Mom's Birthday

I'm posting this on the right date, but admit to being rather late on this, which sort or surprises me. If there is any birthdate I'm ready to remember, it's Mom's. But life has been rather busy lately and much of it has had me thinking of her.

I always think of her when I'm sewing, but also when knitting. She taught me knitting and crochet when I was very young - 7 or 8 years old. I remember making a crochet poodle, named Pierre when I was 8. I'm sure I had loads of help. 

I also remember one Christmas in my 20s when she gave me a dozen sweaters she'd knitted for me in the previous year. I was astounded. I'm sad to say I can only recall a few:

a grey cardigan

an oatmeal coloured dolman sleeved sweater (jumper)

3 vests (waistcoats) in baby blue, light pink and purple

short sleeved sweaters (jumpers) in cranberry and another a red

I know I still have the first two and the blue waistcoat up on the attic. I'm sad I can't remember the other five sweaters, perhaps they'll come to me in time. They were all made with acrylic yarn except the dolman sleeved thing which was cotton. They weren't exactly up to date styles either, but I wore them as much as I could. Perhaps the other five were just too unfashionable, I don't recall. I remember the red short sleeved top was a bit scratchy and I wore a cami underneath to make it tolerable to wear.

My roses didn't fare well this year after we ran off to Scotland for a couple of weeks (to see Sarah and her young family) when they most needed dead heading. When I finally tidied them up there wasn't much left. These white roses were hanging down, droopy, so I cut them and put them on the dining table. I didn't know if the buds would bloom, but they did and I've just caught them before they began to drop petals. When thinking about this post I remembered that white roses are a symbol of eternal love. The words 'white rose' are engraved on Mom's wedding ring, which I now wear as mine. 

I've been busy working on a sweater for 3 month old Isla, Bill's newest (and probably last) grandchild. Since her mother, Sarah, has Isla's brother Struan calling me 'Grandma Shelley' and has been quite positive about the idea of my knitting and sewing for her kids, I guess I can say I'm knitting a cardigan for my granddaughter, Isla. It feels a bit weird to say that, but it's lovely at the same time. 

I also managed to crochet a frog for Struan. He named him Gordon. I'm still working on the dinosaur pattern, I may need to consult with some other knitters who managed this one.

I found this pattern on a blog called Oliver Boliver. I can see there is a lot more there to explore.

We had a wonderful weekend, in spite of the rainy weather. We had barbequed chicken, potato salad and carrots and broccoli in the tent, after I toasted/microwaved Struan's dinner: beans on toast. He sat in the motorhome quietly entertaining himself while I cooked dinner, careful to instruct me he needed butter on his toast. 

We had a lovely walk in the woods at Kielder Forest, taking in all the sites and signs. It rained quite hard at one point but as I was very warm and mostly waterproof, I loved it. It wasn't warm rain but it did feel like being a child again and playing in the rain. The raindrops on all the different plants sparkled beautifully after. We walked past the first really dark forest I believe I've ever seen - completely black and impenetrable. Sadly, I didn't think to bring my camera.

Saturday night it was raining so we all crammed into the motorhome - my covid red flags all seemed to have evaporated somehow, but then all the adults are fully vaccinated. We had barbequed ribs, rice and ratatouille (leftover from another meal at home). Sarah and Gareth provided wine and desserts for both meals and I got to 'cook for company' for the first time in ages. 

Struan came back to supervise my making his dinner again Saturday and watched me packing up Sunday morning. It may have been that he enjoyed being in a new space, one without a baby sister, but he let me cuddle him a bit and help him on and off with his waterproofs. I felt wholly honoured by his company. I'm grateful Sarah is a generous woman to give me 'granny rights'. My Mom would be so pleased for me. 

The Dun Cow and Father Time

I'd not appreciated Durham is a World Heritage Site, though I have visited Durham Cathedral and appreciated the view from its rooftop.

