey blue scarf plus some beaded necklaces and bracelets (more for the beads than the bracelet) and a very small book on home interiors by the lady who runs the White Shop for 50p. I spent just over £17 and filled two bags. Bad move at the beginning of the visit, but the shop wasn't open all day. 

Another place the tourist centre mentioned was on the other side of them, a community hall holding a fair to raise money for the burned animals of Australia. I didn't see anything I wanted, it seemed mainly aimed at children, but then I did find a gym bag for £3, only I gave her £5, saying my sister-in-law lives in Sydney. That made carrying my charity haul much easier, though I wished I not brought my handbag. 

After that I found The Regency Dress Agency. I wasn't feeling particularly 'elegant' by then, but I was determined to find anything worth having. The prices were of course higher but then this wasn't a charity shop and the merchandise was of a consistently higher quality. I looked at every single thing in the shop and came away with several tops, a dress and a pair of shoes. The best part was that the lady behind the desk was easy to chat with. I could easily have spent several more hours visiting with her. She recommended a tea shop across the square, which was also one that the tourist info lady mentioned.



On the way I found a boutique - I'd tell you the name, but I can't find it anywhere on the internet and Google maps doesn't go down the little alley towards Market Place, darn! - with a pair of grey jeans in the window, something for which I've been searching for over a year now. So in I went. 


Also, I wanted some silver earrings as I'd forgotten to put any on Friday morning and had also come away without my jewellery pouch. One feels naked without earrings these days. I found earrings and two pairs of grey trousers/jeans, very modern stretchy ones. They don't fit into my natural fibres goal, but they took me a long way toward my goal for lightening the colours in my wardrobe. I doubt there was one other thing in the whole shop I'd be seen in, though. I think a lot of modern clothes are ridiculous, that's how old fashioned I am.


I was desperate for some refreshment by then so on to the Tea Hee Shop I went (I remembered it as Tea Pee, shows how my mind works). I had just settled with all my various bags when I realised I'd left my handbag somewhere. It didn't have anything valuable in it, but a collection of small things that fit into a small bag. I gathered up all my shopping bags and re-traced my steps. It was nice to see the lady at the dress agency again and there sat my handbag, unnoticed in a corner. 

Back to the tea shop where I inhaled a pot of tea and a bottle of water while perusing the home decorating book. Then I pulled out the map and braced myself for a long walk carrying lots of bags. I still wanted to see the Georgian houses and so wondered in the opposite direction of where we were staying for a short while, snapping photos along the way. 

Then I stopped to chat to a lady gardening in front of a Georgian house just off the Market Square, asking her to verify I was going in the right direction back to our digs. She studied my map so long I wondered if I'd found a tourist who couldn't resist improving the flower bed, but she eventually confirmed I was headed the right way. I stopped and bought a sandwich at the Co-op on my way out of town.

It was a long trudge with the gym bag slipping off my sloping shoulders and shopping bags cutting into my fingers, along a sometimes muddy, bramble-filled verge facing into racing traffic. My boots were definitely not made for walking, though they just lacked support, at least they didn't give me any blisters. 

I took a guess at the roundabout which had no sign whatsoever for the Emergency Planning College (a lack of planning in my opinion) which fortunately turned out to be correct. My sense of direction is slightly better than I get credit for having.

I had a lovely old green brooch on my collar which got damaged with my sling bags onto my shoulders and I was sad to have lost one of the green stones, glass though it likely was. To my amazement I later found it at the bottom of one of the shopping bags. How lucky is that? 

How convenient to have a phone box in your front garden! People would
always be able to find your house.