Historical footprint

Yesterday, we visited a much favoured Railway Centre, a freight-only workable rail-connected Centre, which has become a "must-visit" venue for train and track enthusiasts, for history buffs, train spotters and families.

They have excellent catering and visitor facilities, exhibitions, a museum, steam trains to ride, a book shop and a various old stock and track to view and inspect; past visits have seen exhibitions of 1940's fashions, vintage cars and Penny-farthing bicycles.

Ours is an annual pilgrimage for the dear SO has family connections with both the station and its village and to-still-resident family members, and its church holds the key to past generations.

It was a spur-of-the-moment trip, just because we could, and looking forward to their memorable roast beef lunch with real Horseradish sauce, imagine our surprise then, to discover a special exhibition for Easter, of The Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends of The Island of Sodor, in full sway as we arrived.

Children, with parents and grandparents in tow, filled the Centre with lively enthusiastic  voices and their presence, and all to celebrate the writings of the Reverend W. Awdry of Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends of Sodor Island.  We even met The Fat Controller, walking about the exhibition, greeting visitors in-between story-telling sessions.  It was definitely a day for the young and young-at-heart with Thomas happily chuffing up and down the track, taking excited passengers for rides, and another engine, Swanscombe, being made ready by her young engineer. Swanscombe, built in 1891, was giving out great black plumes of foul-smelling smoke from his funnel.  It was the coal being used, explained the engineer, quickly shovelling more coal into the fire, and the coal dust being burnt off.  Once the required  running temperature had been reached, the thick black smoke was replaced by that of a cleaner and sweeter smelling emission.

We were most fortunate to view Swanscombe today for it’s been kept in the work-shed since last Christmas, undergoing renovation work, which was only brought to a happy conclusion the previous day.  Its gleaming and polished green body-work a testament to the hard labours of the Centre’s enthusiastic work-force. The young engineer was blackened from head to toe and his hands were so very black, it looked as if he was wearing black leather work gloves, his hands so very, very black!

The Museum is a constant source of fascination and we soon fell into conversation with its Station Master about their collection of memorabilia.  The dear SO was especially keen to discover if their archives contained any photographic record of a certain local station, now closed, but which once was of great importance to his family.  Our guide could not furnish any definite details but he took us into the library for a quick scrutiny of the records and, whilst there, I found many reference books for my own future reading and enjoyment.

Before we parted company, our knowledgeable guide, pointed us in the direction of an especially poignant exhibition, containing his personal documents, which he had donated to the Museum.  They were his family’s ration cards, brought into use after the end of WW2, and there they were, all neatly encased in their green leather wallet, faded by the passing years, and constant family handling.  They were such a small memorial to early childhood days, still held within our collective living consciousness, and of eager inspection to the three of us.  Such exhibitions are of much importance to our national collection of railway memorabilia and of historical significance to the workers who once committed their existence to the great steaming engines bestriding our green and pleasant land, not to mention the great industrial cities.

And we laughed over shared recollections of cod liver oil, orange juice and the malt and cod liver oil I was fed!  Our memories so tangible, momentarily engrossing and captivating, calmly holding us in spell-bound joy, by the presence of an ancient green leather wallet.

In its entirety as a whole, the Railway Centre is a living testimonial to the early days and workings of our national transport system and its workforce, who, undoubtedly, knew arduous conditions of employment, of alarming machinery and engines.

Industrial days cannot have been anything other than difficult and trying and we have to be glad they no longer exist but, an appreciative memory of those early days ought to be maintained and enshrined within our national collective archive.

For it is in remembrance that our present and forthcoming history is strengthened and made surer.

Cheerio

Daisy

Book Club Dinner

We had our end of term dinner party last night and it was great fun.  Everyone brings a favourite dish along with them and a glass of wine is very welcome, as we chat about a variety of things plus, of course, books.