On our recent family walk there was a big metal cow with a stone marker mentioning footsore monks, a cow and a couple of milk maids. So I took a photo to look it all up later. 

Apparently Durham Cathedral is built on a shrine to St. Cuthbert, a local 7th Century Christian hero of sorts, having converted a lot of Danes to Christianity,  The story goes that several monks - this is in the 11th Century - were moving his coffin back to Chester-le-Street (sort of a suburb of Durham) when the waggon carrying his coffin stopped and refused to move. After a three-day fast and prayer session, it was revealed that the coffin should be placed a place called Dunholm, but they didn't know where this was. About this time one or two milk maids came along (the story varies), searching for a misplaced dun (defined as a neutral grey-brown - I'd call it taupe) cow. She/they directed the monks to Dunholm and there they built a white church which eventually became the site of Durham Cathedral, a Norman structure that replaced it. 

I always forget what a really big guy Martin is. 

Also, the word 'dun' is old English for 'hill' and 'holme' is Norse for 'island'. (So my house, which is named Seaholme by the builders, means I live in Sea Island?). In medieval times this word was Latinised to 'Dunelm'. There is a chain of department stores called Dunelm around here. Somewhere in Norman times, Dun Holm was changed to Duresme. No one seems to know when it became Durham. The name Dunelm is apparently hallowed by those associated with Durham, it being the official name of the Bishop of Durham and it refers to any degree earned from the University of Durham. 

So the cow represents the lost Dun Cow - and I believe there is a coffee shop in Durham by that name.

A bandstand with an interesting weathervane grabbed my attention from across the river. Fortunately our walk took us past it on the way back and I got a better photo. Bill knew all about it, having lived in Durham for several years during his childrens' early years. 

The weathervane is a copy of one at Lord's Cricket Ground, London. It shows Father Time removing the bails from the wicket. The quote below is 'Lest Time Bails You Out'. This has something to do with one of the rules of cricket: "After the call of Time the bails shall be removed from both wickets".  I gather there is a cricket ground near this location in Durham. And one can buy a copy of the Father Time weather vane from the shop at Lord's for £400. I wouldn't even attempt to explain one thing about cricket, as everyone I know says it is terribly complicated. Also the games last for days. All I know is that the players wear white.

I take it that this is another of those upper class signifiers of Conspicuous Leisure, having the time to understand and enjoy cricket. 

Shincliffe Wood

We met up with Simon and Katie in the woods near Durham on Sunday. At least we thought it would just be Simon and Katie but Helen and Martin decided to come along as well and to bring Charlotte, their daughter. This made us a party of seven, which may have been illegal, though my vague understanding is that children aren't counted in these groupings. 

In any case, I mostly walked well behind the group. I haven't walked with anyone but Bill so far during this pandemic, even when it was permitted. My experience walking with him is that he's prepared to come much closer to groups of people that I want to. He seemed irritated with my caution and I felt pressured to take more risks so we stopped walking together. That experience suggested I wouldn't be happy walking with other friends either. It's not so much them as navigating all the other people around. A nice sit down in a front garden is much more conducive to pleasant, relaxed conversation. Sadly, for some period the government decided only public places, not private spaces were appropriate for meeting, so that ruled out private gardens, which struck me as short-sighted on their part.  

It turned out to be quite a lovely walk of about four or five miles. It seemed much longer given the terrain and the occasional crowds. I must admit I felt a bit overwhelmed at times. Even though signs everywhere warn to keep a 'social distance' even outdoors, no one appeared to pay it any mind whatsoever. We went along the riverside, crossed a bridge and continued the other side of the river until a detour took us through a wood full of blue bells. The white flowers, Bill's app told us, were stitchwort. I don't know what the lovely chartreuse coloured leaves were but the blue bells - which look more purple to me - and those green leaves made a wonderful contrast and reminded me of WI colours - or suffragette colours.

