Creature Comforts

Essays in this chapter, the last post about Simple Pleasures, include:

Grooming the dog

In pursuit of the purple emperor (watching butterflies)

Porcine pleasures (pigs, apparently, make good pets?)

Lambing at Wimpole

Walking the dog

Collecting the eggs

In praise of zoos

Owls at night

Other posts about this book can be found here:

Pleasures of the Table

A Sense of Place

Talking and Ruminating
The Great Outdoors
Hearth and Home

I can tell you that Brits really love their dogs; I think that every time I see someone huddled up in a raincoat, shoulders hunched against the cold and wet, walking their dog, morning and evening.  It's a common sight.

Strangely enough, allotments 'gardens' aren't always given over to growing food or flowers, some allow poultry and some folks love their fowls.  Pigs are also said to make marvelous pets and lambs bouncing around in the spring are adorable, but I don't want to own any or be responsible for them.  Still, I know that whether grooming a pet or observing an unusual creature, there is a lot of pleasure to be had from animals.  I only have to think about warm, furry puppies and I feel better.

I love dogs and would love to have one again.  I'm just not certain we're in a position to be completely responsible dog owners just now.  We enjoy talking about the possibilities, though.  Bill favours Jack Russells because they are clever and small.  I think Golden or Labrador Retrievers are the best friends in the world, they are so good natured.  We recently read that the retired greyhound/ whippet/ lurcher charity near us need help finding homes or fostering dogs, because of the cold weather.  Once I took a dog, though, I'm certain I wouldn't wish to give it back.

I would have to learn to walk it, mind.  For all my years in the States, the dog was just let outside in the back yard to its business.  Now that ours is all brickwork or vegetable garden, that wouldn't work here.   The neighbours have a King Charles Spaniel who is so fat and lazy they have to drag it down the street.  I worried that he was too old and tired until I saw him springing up the street on the return.  He's just a homebody, I suppose.  Other neighbours have a grand-dog that their Audi-driving daughter drops off each morning.  It's a huge short-haired black ball of muscle, some sort of bull dog, named 'Lulu'.  With a name like that I think it should be required to sport a pink tutu, or at least a pink collar.  Lulu drags Sarah down the street twice a day.  Sarah says it's great exercise. 

I've had three dogs that were mine.  One was Pepe, a toy poodle that I got for Christmas when I was 7 or 8.   (His registered name was Mon Ami Petite Pepe - nauseating, isn't it?) He didn't last long.  That summer I was hit by a car and spent a couple of weeks in hospital recovering from a ruptured kidney.  Upon returning home - to my Grandmother's as it happened - I contracted scarlet fever.  Things coming in threes, Mom had the sad chore of telling me Pepe had died from leptospirosis, a disease for which there was no vaccine back then. 

It was another couple of years before Mom's old friend, Jack, had me come out for a visit to see the puppies his Border Collie, Princess, had birthed.  Their father was a standard-sized silver poodle that lived nearby.  I remember riding home from his house in Shawnee, in the front seat of his van with a lap full of drooling puppies, three or four there must have been.  It was all I could do to keep them in my lap and me on the seat (this was long before the days of seat belts).  We kept the one that came out from under Mom's couch to play when I got down on the floor and called.  Being the daughter of a Princess, she was named Duchess.  Of course, Dutch and I were inseparable for many years.  She was without question the smartest dog I ever had.  I left her at Mom's when I moved away from home, barely being able to look after myself, fledgling bird that I was.  She died of old age in Mom's lap, one summer day in the back yard.  

Duchess

My Golden Retriever was a gift from husband #1. Sunny was short for 'Shelley's Golden Sunrise', only he ate his registration papers before they got filed.  He was beautiful and just as good natured as Dutch, but not terribly smart.  Maybe the problem was that I worked full time by then and didn't train him soon enough.  He just didn't seem able to catch on initially and by the time he had sufficient attention span, he was so large that he was difficult to control.  I managed to teach him basic manners and left it at that.  Sunny was a homing dog, and when I divorced and moved to another house, he kept jumping the fence and going back to the old house.  I'd drive over looking for him and always found him on the front porch.  Eventually, he got the idea that I'd got custody of him.  

