Valentine's Day Aftermath

As far as the Mr and the son are concerned I pulled off my first ever roast leg of lamb. It was pink and utterly tender. Considering the meat was just from the supermarket and not a speciality butcher is quite something. To cook the lamb I washed and then dried it, and then rubbed it with dried English mustard made up with olive oil. Cut whole garlic in half lengthwise and cut slits into the lamb and stuff in half a garlic and a sprig of fresh rosemary deep into each slit. About 8 slits one side and maybe 10 the other. Lay out the remaining rosemary on a wire rack in a roasting tin and laid the lamb on it and let it stand a couple of hours before cooking.

Then make up half a pint of beef stock and pour that into the base of the roasting tin and put into a preheated oven at 170C for about 50 minutes. I think our joint could have stayed in for another 10 minutes easily but it worked out as I don't really eat it and there was plenty that was cooked enough. The next day I finely sliced the left overs and warmed them through in gravy in a hot oven for about 30 minutes so it was fully cooked by then, but still tender.

The 70p I squandered on a "ready made gravy for lamb" mix was worth it on this occasion as it really made it work and lasted the two meals.

And for pudding I made an upside down pineapple cake which is one of Mr Doris' favs.

The aftermath bit comes when Mr Doris put the white towels on to wash the next day. Somehow, one of the red paper napkins from our Valentines meal made it into the wash load too, leaving my wonderful white towels very red. Some dygone later (or rather the equivalent) and they are just a mellow shade of pink. Oh well.

Hot salty tears

One of those nights where I have slept earlier on the sofa and then having gone to bed after midnight have lain in bed awake since. Contemplating life, the universe and everything, one thing leads to another and here I am crying. Hot salty tears that flow effortlessly and I wonder why am I crying? About events and situations that happened thirty to thirty-five years ago it seems utterly ridiculous. All whilst the steady, deep breaths of darling Mr Doris sleeping alongside.

It doesn't feel as if I want to be pitied or felt sorry for. It is not that I want to be a child again - heaven forbid I should go back to that purgatory. Maybe it is an escape mechanism for all the things not going right just now I can fall back into blaming my past. But I do not think it is that either, especially at a time I have realised I need to let go once again. Perhaps it is the over-indulgence in the red wine earlier in the evening but I feel as if I have slept it off already.

A week or so ago a crazy idea flashed across my mind that perhaps I wanted to confront my parents and to give them the opportunity to say sorry. To give them the chance to clear the air before any of us shuffle from this mortal coil. I don't for one moment think they are actually aware of the pain I carry from my mother's physical and mental blows (as a result of her own screwed up childhood) and from my father's negligence and complicity. Instead I organise family outings and treat them with extraordinary kindness and tolerance, even though I say it myself.

Back in the 1980s I came to a certain peace with my past for a while. At a time when I learned inside myself to forgive and let go although even then I felt a strong forgiveness I found it very hard to forget. I also realised nothing was to be gained from talking over the past with my parents: my mother would just deny it.

Which drives me back again to wondering why on earth should crummy events from all those years have such an impact now. I feel pathetic as a result. Like I should just pull myself together and move on. Or maybe I should face the fear and bring it out and let my parents in on it. If I have screwed up big time with my children I would rather they gave me the chance to fix it. But then I am really mainly sane. My mother is a little child inside. Not a child I could love but an egotistical little bitch who is mean, brutal and demanding. Sure she has a very kind side in an over-bearing "what-I-give-must-ultimately-be-paid-back" kind of way but nothing endearing to me. She wants to be loved and that is probably all she ever wanted. But she has had so many chances and so many lovely people in her life who have tried to show her love and friendship and if she blows it then that is her path.

Meanwhile I have known love and am loved. So why do the ghosts of the past still torment and affect me on occasion. What am I supposed to learn from all this - I am sure there must be a reason but I never seem to be able to put a finger on what it is. One day the answer will come from within. Thankfully writing it down here my eyes are now dry and perhaps sleep will wrap me in warm slumbers.

Remembering

In a month or two ten years ago Mr Doris and I met.

In a month or two nine years ago Mr Doris and I married.

It is poignant to look at the group wedding pictures and to see the faces of those who have passed since then. My paternal grandfather and then an ex-neighbour who was one of those extraordinary characters who faced much drama in her life and gave to so many. Then the elderly matriarch of close family friends whose entire family came to the wedding from the US. Her son has now departed too. And my paternal grandmother passed a few years after her husband - my grandfather.

I remember her telling me the trauma of when finally, my grandfather was going to be taken to hospital. She told me she laid down next to him on their bed knowing this would be the last time they would ever be together. They were both nearly ninety. He died within a couple of days. I had been to visit just a couple of weeks before and he was indeed poorly but he came to the door to see me and the kids off - I took a photo of him standing there in his reduced height but still much taller than I.

My grandmother taught me there was life after death. I thought her heart would break when he died but she kept crying and she kept going on and then she cried less. I admired her so much in those following years. She talked about the past and about the things she had done wrong in her life and apologised about. Things were different back "then" and thank goodness for the freedoms and understanding we have in this day and age.

Back then on my wedding day, my grandmother gave me a very long antique gold chain. It had been given to her by her grandmother. After she gave it to me the rest of the wedding pics has me wearing the chain. A year or two later (after my grandfather died) I was heavily into genealogy and was given an old board photograph from the turn of the century of my grandmother's grandmother and grandfather. Around her neck was a long chain, likely the gold chain of which I am now the guardian.

In a generation's time, god-willing I can give the chain to my granddaughter. Perhaps as an elderly woman on her wedding day.

Contentment

Written about contentment with darling Mr Doris;
and dedicated to my friend Jo as she embarks on her new life.



Cuddling

arms embracing close and blankets swathed round us

Openness

being able to talk and share

Normality

because it is everyday and not just for special occasions

Touching

body, mind or heart

Equality

neither of us are less important or more important

Now

in the moment it is a now thing

Thinking

of the little things that matter

Mating

bodies close and as one

Energy

giving not zapping

Naturally

without any undue effort

Totally

so completely and all enveloping

London Delights

Not bad being in London at 1pm following a phone call out of the blue at 9.30 am .... and it involved a two hour train journey. Showed me that there is still movement and a zest for life in me yet.

My dear friend from Germany (the one who's 50th I celebrated with a couple of years ago by being a surprise guest at her party) surprised me with her unexpected flying UK visit. Me coughing and spluttering at the tail end of my cold but how could I stay at home. So I wrapped up; found an empty carriage on the train to sit in and zoomed into London.

It was the first time both of us saw the Meeting Place statue in St Pancras International. I had been looking forward to seeing it for ages but have to say I was slightly dampened by it. We didn't like the eyes in typical blank carved format, which together with the greco looking heads and noses gave an out of worldly look .... almost sci-fi alien like! And then the other main thing is that there is just not enough space around the statue. With a brick wall facade right behind it and glass wall about equidistant in front of it, the meeting area around becomes an almost narrow walkway hemmed in front and back. I want to see the whole statue ... the couple embrace ... from a comfortable distance but that is just not possible. And then there is the cricked neck one gets from looking up so high. Moan! Moan! Moan! But I don't mean to!



The weather was glorious and we went down to Richmond for the day. After walking along the Thames we went up into some public gardens and a little tea rooms where, in the wintry sunshine, wrapped up in our coincidentally identical coats and scarves, we sat on the balcony on iron chairs with old cushions and partook of tea and cake and shared old times and new.