We have a list of books for each term and for those books not yet received from the library for various reasons, such as other book clubs still holding on to them and not available, or because they are not yet out in paperback, we always have a couple of unread books to tack onto the next list, as has happened now.

We can also  borrow books individually from a local library, we people do, or order them from Amazon, which is also a favourite method of getting our hands on the next book.  And, of course, we swap books with each other, which means we don't have to buy each book on every list.

Of course, all these new books mount up and mostly people don't want to hold on to every book they read simply because of a lack of house space for storage.  And it's good to circulate books to friends and family, or given them to the Oxfam book shop or to any of the other charity shops, for re-sale.  And this is what I shall be doing for we already have more than enough books and there are some favourite books you simply can never part with.

At least we don't go in for book burning any more which, historically, has happened throughout millennia.

We were talking about how our fears and worries can keep us awake at night at times, coming up with tried and tested means for dealing with this.  My favourite is to list urgent worries on a small notebook, kept by my bedside for just such a purpose, and for me it works very well.  But a friend suggested her worries were not conscious ones but those lurking within her sub-conscious which, by listing them, actually brought them to  a more prominent position, making them more of a problem to cope with.

How she deals with her worries is to simply blank them from her thoughts at night time and just calmly endeavour to get back to sleep as quickly as possible; living in the moment really, for the past has gone and who knows what will actually happen in the future or even tomorrow.

And, dealing with one issue at a time is also probably a very good truth to live by.  We busy women, juggling  a multitude of jobs/issues at any one time, ought to consider this approach sometimes, if we weren't so busy coping with all the things we expect ourselves to do.

Could it all just be a mind-game, with our expectations of how we should be and act, our thoughts and minds wired-up to what we think we should be achieving, controlling what we eventually are able to achieve.  The thought being father to the action, demanding a never-ceasing struggle to achieve more and more.  One is always reading that people are now busier than ever before yet don't we have more help these days with our modern machinery, technology and countless means of communication.

Just running around and keeping things going, is often what I feel about things, and just trying to keep on top of work, life and hobbies, let alone eating and sleeping and being with kith and kin; as for reading, well, that's quite another thing - highly enjoyable, necessary, vital and hugely enjoyable, which brings me nicely back to my book club.

We have a smashing circle of  intelligent, articulate and interesting women, all with busy lives, expectations and commitments to consider, yet they all read regularly and passionately.  At times it seems as if we're expecting to be able to read a new book every week and I often find this quite difficult, with all the other activities I endeavour to cram into my life. yet it's worth the effort which is more than repaid by the friendship and jolly camaraderie to be enjoyed at our end of term "jolly" which we all thoroughly enjoy.

I can't wait for the next occasion - when summer has once more returned to us!

Toodle oo

Daisy

PS back to my cooking for I've just created my own gluten-free pastry recipe and I'm tickled pink!

And another thing....

The other morning, oh hello again....been a bit busy, sorting out stuff again!

Got up very early the other day and spent two hours wading through a collection of family letters that have been with me for many years and...finally I'd made up my mind to deal with them, well, you know, all that pre-de-clutter stuff I've been on about just recently.  Recently I say.. well .about as recently as the last twenty years now!

You get letters and you read them straight away, once you've fed the cat and given your Man of the House his breakfast, and you're having your breakfast coffee with time to read your best friend's letter and, then He's listening to the breakfast news and rustling the  day's newspaper simultaneously, and the cat's demanding your attention, and then the telephone rings and suddenly there's no more time to read your letter.  So you put it aside until later on, and later on you read it quickly, determined to read it again before you reply.

Which you do but, somehow, you can't quite bring yourself to, well, she is your best friend..so you keep yet another letter and so it goes on and on, until you have amassed a huge pile of letters.  And years later those letters are still with you and now, re-reading them, you discover your friend has made lots of references to what both she and you were doing during all those years ago, and it's interesting  to re-connect with yourself from all those past years and rediscover the who you were.  And if your children were growing up during the years covered by your friend's letters, how on earth could you ever discard them. ever?