Sunny

Unfortunately, this homing instinct struck again when we moved to Salt Lake City.  He disappeared only a couple of weeks after I'd started a new job, with no leave and 17 animal shelters in the vicinity to visit, I never did find him again.  I hope someone recognized what a great dog he was and took him for their own.  Once I got a new husband, a surprise 20-month step son to raise, was finishing my master's degree and learning a new professional job, not to mention keep up with the laundry, Sunny didn't get much attention, not nearly as much has he'd been accustomed to.  I never blamed him for leaving, and this is why I've never got another dog.

I've only ever had one cat, Mom's last cat.  He never really had a name.  She considered 'Sammy' as her last cat, a female, was 'Samantha', but Mom never really settled on a name for this lovely white cat.  He didn't seem to need one, somehow.  He was the most affectionate cat I've ever encountered - more like a dog, really.  He would be waiting for me in the front yard when I pulled into the drive after work.  He would sit in my lap with one paw either side of my face and rub his cheek against mine, purring.  He also liked to wake me up by chewing on my hair, which was more painful than cute, but still was somehow endearing. I had to find him a new home to come to England, as I wasn't prepared to put him in quarantine for 6-months, the observation period for rabies, about which Britain is quite paranoid.  Giving up Mom's cat was probably the hardest thing I did to embark on this adventure.

Mom's cat

I won't have another pet until I know I can be a better owner.  I've always believed that children should grow up thinking they were desperately loved, just as I did.  I think exactly the same about dogs and cats.

Talking and Ruminating

This is still another chapter topic from Simple Pleasures.  

Apparently, there is a difference between conversation and discussion.  One is for  fun, the other for business.  I think I may still have more business discussions than conversations, in spite of being retired, which is a little strange.  Perhaps it's due to a somewhat solitary life, part of which is filled with committee-related e-mails (but then I think they are also fun).  Bill and I tend to 'discuss' the 'business' of running the house, having guests, Christmas plans, activities at weekends; I've no complaints about this whatsoever.  We have 'conversations', too,  generally when one of us comes across a new idea to share.  This is a good reason to have some separateness, if only to have something interesting to say to one another.  Otherwise we companionably read our books.

Another author writes about gossips vs. people of rigidly upstanding character (she calls them 'prigs') and is very clear that she votes for gossip.  It bonds friendships, has a element of trust, is a form of generous sharing and is just more fun.  She does set the boundary that it cannot be used for self-advancement, but I'm not sure what she means by this.  Personally, I divide gossip into 'malicious' and 'news about people who interest me.'  I have occasionally met a person who practically salivates when relating ugly stories about people they envy or hate.  I think these characters  are a bit scary and I cross the road to avoid meeting them, so to speak.  Then there is my question about 'How are John and Mary doing?' put to a common friend.  Last I heard their marriage was on rocky ground, for example.  I'm not looking for bad news to enjoy, I'd be thrilled to know they had patched things up.  I care about these people and I'm out of touch; I want information.  I will admit there are people in the world about whom bad news gives me no pain.  I just hope that I manage to mask my satisfaction sufficiently that folks won't cross the road.

If one has an excellent grasp of grammar, one can take pleasure in correcting others.  Spelling mistakes are another similar entertainment of one of the writers in this book.  I can only hope he has found his calling as a teacher or a proofreader and hasn't time to read this blog.  Why the editor chose to insert his essay into this chapter, I'm not quite certain; perhaps he was too intimidated to omit it altogether.

Then the authors seem to change the subject from talking to chewing thinking.  One writer told how excited she was anytime a business colleague cancelled a working lunch at short notice. It gave her time to think her own thoughts.  I did plenty of working lunches, though usually because of a day-long meeting ... .  Can I tell you how wonderful it is to be retired?

Note: she's not pregant, it was the fashion.  Can we have that fashion back, please, only without the head gear?

