90 is the New 40!?

If I'm going to be 90, this is how I'd love to do it.  I mean, she's the absolute essence of Jenny Joseph's poem.  Except, of course, that instead of purple and red, Ilona's chosen orange, chartreuse and turquoise.  Bill even agreed that 'eyelash cabaret' should become part of my lifestyle (how about we start out with 'skill set') between now and then.

I pointed out the bottom picture to him and he said, "Yes, that's you!"  I can just see me downsizing one day, piling all my possessions into one room.

Doesn't she look fabulous!?

Not So Christmas Fayre

We went to the Christmas Market at the Metro station yesterday, and of course I forgot to take my camera (I make and break habits more frequently than anyone I know).  It was strangely dark in spite of having the overhead lights on.  I worked out it was because the glass ceiling was covered with snow that shut out the daylight.  This created an interesting cave-like atmosphere.  

Mind, I'd say only about a third of the tables were at all Christmas-y.  There were a few sellers we'd not seen before and quite a few empty tables, probably because of the weather.  I went with French food in mind, on Bill's Christmas wishlist, but no Frenchmen were to be found.  Instead, we spotted wreaths.  For years I've wanted a wreath for the front door, and half intended to make one, but never got aroundtuit.  So when we saw these for a very reasonable price, re-useable year after year, I pounced.

Also, having been inspired by Madame's table (click on the picture for a better view) and thinking we might drink more water if it were presented more elegantly, we looked for crystal decanters.  There were dozens to be had, from £4 to £15.  Bill selected this one 

and we filled our largest gold-fish bowl wine glasses, a recent gift, with water from our new decanter at dinner last night.  (No, this isn't a linen and lace tablecloth, it's the tie-dye tablecloth bought under duress from large, smiling African women in The Gambia, but that's another post).

Happy Birthday Grandmother!

I recognize this might be a bit confusing, so let me explain.  This isn't actually a picture of a three-year-old opening one of his birthday presents.  Instead, this is one of my favourite pictures of Grandmother, who got such a lot of pleasure from small children.  She didn't let you take her picture if she could help it, but she was so absorbed watching Johnny, I got away with it.

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?

Kissing Cousins

We were in the pub the other night after a run.  A football match was playing on the big screen at the other end of the room and I caught a glimpse of The Happy Couple in between adverts and overheard someone saying they had announced their engagement, so as usual I caught up with World News about a week late (actually, that's pretty good for me).  Real Delia was saying how Scroogey she is about all the hoopla around the Royal Wedding, but I'm kind of excited about it.  In spite of my commenting to Bill that it was a good thing Wills had finally got on with it, cause he was losing his looks; he needs to get married whilst he still has hair.  Mind, I think Bill looks just fine without his, but I hate pictures of him during that stage when he was still trying to make do with what little was left; he's definitely improved with age.   Given what a heart-throb William was in his late teens, I suspect his best days are behind him, but never mind.

I think Kate is a lovely young woman with great taste in clothes and I'm looking forward to the fashion parade.  Having watched this interview that Delia linked I decided I liked William better for his ease with the media and for insisting that Kate will make her own future rather than follow in any one's footsteps.  Being generally nosy about her, I checked out what the internet had to say, in particular her Wikipedia entry.  The best part, I thought, was the link to her supposed genealogy.

Not only were her great-great-grandparents coal miners (just like mine!), but some of the place names on her family tree include Newcastle-upon-Tyne, South Shields, North Shields, Tynemouth, Byker...she's practically a Geordie lass (OK, a slight exaggeration).  She's vaguely related to Harriett Martineau, about whom I've written before.  Even stranger, going back to her 14x great grandparents, she and William have a common ancestor, so they are actually 15th cousins.  Well, it's not exactly close enough to worry about is it?  Anyhow, there is plenty of precedent.

It's enough to make me wonder if everyone in Britain isn't related somehow.

White Thanksgiving

It was the Thanksgiving that almost wasn't.  We'd invited 40, expected 30, got 9.  Almost continual snow for the past few days meant the roads were bad.  Snow that sticks is pretty unusual around here, snow this early even more so.

Snow during a recession, I guessed, meant that the council would be watching their budgets and using gritters only if unavoidable.  Apparently it was avoidable, not that they would do our road anyhow.  We aren't on a bus route, so our road would stay snowed, but we were no different to anyone else, it seems. 

All day, as we finished cooking and cleaning, the phone rang:  

• Helen phoned first, saying she and Martin didn't think the drive from Manchester was do-able.  Even if that worked, they were going to stay at her Mom's in Woolsingham, a small town at least an hour away in ideal conditions.  This meant not only the loss of Martin but also brother Simon, my two biggest eaters.  I could see leftovers piling up already.
• Neela rang.  She was full of cold, they weren't coming (I could hear it in her voice, glad she didn't bring her germs).
• Janet had just recovered from slipping and chipping her elbow, afraid to risk another fall on the ice on the few hundred metres to the Metro.
• John came to the house, rather than phoning, which made me think the roads were OK.  His  sister-in-law was in hospital with a hip replacement; she'd had really bad reaction to medications and went wild, with two security men and two police constables called in to restrain her (not bad for a 60-year-old, I'm impressed).  John's brother needed help, so they would be sitting with the sister-in-law that evening, not eating Thanksgiving dinner. 
• Bill's cousin called to say they couldn't get out of the house and were staying in.  She can barely walk from bunion surgery anyhow, so no surprise there.
• Vivien rang, sounding really distressed, Bill said.  They were all dressed and ready to come, but couldn't get their car out;  the entire estate was essentially snowed in.