Though I didn't have much conversation, I got a lot of crochet done in the car on the way down and back. We did this 30 minute trip twice since Bill thought we were to meet at 11 but upon checking when we arrived, it was 1. So we went back home, had lunch, and returned. My blanket I've worked on for about three years is finally done - except it needs blocking. I see errors that could be fixed, but I'm fed up with the thing. I'll send it off to some refugee camp or other as originally planned. It was mostly about being a learning project. What I learned was not to knit a blanket of squares using scraps of yarn others have discarded. 

I saw on Facebook that a couple of former work colleagues, Jamie and Bev, had also just been to Shincliffe Wood the very same day. Shame we didn't run into them - it would have been nice to chat. 

Grandpa's Birthday

We had a great time with Sarah, Bill's youngest, her husband and their toddler, Struan, this past weekend. I get the name 'Grandma Shelley', which is indeed an honour. I tried to tell Bill what contentment I got from Struan's reaching out to hold hands as he walks - still a bit unsteady - and from pushing him in his swing at the park. Bill doesn't seem to differentiate being my getting to be a grandma - which I'm not - and my getting to do Grandma things, which is how I see it. It was great fun. Never mind about all that, Gareth was still able to pretend he's interested in the story about my Dad's adoption and I found myself explaining why I could believe he was adopted: Grandma and Grandpa were the only normal people in my family, so of course it makes sense we aren't genetically related.

I was thinking of Grandpa earlier last week when I donned an old flannel shirt to go out blackberry picking, or 'brambling' as some folks call it. The shirt belonged to a previous husband and gets dragged out for hair colouring, house painting and other rough work, which is not to say I don't value the fabric. If I didn't it would have been burned long ago. Oxford shoes, woollen trousers and checked flannel shirts were Grandpa's winter uniform.

Grandpa's careful thrift, his endless patience and his tidy ways are still ideals to which I strive (when I'm not trying to channel my Mom's artistry or Grandmother's outspokenness). Also, it turns out, his super-strength - I must have exhausted him and Grandma when I came along! Bill and I slept most of the next two days after they returned to Edinburgh.

Back of photo: "Jack at Idlewild"

Vivien's Birthday

No, it's not Vivien's birthday now or any time in the next six months; her birthday is long past so "don't worry about it" (to quote her). I just found some photos I'd taken at the time I was preparing her presents and thought I would share them because it was fun at the time. I always wrap her gifts at the same time as I do her and Steve's Christmas gifts (there's hint for you). It makes a nice change to do a birthday theme instead of the umpteenth red / green / gold / silver thing.

I don't remember what all I got her this time, only that I enjoyed putting it together. I had no birthday wrapping paper that suited, so she got fabric wraps decorated with buttons and ribbons. 

I remember having to tell her to take the plant out of the bag, as I feared it wouldn't do well without light. 

I got the bulbs, the ivy at the garden guy at Tynemouth flea market. And the vase from a new housewares shop that lasted about a month, sadly. It was a newly renovated building tucked away between two others and I was looking forward to exploring it further, as the top floor had a lantern roof, like a conservatory. It's now a boring office place. I'm quite disappointed about this but perhaps her prices really were too good to be true.

Gosh, did I put a baby spider plant in there, too?

I remember the day also because we got an early-ish phone call from one of Bill's children about an impromptu visit that very day. I was rather grumpy about the short notice and then decided I simply wouldn't change my plans. There wasn't enough time to get ready for Vivien's birthday before our next meet up and I still didn't know what I might get her other that what small thing I already had on hand. As it happened the timing was perfect: they were at the door just as I was going out. They had kindly brought us a poinsettia and a very large bag of bacon flavoured crisps. I didn't feel I had the skills to revive this sad poinsettia and so it later went into the compost bin. I donated the crisps (not that they wouldn't have been incredible, I just didn't need the calories) to a nearby food bank. They were gone by the time I'd circled Tynemouth village several times, running into an old friend from work as well. (Must get in touch with Hilary.) 