Another writer's piece is titled 'Portrait of a Marriage', which if Googled takes you to an altogether different, though fascinating, topic.  She's referring instead to the Arnolfini Portrait, on which many people seem to chew, and drawing comparisons with her own recent marriage.  [Note to self: read more about 'dagging'.]  The real point of her piece seems to be how pleasurable a place is The National Gallery, where she visits this painting like an old friend.  I can understand this, though the most permanant exhibit I've discovered at the Laing is the stained glass window; perhaps I should make friends with more of the pieces there.  My favourite place to ruminate is either right here at my computer or sitting with coffee in front of the fire with pen and a notebook.

'Wandering Lonely as a Cloud' clarifies that this is a pleasant occupation:  solitude is good.  No one ever needed to explain that to this only child.  Then someone talks about Meditation.  He approaches it in a very serious way, going to a School of Meditation and taking up yoga in India.  I like to think of meditation as 'sustained application of the mind to the contemplation of a spiritual truth' which can take place whilst sitting in an ordinary chair in your ordinary clothes, but each to his own.

The last author, of the Gratitude Diaries, tells how in a time of trouble a friend gave her a diary and set her the task of finding five things for which she was grateful, on a daily basis.  She's done this for many years now and her children will inherit the accumulation.  She noted that some of her previous entries would provoke curiosity, as she'd made single sentence entries, and that whilst it would make clear what in life brought her the most satisfaction, the journals weren't likely to be that interesting.  She clearly kept the diaries for her own benefit.  Sort of like this blog, then.  

Reminding myself of my blessings when I'm unhappy doesn't necessarily remove the unhappiness, in my experience.  Rather the blessings make my unhappiness seem less important and pull me above the present circumstance, if I'll just apply myself.   I hope her children appreciate their inheritance.

On the whole this chapter struck me as outlining some of the pleasures of company and some of the pleasures of solitude.  I revel in my solitude and will no doubt have to make some adjustments when Bill finishes work, but we have contentedly occupied different parts of the house in the past and I expect that will continue to some extent.  I'm particular about whose company I keep, so when I do meet up with friends, I really enjoy myself and we have lots to talk about.

Do you find simple pleasure in talking and in ruminating?

The Pleasures of the Table

This is another chapter from Simple Pleasures.  I picked it up because I associate the phrase with frugality, also with a quieter more easy life than I had when I was working.  I thought I might find some ideas to incorporate into my retirement to add value.  I can't say I've learned a great deal that is new, it's been more a matter of being reminded of what I like.

Most of us like love our food.  Writers in this chapter recommended simple bread and cheese, morning sun and cornflakes, keeping bees for their honey, baking with the children, eating offal for lunch (I'm guessing this is British humour, but I'm never sure...), growing your own food.  Another offered up a 'soothing' recipe:  (Fried Rice Cakes with Creamed Leeks and Egg).

There is something both simple and complicated about our relationship with food, mainly because of enjoying it too much and also because of the perplexing amount of health warnings and advertising advising on how to eat well.  Never mind all that, let's keep in simple, shall we?

I doubt many of us understand real hunger, beyond the kind that is self-induced for weight control anyhow.  I've never really gone hungry, though I can remember a period when I was 19 and couldn't afford healthy food.  I was trying to live with my Dad and go to university full time.  We lived on boxes of macaroni and cheese with the occasional hamburger patty.  The cost of tomatoes had skyrocketed that summer because of some major crop failure.  Of course we both smoked back then.  I was largely ignorant about cooking.  I could do so much better now with the $20 a week he gave me to cover food, cigarettes and gas!  It was being hungry for a lettuce and tomato salad, believe it or not, that caused me to decide my education would not be full time with a part-time job.  Instead I would go part-time, in night school, with a full time job.  That way I could eat, drive a safe car and reward myself for good grades, not to mention pay cash for tuition and books.  If it took me longer, well I got there in the end.

For me, a significant pleasure of the table is getting the food on it.  I really enjoy the challenges of cooking frugally; experiments with new food are great fun and we have relatively few that aren't successful.  All but a couple of experiments were still edible.  I read once that if a raw carrot doesn't sound good to you, you aren't really hungry.  I extend that to whatever is put in front of me as I have no known food allergies, though I draw the line at raw onions;  the indigestion just isn't worth it.