So the present situation is that I still have my boxes of letters which I still plan to re-read, and enjoy ......and no doubt keep.  And they are very definitely letters which  make a connection to the activities of my young children, which will link up with the diaries I kept of our earlier days and well, those days are just so precious
to me, and all of us, so they are possessions to be kept.

So my de-cluttering has come to an abrupt closure at this point!  Perhaps I'll try another box of papers tomorrow and see how I get on with sorting those out?  I wonder.......?

I once wrote a long poem about moving house and all the assorted ills of removing to another house or area, in which I concluded each of us have in our possession a certain type and amount of clutter which, no matter how much we protest about, we will never, ever, let them ever be lost, or discarded, no matter what any other person, even our best beloved, might say to us about our own particular clutter.

There are just some things we have to keep, retain and hold on to, and that's it.  Our fate, and that of our possessions, those ones we can never bring ourselves to throw away, are a sealed entity, and that's all there is to it.

So enjoy your possessions, the ones you will never be able to discard and, if it helps in any way at all, just do your utmost to restrict the kept things to one type only, then at least that way your tower of kept things will hopefully not become too towering.  Well that's my best theory for the now but I'm still working on it!

For tomorrow, well who knows....!

Cheerio for now

Daisy x

The next round......

I've begun the next round of de-cluttering and it's painful!

The theory of clearance being good for the soul is well, arguable but positive, and OK I guess, but I like the idea of clearance enabling the enlivened soul being free to collect more stuff, once the bereaved soul has got over the loss of the earlier clutter.  Are you still with me...,good!

However, whatever the reason and philosophy, clearing out papers etc. is painful and to be regretted and, most arguably, only done because you've run-out of space, which is something you simply cannot by anything other than positive about; it's a fact of life, your life, and something that has to be dealt with in whatever way open to you, the bereaved soul?

I've gone through my collection of family letters, not all of course but quite a few, thankfully, which I was able to save.  I've thrown some away, discovered a few which link up with our latest family  research that my son is helping with; this is great for connection to the particular family concerned, and weakened by death and loss, a tragedy happening all the time with extended family links, but still very sad. And I still have a whole folder of letters I'm hoping will help us connect with other kith and kin!

Of dairies, there are very many and some will hold relevant notes of family lives and incidents and happenings, while mostly the entries will be of everyday, mundane, activities but, I do believe, it is these simple activities carried out as a regular routine, which hold the key to our lives; the daily minutiae which is so utterly forgettable and trivial, yet so good to remember and recall. They are uniquely important to each and every one of us and we lose them at our peril.

So the diaries stay and I'm simply longing to go through them yet somehow they keep missing out on their turn to be investigated and researched; I have masses of them!!

Then books.  Of these also there are many, less than before, that is before we first moved from our house in another village, to where we are now.  I absolutely hate parting with books for they are my friends and many of them have been with me for simply ages.....ah that's the rub,  longevity of ownership, which is how they are friends.  So I will list the books which can be parted with, to remember them and replace if I might one day.  We've not stopped buying books since coming here and I, in particular, seem to have acquired rather a great deal of books.  Thankfully, many of them are modern novels which can easily be parted with and replaced, if necessary, which won't happen; mostly, they can be forgotten and not replaced and I will take them down to our Oxfam Bookshop for them to sell.

I like text, historical or factual books, all for particular and general study purposes, and I keep just a few novels because they are very dear to me.

Then of course, there are papers and detail needed to be retained, for further logging and writing about
which cannot be lost, yet if I'm to keep them, other things must go, for our space is finite, here at least, and that must be the over-riding consideration.

As I said earlier, de-cluttering is a painful subject which must be taken on, and there is no other way forward....bother, or buther as Pooh would say!

It's the letting go, as I know from earlier days, for often, once a thing has gone it can be forgotten fairly easily, which is happily hopeful for all of us would-be de-clutterers, wouldn't you say?