Was all that terrible of me? Perhaps. I have to say it felt like setting boundaries and taking care of myself. And Bill got to enjoy their visit all the same.

I'm thinking this must have been on sale...or free...

Anyhow, when I got home I had fun wrapping the presents and putting together the plant. It amused me to use sea glass in the bottom for drainage, then potting compost. I inserted the bulbs and surrounded them with the ivy plants. I remembered a magazine article from long ago that described the components for a good potted arrangement: you need a thriller (something that sticks up), a spiller (something that hangs down) and a filler (to fill the gaps). I hoped that the ivy would serve as both spiller and filler (I'm a real fan of draping plants like ferns, ivy, willow trees, etc. I think they are terribly romantic; how soppy is that?).

I am sure I ironed this before wrapping the gift; why didn't I iron it before taking the photo??

The bulbs turned out to be even more "thrilling" than I expected, they shot up well before her birthday. She kindly sent me a photo and said they were using it as their Christmas centrepiece. 

Alnmouth - Part II

So, we went for a walk on the beach. I was surprised at the view at the bottom of the street. I guess I just hadn't looked in that direction.

There were a number of interesting things to look at on our walk. For one I saw the other side of some of the houses I'd been admiring. It seemed we actually came out on the River Aln estuary at low tide. Then we turned and walked north along the sea front. This was familiar territory owing to a number of days out either having done or not done the Coastal race. (I recommend not unless you are extremely fit, and maybe not even then). 

I don't think I'd ever wandered south to the river, being keen to get changed, fed and head to the pub. Bill teased me it was the first time I'd seen Alnmouth village sober but to be fair there really wasn't anything else to do, everything being closed on Sunday the day of the race. And we always took the bus so you had to stick with the crowd so as not to miss the bus back home. That's my side of the story anyhow. 

Pardon me while I reminisce...

I still remember I'd only been in the running club a few days (this is 22 years ago) when I was offered this day out. I rode up to Beadnall on the bus sitting next to a woman who never stopped talking the whole way. It certainly passed the time, listening to her. Noreen has written plays since that day that are performed in theatres all around this area. I wouldn't have predicted that at the time, but I did appreciate her friendliness. I only had the barest of acquaintance with a few of the people on that bus. The whole 'friendliness' thing is one of the ways in which I tend to compare Newcastle with Oklahoma: coal mining history, folks pass through on their way to somewhere else, people are really friendly.

A nice young guy spent time walking on the beach with me, Dave, who happened to work in the lab next to my office, as we waited for the runners to finish so we could get on with the social part. He was injured and so not running. Bill and I eventually went to Dave's wedding and helped him move into their new house. He gave us a wardrobe he no longer wanted, which is still in use today. Dave and Ruth's kids are teenagers now and he still runs.

Anyhow, on this day in February of this year I saw a large cross on a hill across the river. I had no idea what it was, nor did Bill. Turns out it is St. Cuthbert's cross (a replica, not the original) and this is said to be the location where Cuthbert agreed to become Bishop of Lindisfarne when petitioned by the king, that would have been Edwin of Northumbria. Note to self: must go back to Holy Island one day...it's only about 1 1/2 hours away after all.

Now, I must admit that I'd never heard of Cuthbert or Lindisfarne before I came to live in the North of England, but I had heard of the Book of Kells. If you've never heard of Lindisfarne but you have heard of the Book of Kells, then I would invite you take a moment to enjoy the Lindisfarne Gospels. These books are old. I've been fortunate enough to see the Book of Kells in Dublin at Trinity College - it is gorgeous. I read that the Gospels are at the British Library in London. I think I'd rather go up to Holy Island, actually.

Annoying spot on my camera lens, only comes up now and then. V. annoying that.

What else did I see? That upstairs conservatory that I admired from our window was pretty funny from the other direction. It would appear that it directly overlooks the chimney of the house just behind. Such is life at the sea front, I suppose.

I really do love moss. If you'd grown up in a place where everything goes brown and crackly in summertime you'd understand why.