There are all sorts of foods I once hated that I really enjoy now:  beans, spinach, radishes, Brussels sprouts (well, sort of), cheese on potatoes, mushrooms, cottage cheese, sour cream, yogurt.  I try to keep an open mind about things and try them again periodically.  I love the endless variety that a wider acceptance of food allows.  If we don't have steaks or roasts at every meal, neither do we have endless repetition of the same meat and two veg.  It's funny how 'eating well' means something so much different to different people.  Our definition is definitely about health, which fortunately goes together with frugality:  main course, loads of veg, fruit for dessert. 

In addition to planning and cooking, I love having a dining room.  It went unused for a while except for entertaining, then we discovered it was warmer in there with the fire.  (Anywhere is warmer than my north-facing kitchen).  I hide all the flaws of Grandmother's old dining room table with an old white linen table cloth.  I hide the imperfections of the linen table cloth with a lace table cloth on top.  Those also have their own problems, but candlelight is sufficient to convince me we have an elegant setting.  I could go buy new table linens, but for some reason I prefer the old ones.

We recently splashed out and bought some sterling silver, in the pattern my Grandmother had.  It, too, is second-hand, from Replacements, as International Silver no longer makes this pattern, Spring Glory.  I love the Art Nouveau look and I associate it with many happy Thanksgiving meals at Grandmother's house with all the family around.

Bill wanted to save it for 'special' but I wanted to enjoy it more often and reduce the 'cost per wear', so to speak.  We use the silver for dinner in the dining room.  I appreciate that eating with sterling silver is not a frugal choice.  Rather it is an extravagance made possible by many other frugal choices.

We seem to have about eight different sets of plates between Bill's family and mine and since we are apparently too sentimental to get rid of them, I try to rotate their use.  I have one good set of Noritake which I'm equality happy to pull out and use for no particular reason.  We've yet to break any, but if we did there are plenty spare.  (Note:  If I had to choose china again, I would look for sets that had covered serving pieces, which mine do not).

In addition to food and the setting, another pleasure of the table is the company.  It's not unusual for Bill to come home from work and busy himself with a cup of coffee and his laptop to unwind.  I'm often in the midst of something absorbing, being an afternoon person.  We sometimes catch up with each other in the car on the way to the running club; other evenings we talk over dinner.  

What pleasures of the table do you most enjoy?

The Great Outdoors

Other Simple Pleasures, ones that can be enjoyed out of doors might include these, listed by the authors in this chapter.  I've grouped them:

We currently do

Running in the rain

Appreciating architecture (remember to look up!)

Walking

Foraging for mushrooms blackberries (I'm so glad Google added that strike over button)

Horticulture (food)

Gardening (flowers)

I would consider:

Fishing

Litter-picking

I've nothing against these in principle, but am unlikely to take up:

Playing tennis

Painting the landscape
Wood working

Let me say first of all that "The Great Outdoors" is only great if you are dressed properly.  I understand that the Scots have a saying that there is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.  My running experience suggests they are correct, up to the point of ice (I'm not planning to take up cross country skiing, but I suppose it could be done) and natural disasters.  

Secondly, though I quite enjoy a stroll around the pretty area in which we live and I do get cabin-fever if I don't go out of doors for a couple of days, I'm much more of a homebody than an outdoors person.  I think I would do more outside if we lived in a nicer climate, in fact when we are away we enjoy eating outdoors at every opportunity, so I would add that to my list of simple pleasures.

Bill is more of a 'walker' than I, using the British definition of the term.  In American, 'walking' would probably be more 'hiking'.  One of Bill's plans for retirement is definitely to get back to the Ramblers. 

You'll notice I crossed out mushrooms; in no way would I attempt this!  Blackberry picking is much safer and an excellent way to appreciate the outdoors.  It is absorbing and captures one completely in the present, looking out for good berries.  It's also good exercise, climbing and stretching, not to mention one gets to take home free food.

Running along the riverside either in Newcastle or at the coast, one always finds fishermen (men and boys).  I stopped and asked one once if he ever caught anything, given it was near my house.  He said loads of stuff, and apparently that close to the sea, you don't need a license, only for further inland.  Then he proceeded to name a bunch of sea creatures I'd never recognise.  I wonder if I would ever have the nerve to pull something so foreign out of the water and touch it; only one way to find out, I guess.  I'll let you know if I ever have that experience, believe me!