Ah well, life goes on, somehow!

Toodle oo

Daisy

Buttons and Bows.....

Why do buttons always come off....whatever it is you're about to put on and in this case, my pink duvet cover; should I have bows instead or would I find those just as fiddly??

Buttons, why do we love them so much?  Well, I'm presuming you love them just as much as I do, don't you?  They're useful, decorative, handy and very useful, that is, when they've not come adrift and lost themselves?   I'm guessing they were all made out of animal bone to begin with, thus possibly expensive to produce, difficult to manufacture in large numbers and, all those willing/unwilling hands needed to make them - did they revolt against their working conditions, wage etc??

Do you know, I'm not sure, but I bet it would be interesting to explore the history of button making and blog about it!

But back to my pink duvet cover, which I'd planned to out on this morning.  I'd changed the pillow cases and the duvet cover, and struggling with the mattress mountain and thinking, now should I get help from the dear SO who was only waiting around for the qualifying action for the Australian GP in Melbourne, on Sunday, to be screened.  Should I call him in, I mean this is something I do all the time, on my own and perhaps it's quicker on my own; but then, why not, four hands will certainly get the job done much more quickly, so?  So  I did.  It was quicker and much more fun, as we laughed over the absurdity of struggling with my huge pink extra-King-sized duvet.  We tried the alternative method for ease of handling, you know, where you match up a corner of the duvet with a turned-inside duvet corner, holding the two corners together, and turning the inside cover outside, over the duvet ....phew!

Well, that was easy but then we had the button fastening to cope with, and that's the rub, for a missing button creates havoc with the button sequencing....and this created more laughter and more fun.  Brilliant!!

And the bed - a top duvet, the sleeping duvet, our memory foam mattress plus a huge solid mattress on top of the bed base plus a mattress topper and a lighter duvet in between, just for good measure!  Well, a bed must be comfortable, don't you agree?

And how do you get help with bed-duvet dressing, from the man of the house........well, you offer him his choice of daily-chore involvement which for us today was - help with the duvet or hoover the house.....and really it was not such a difficult decision for him to make in the end......Result!!!

And buttons........well guilty feelings here for there are several missing ones which need fixing on...sometime, when I've five minutes to spare?

And bows......very pretty, fiddly, nice in the hair, on a ball-gown or wedding-gown, on shoes...sometimes, and on bedroom soft furnishings.  And on pillows, those discrete bows on the reverse side instead of buttons; and isn't it easier to sew on bows than make machine button holes and then match up the button with the  button hole???

Ah well, life's a breeze.......Daisy

Atishoo

Don't you just hate getting that cold.....you know the one that's gone round the family, or office, the golf club or......the one that person sitting next to you on the tube or subway, bus, air-bus or coffee bar?

The summer cold, and you're feeling dreadful when everyone else is feeling sublimely carefree, jolly, nicely toasty...and your head is splitting open, your eyes are red and sore, and you can't stop coughing!!

Or the Christmas cold you get on Christmas Eve morning; your feeling even more terrible than you've ever felt before, and all the family are bubbling over with Father Christmas excitement.

So there you are, coughing and sneezing, alternately blowing your nose, which is running, sore and becoming redder by the minute; then choking and hacking away because talking and, heaven forbid, laughing, because that just makes you cough even more and harder still.

And what do you need most of all at this tragic period in your life, well for goodness sake, a handkerchief or paper tissue.  The handkerchief must be very large and soft and the paper tissue should be softly and balmly luxurious.  Now perhaps some might say, at this point, tissues are most definitely better than handkerchiefs, for mopping that poor little nose and your fevered brow and even I might just agree.