We had a spectacular day for beach walking. I found quite a bit of large lumps of sea coal. I just finished one in the series of Shipyard Girls novels (which I recommend) and one of the characters talks about collecting sea coal as a child. It is a poorer quality, being soaked with sea water, and I gather it 'spits' a lot.

Then we turned off the beach and walked into the village, which had some things open for a change! One of the big houses on front street had an interesting collection in their front garden. I still haven't figured out what all that stuff is, never mind why.

I had seen the church steeple from our window and wondered about what looked like pigeon holes on it. I asked Bill and he said it was actually to allow people to hear the bells chiming. Well, of course.

We stopped by the house to pick up some food for the bairn (well, he's Scottish even if I'm not) before going to the Tea Cozy Cafe. While we were waiting, I took a photo of some moss on the wall (see above). 

There was something rather perfect in their presentation.

In spite of the rather twee name the food was quite good (I had a salad with too much goat's cheese; I didn't know that was possible) and Bill let me have a bit of his dessert. He used to hate sharing at all and I must say his training is coming along nicely. I only ever want a bite of anything sweet.





After this we went back to the house, packed up and came home. I had an important event to get ready for!

Alnmouth - Part I

Of course I have more photos than words, but I always manage to witter on, don't I? The place we stayed was up a little one-way lane called Garden something. The house had a name, Sunnybrae. You run into that term a lot here but I've never looked it up before coming to write this: brae means 'steep bank or hillside'. 

It was a lovely semi-detached house that still had the original stained glass windows, at least at the front. 

The front door.

The cupboard under the stairs; how ever did I manage to grow up without this hiding place? Wait! There was one at Grandmother's house on 31st Street, with a glass door. I hadn't a deprived childhood after all.

In the downstairs hall.

My favourite feature of our room (apart from the en suite loo).

The house next door had modern PVC windows and suffered in comparison. 

My other favourite feature: genuinely old.

We had part of a flat, I'm guessing. We were upstairs and there was a second door that looked to open into more than the two bedrooms we were using. This sort of arrangement doesn't seem to be uncommon.

Ignore the dishes, they got done. Sarah always manages to have flowers.

I was selective in the photos I took of the house. 

View from our room.

Had to zoom in on that dragon weathervane!

Sarah apologised for the disorder, but since Bill and I manage to destroy any hotel room within 15 minutes of arrival I couldn't complain. 

One of the main reasons to visit.

Being tidy on holiday with an 11-month-old baby (who is teething and a little bit grumpy) isn't everyone's priority. It's not really even mine with a 70-year-old, but I do get picky about disarray in the motor home as I get sick of stepping over stuff left out. 

The living room - loved the leather sofas and that window seat.

View out the back. That skeletal structure on the back of the house is the conservatory, with a view of the river, the fields, and possibly the sea.

A gas fire, but nice all the same.

Bill said the house has been 'sympathetically' renovated. I guess he is right since it still had an olde-house feel with loads of features to enjoy. Of course I liked the views out of the windows. I'm always up for snooping at what other people have. 

As I said, food was a major feature of this visit. After a sizeable burger at Barter Books (minus one side of the bun) we had chilli and rice for dinner as well as dessert. It was some kind of tart with vanilla custard (from Aldi) on it. I wasn't happy to learn that Aldi carried such wicked stuff. We played a very competitive game of Uno after dinner, which I really enjoyed. Bill hates playing cards with me, claiming it isn't as much fun with just two people. He might be right about that - or he may just get tired of getting beat. I've played a lot of gin and rummy in my time as well as spades and hearts and a little bit of bridge. I shuffle the deck like a pro, which I figure is only fair. I didn't win, forgetting I was to say 'Uno' and having to pick up more cards than I could hold well in my hand. It was fun all the same. 

Grandad time!

I fnd myself increasingly reluctant to leave my own home and go visiting, but our visits with Sarah, Gareth and Struan seem to turn out to be very relaxing.