I have done litter-picking in the past, but not here in Britain.  Litter is a real problem, and it is all too common to see people toss their empty cigarette or crisp package, their bus ticket, grocery receipt; let's not even mention cigarette butts.  From what I've observed, I'd say it's more often a rebellious than careless act and not limited by age group.  Some people will tell you they litter deliberately so that the council has to employ street cleaners (I think that's a hand signal to Margaret Thatcher, that).  

There are various groups like 'Friends of the Park' who schedule litter-picking events and the Clean Tyne Project gathers people for Riverbank Raids, which I'm told are good fun.  The author of this piece just started this as her own defiant hobby and her son started giving her litter-picking up devices for Christmas.  Britain does love its eccentrics, you know, but hey, I say 'well done' to her.  I completely understand why this would be quite a satisfying way to spend an hour or two.

I wish I could say I was an avid gardener; I absolutely have to make myself do anything in that direction.  I started to say I never regret it when I do get out there, but that is only partly true;  I do sometimes rue the sore muscles, ones I obviously only ever use when gardening.  Much as I love seeing flowers and having food to pick, gardening is just not my nature.  Perhaps I need to work on my clothing.  Or do more yoga.

What simple pleasures do you find in the Great Outdoors?

Hearth and Home

The next chapter in Simple Pleasures talks about the pleasures of one's home.  The writers listed:

a nice hot bath

music (both listening and playing)

a good log fire

knitting

cleaning

This is my list:

First, about hearths:  old houses have mantelpieces and fireplaces.  Grandma and Grandpa's house had a gas fire in the living room (and a floor furnace).  I never saw Grandmother's heaters on, but the mantel still served as a wonderful focal point for the room.  I might have settled for just that (and anyone can make one of those), but I'm rather spoilt now.  This house has fireplaces in the living and dining rooms and in the two larger bedrooms upstairs, though only those downstairs have gas fires.  I would sorely miss the fire now.  Of course log fires are even better, but we live in an area with air quality standards which require smokeless fuel, as is the case with all but the very rural areas of Britain.  My point?  There is enormous pleasure to be had in closing the curtains against the dark and sitting in a room cozy from the fire.

Showers are my first choice but a hot bath is good if one has just finished a long run in winter.

Hot drinks, usually coffee but tea is far cheaper; I keep meaning to switch, but suspect I'd have to give up caffeine altogether first.  I have done that for Lent before...maybe that's an idea for next year.

Reading.  Since learning to read I cannot ever remember a time when I didn't have a book on my nightstand.  I know I'm getting older because I view Kindle with suspicion and hold that a world without libraries would be the end of civilisation.

That said, computing (writing, researching and just goofing about) is one of my chief pleasures.  I could imagine life without TV given a few more tweeks to our computers (and that would mean the end of the TV License fee - yea!!!).

Jigsaw puzzles for January nights.

We sometimes sit and listen to classical music, ie Dvořák or Tchaikovsky (had to go look those up!), or something more modern music like Nickelback or Bonnie Raitt.  Bill loves Celtic folk music, sort of Irish blue grass.  I love quiet the most.

Coffee in bed, reading in bed, computing in bed.  What can I say?  It's warm, and I'm a lazy creature.

Cleaning?  You must be kidding.  The only part of it I agreed with is that ironing is quite satisfying:  you get impressive results and stay warm whilst producing it.  I prefer to do 'Nesting':  creating order out of chaos (my natural state), changing things around for a little excitement or to meet a particular need, making things prettier, puttering around with and enjoying my things.  When I don't enjoy them anymore, it's time for them to go.)

Sleep.  Is there anything better than a good night's sleep?

Solitude.  I'm an only child and I need a certain amount of solitude as much as I need sleep or food.

I agree that knitting is a pleasure, also other crafts and sewing.  Mainly I like hand work as I don't always trust the machine to do what I want.  Far too much space in this house is occupied by tools, projects, materials, supplies, etc.  I can't think of a statement of intent that I'm confident of fulfilling here, so I'll say nought.