But I like handkerchiefs, particularly of the  older design and fabric style - good, stout cotton that's been boiled and washed so  many times, the fabric is now so soft and supple, it almost wraps itself about your nose, to cope with the problem.  Even the softest of tissues can't quite exactly do that for you and, should you have been so careless as to run out of your favourite balm-drenched tissue and, to hand, have only the thinnest and cheapest of scratchy, unyielding, dry-as-bone tissue, then heaven help you!

So, OK lets talk handkerchiefs; the pretty ones this time.  The fine lawn, lace-edged ones, the hand-rolled edged ones, in the finest cotton lawn, initials a-flutter in one corner.  The silken handkerchiefs sported by the chaps in their suit breast-pocket for adornment and comfort, or even for the mopping up of tears.  The pretty cotton ones, ablaze with flowers and knots, comic characters, and all edged with colourful thread, tiny and just right for the little ones, who twist them about their fingers, chew the corners of and often stuff them into their gym knickers, those dark blue or olive green school PE kit issue, we girls have to wear for school-day exercising lessons.  You surely must remember those, didn't we all hate wearing them?

I do so love my handkerchiefs and especially the the beautiful lace and scallop edged, hand made and far-away holiday island ones, my daughter brought home for me which, of course, are never used but always with me in my tiny purse, when dressed in my party clothes.  I even love the daily handkerchief, simply decorated, just large enough and oh so useful.  Somehow, even the chore of laundry and pressing doesn't detract from their personal charm; and they are so much easier to locate when you're dashing out to keep an appointment, beautifully folded and longing to be taken with you.

Now tissues, even the prettiest ones, those that come in neat cling-filmed packets, or held neatly captive in a smart fabric pocket, are quite the same; and those you whisk out of a larger box, how do you cope with those, hey?  Fold them into an untidy-tidy wedge before thrusting them deep into your handbag or coat pocket; so ungainly, bulky and awkward.

Well I guess tissues have their fans and handkerchiefs certainly do.  Why I have a very dear girlfriend who positively treasures her array of beautiful handkerchiefs, those exquisite ones she saves up to buy, or has them from her kith and kin for special occasions or birthdays; she would never speak against the noble handkerchief, or even the humblest one.

Dear ones look at me askance when I flourish a handkerchief, positively shuddering with disgust, at the handkerchief clutched in my hand, in a pocket, or spilling out of my handbag.  But there it is, I do love a handkerchief and, even though I've tried hard not to, and use tissues instead, even the nasty, scratchy kind which come in a large box and have to be folded and creased into a little heap, or stuffed into a coat pocket, before you walk through your front door.  For me there is no contest.

The handkerchief remains supreme, for isn't it  hateful, finding those scrumpled-up balls of used tissue in a discarded coat pocket or handbag?

Long live the handkerchief and bless me - atishoo!

Toodle oo - Daisy

Update on my visit to Kew Garden

Rhododendron

Hellebores

Crocus

Snowdrops

Hellebores

I have some photographs of my visit which might interest you.....It was a cold dull day, not very good for photographs, really, but one just cannot resist taking the odd snap or two.

I visited the site of my favourite tree at Kew, a very tall Cedar of \Lebanon of which I do not, unfortunately, have a decent photo for inclusion here, for I used my camera to take the shot and the dullness of the day came alarmingly through!!

























































See you all again very soon,

Daisy

Back home again....

Why does time pass by so quickly when you're having a smashing time; when even getting tired looking after two adorable grandsons doesn't lessen one's enjoyment of the busy life?

I spent a super time in London with my daughter and grandsons, doing the nursery-run twice daily and cramming other activities in-between.  I visited Kew Gardens, my spiritual home, for its history, present glorious lush greenery, beautiful flowers and plants and yummy coffee bar, and its scientific promised future, helping to save indigenous seeds and plants.

And.......oh naughty me, for lunch, I chose their splendid tomato and roast vegetable soup and The most de-licious chocolate gluten-free cake.  It was so good, my head spun from the richness of this most wonderful concoction!!!