On top of all that Bill and I, who usually work together as a practiced team for this event, couldn't seem to agree on anything.  What I wanted to change for this year, he wanted the same; his ideas didn't suit me either.  We probably had more arguments in one day than we normally have in months.  I was finding it a thoroughly miserable day with not a lot of gratitude floating around.  The amount of work still to be done was a blessing, though, as I had to focus on the next item on the 'to do' list.

Once we got to the showering and dressing stage, things seemed to iron out and when the guests arrived I was content again, grateful for each and every person who came through the door! Bob brought his car, but couldn't get out to go home so he slept on our couch.  Bill's cousin Mike, brought Christine in the car to their nearest station then came to us on the Metro to avoid part of the drive.  All the others who made it lived near the Metro and just bundled up and put on their wellies (more British baby-talk).  

The neighbours behind us, George and Elsie, managed to join us.  Mind, Elsie's asthma was pretty bad and as soon as they came in she sat on the stairs to use her inhaler and recover from her 100-yard walk. We've not invited neighbours before, but I'd long intended to change that.  I finally did put notes through doors this year and - unlike email invites - got replies from all, though mostly no's.  Dave and Sarah were already committed to a dinner dance in Ponteland, as he is president of the golf club.  If they got back and we were still partying, they'd drop by.  Kathryn had to work the night shift and Ian was too shy to come on his own. Mike had surgery scheduled for that day.  Anne was going down to London to visit her son.  Elsie wasn't sure she'd be up to it but later on George let us know they would definitely come.  

They've lived in their house for 47 years and could tell us all about the neighbours and how long they'd lived there, including who had my house before.   The young couple I bought it from had gone to Liverpool; the older lady before them, Miss Creighton, whose father built this house in 1920 (theirs was built in 1918), had been headmistress of the local school, where I go sewing now.   We chatted away for hours and I could see they were having a good time, sitting together in Grandmother's 1930's love seat (the name tickled them) in front of the fire.  George was an engineer with a marine parts firm and though he is in his 80s we see him most days setting off for a walk at a clip I'd have to work to keep up with.  Bill has seen George miles away when out on a run himself.  Though he seems to stay closer to home with Elsie unwell, he still goes out for a paper and watching him walk I'd put him at 20 years younger than he is.  A recipe for health, no doubt.   I have to say that visiting with this couple gave me enormous pleasure and made up for the rest of the day.

With most folks travelling by Metro, the party ended slightly earlier than usual.  We were in bed around midnight.  It had all gone reasonably well, considering. Bob had no trouble pulling out the next morning.  He rang when he got home to say that none of the roads had been cleared, just the bright sun had improved the conditions.  

Monday morning we had a storm; I saw the lightning out the corner of my eye and thought it was a reflection from my computer screen.  Then the thunder made me think someone was doing fireworks....at 6:30 am?  Though it rains a lot here, thunder and lightening are rare events.  It was over soon, swiftly moving.  I thought the rain might rescue us from the snow, but it was soon sleet and then snow...no help there then.


So, Thanksgiving over, now I'm ready to pull out the task list for Christmas.  I wonder if it is going to be White as well?

Best in Clothes

Every year we have the Academy Awards presentations on TV and all around that time the media is flooded with clips from the nominated films followed by what was worn to the ceremony.  I like looking at pretty pictures, but those clothes have nothing to do with me or my lifestyle.

Never mind the clothes, I haven't even been to a movie theatre since 2002 when Bill's sister, Jane, and I went to see Chicago.  Bill's taste in movies is pretty narrow and I don't think the price of the tickets and refreshments is anywhere near justifiable, particularly since with a bit of patience I can rent (or even buy) the movie for a few quid and make popcorn at home.  If there were 'dollar' movies (or the equivalent here), I would considering going, but there aren't.  I suspect there is no such thing as 'dollar' or even 'two dollar' movies anymore, but never mind.

I was thinking that the Oscar presentations started in the 1920-30s and that I could see all the lovely fashions from that era, but it doesn't turn out to be that straightforward.  The first Oscars were in 1929, but they didn't do awards for best costume design until 1948 <darn>.  

  

So, we'll have to dig a little harder, but first, put this date in your diary for 2011:  27 February.  That's when the Oscars will be on TV, in the US anyhow.  I don't actually know what they do over here in England; I've never bothered much with it.  Perhaps I'll think to look for it in the TV listings to see if it shows here at all or whether they just do clips about the winners and show the movie stars on the red carpet, etc.  To be honest, I'm only mildly interested in the present day movies and awards.

  

The first Academy Awards presentation was in 1929.  The Best Picture award went to a movie called Wings, made in 1927 (things must have moved slower back then) and starring Clara Bow and Charles "Buddy" Rogers (her, I've heard of).  It was a silent movie, the only one to win an Academy Award.  The costume designers are listed as Travis Banton and Edith Head (her, I've heard of).

 

Apparently, Banton was Edith Head's mentor.  Her career seems to have taken off about the time his faltered, but I'm not as enthusiastic about styles in the 1950s, me.

Just to prove that I'm not alone in being interested in stuff like this, not to mention showing you some of Banton's clothes, I give you Silver Screen Modiste, Movie Diva and, just for fun, PaperDollywood.  I expect I'll be coming back to visit these sites!

Funny enough, though the film was supposed to be set during World War I, the clothing and hairstyles in it are the bobbed hair and freer clothing of the 1920's when the film was made.  Oops.