Entertaining.  Cooking and company, sometimes an excuse to dress up.  It's not as simple as it ought to be, but only because I choose to make it complicated, I'm sure.

Food...but that's a separate chapter.

What are the simple pleasures you enjoy in or about your own home?

Simple Pleasures

I walked to the library yesterday and found two of the Inter-War books I wanted.  Most are not available, but a few more are at other libraries in this area, so I have much to look forward to.

Another book I picked up was a small one titled Simple Pleasures - Little Things that Make Life Worth Living.  Anything that Makes Live Worth Living is worthy of consideration, surely.  I thought I'd find out what the National Trust's take on this might be.

The first chapter is "A Sense of Place".  In it are essays about 

a walking path along the coast of Wales

Seaton Delaval Hall (near us)

Exmoor

Deep sea diving

a copse near Bath

Lancashire

Combe

Lundy

Ramsgate Sands

British Rail

I was going to link you to all sorts from this list, but if you're curious you'll find out I'm sure.  From my brief perusal last night, the ideas around a 'sense of place' have to do with nature and solitude, a feeling of ownership or identification, a new and transforming experience, a sense of history or patriotic pride, a feeling of gratitude at being able to visit, inhabit or experience a place, a unique opportunity for observing - either nature or other people.  

I was thinking about when in my life I've enjoyed this 'sense of place'.  What came to my mind was

• The large stone path on the West side of the house where I grew up in the Village, where I served mud pies and hose water to my best friend, Mary Lou, on my dainty china tea set.
• My Grandmother's house on NW 31st Street in Oklahoma City, virtually every wonderful room in it, but particularly the front hall closet with the glass door.  It was my secret hiding place.
• Her house on 7th and Shartel in the same city, perhaps mostly for her large kitchen and for the large mantled fireplace with glass fronted bookshelves on either side.  I wanted to own something that grand; I still do.
• The first house I owned on 9th Street.  I loved it for its potential, which proves I am an accomplished fantasist.  I loved the 10 foot ceilings, the French doors between the living and dining rooms and the large front porch.
• My Grandma & Grandpa's 1940's house in Oklahoma City, especially the closets with sliding doors and built in cupboards; also the storage space where Grandpa kept his tools, under the dining room window seat; also the kitchen with the pantry cupboard, the large drawers, the cutting board that pulled out from under the counter and the French windows that opened into the large screened in back porch with the ceiling fan from the old Huckins Hotel and Grandpa's faded green wooden rocking chair with the wide arms.  A developer tore the house down a few years ago.  I visit the house often in my sleep.
• Driving at the coast on my way home and enjoying the sea views along the Promenade.
• The house where we now live.  I get a warm feeling when approaching from the North, seeing the long wall, the glassed in porch and the bay windows.  The front garden looks much more elegant with the new brickwork. My favourite places in this house are the front porch and the living and dining rooms where Grandmother's furniture has finally found a suitable home.
• When I lived in Salt Lake City, the first traffic lights of my daily commute faced East to the Wasatch Mountain front, sometimes snow covered, others snow topped, forest green or ablaze with autumn, the horizon unbroken by anything but treeline.  If I was lucky enough to hit a red light, that seemed to set me on a better path for the rest of the day.  (Sadly, some b@$+@£d playing King of the Mountain has stuck a large, ugly house above the tree line and I never want to look up there again.)
• The first time I saw the Gulf of Mexico I sat for hours in the surf at Galveston, enthralled by the grey-green colour of the water and the lacy white waves.  I wanted to take bolts of it home and make myself an entire wardrobe.
• I feel just the same when I ride on a train or on the London Underground as the gentleman who described his pleasure in watching other people and inventing stories about them.   Travel by train and ferry is just the best.
• The first time I stood on Westminster Bridge overlooking the Thames River, I thought of the many novels I'd read in the first 39 years of my life that were set in London, never dreaming I'd actually see the place.  I cried.  I've visited London's tourist area sufficiently often over the years that it is feels familiar enough for me to claim it as mine, particularly the Tower and the very spot where Anne Boleyn and Jane Grey lost their heads.

 Where are the places you've experienced that live on inside and bring you pleasure?