Then I visited an unknown part of London to view a well-saved and rejuvenated, elegantly preserved, private housing area, Camberwell Grove.  The Grove was the subject of a BBC television documentary programme, covering several different housing areas in London, with printed material provided by our Open University people.  This series of programmes viewed last year, and now it's being shown again, with me avidly watching every programme.  There are five more distinctive areas of London to visit and I can barely wait!!

I arrived back on Saturday afternoon just in time to get to my fifth piano lesson, thankfully, and guess what, my tutor has given me the first tiny part of a jazz piece to digest and learn.  I so want to play jazz with my honorary son, who plays jazz brilliantly - another I-can't-wait scenario, I'm afraid, but what is life without passion, hey?

And today, the whole day has been given over to setting-up my new Gluten-free blog, with photographic and written description, of all the gluten-free baked and cooked dishes we eat at home.  You see, I've been in gluten-denial for most of my life and, frankly, I've had enough of those awful side-effects and problems associated with eating gluten, but no more, oh boy, no more gluten for me!

And my family history thoughts and notes, well, they'll return next week, for my son and I shall be Skyping next Saturday and I need to collect more evidence for our latest family discoveries.  Personal history is so fascinating and, well, personal, and therefore essential to know and understand, if at all possible.  Well, wish me luck and let's hope there is something interesting to write about later on this week?

Must away for now.....cheerio

Daisy

Background stuff....... names altered of course!

My last piece was fuelled by some recent research, suddenly made necessary by sad news of an ex and  semi-distant family member, met probably only about five times, but still fairly relevant to the wider family scene.

Jilly had died, within two year's of her younger brother's death some six or seven years ago, and, somehow the news had not percolated through to me; change of addresses, perceptions and private grief being in the way of easy communication.  It's hard to keep everyone in the loop when house moves are frequent, perceptions and emotions become so finely entangled, it's difficult for anyone to disentangle themselves from the spiral created, and that's just for the personality directly involved.

So finally the news was given to me, by a very friendly and concerned voice, which news I duly passed on to my children, for it was important to me that they were aware of this passing away.  One of the lost relatives was in fact my son's godfather, thus a special link for him, although we had enjoyed little contact since I'd taken myself out of our previous family  combination.  I had attended the funeral of my son's godfather both for myself and my children, which was the last occasion on which I had met Jilly, whose death I only heard about this February.  And because I'd fallen off the radar after my divorce, any news that might have come through from other sources earlier, simply didn't happen.

Oh what tangled family webs we do weave?

So now my son and I began to question the relationship between his father and his godfather....I'll call him Tom, without recourse to all relevant family names.  What I mean here is stuff one wouldn't really know unless you were completely involved in the lives of every family link and connection, or lets say, you had recourse to question a  family member, you  knew without doubt, would  be able to supply the missing information, simply because of their status.

We carried out separate research, which resulted in my son drawing up a new family tree which is most useful, to all of us, and he will send it to his father; but at this point we still could not discover the link which connected the cousins.

A call to my kindly  caller to discover if there were unknown family names which might provide a link, and yes indeed there was.  Our conversation took place at about 8.45 pm one Sunday evening and by 11.00 pm I was hot on the trail of the missing link.  Shortly afterwards and slightly punch drunk from the thrill of it all, I was pretty certain of my facts and excitedly emailed my children to give them the good news, even though it would have to be checked again, just to make sure of all the facts.

This week I've been with my family in London and therefore, not really able to do any checking, but instead I've been with a new generation, which is truly scrummy and not to be missed for anything.

I shall be back home on Saturday and after my next piano lesson, will be free to get back to my research, to check my new found facts.

So there you are, the background to my recent family thoughts on poor connections, missing links and my regret at missing out on connecting more fully with family members, when the opportunity was there.

Family history is totally addictive, wholly time consuming, enjoyable and occasionally very frustrating.

I try to see myself as a missing link between then and now and the future and quite frankly, I cannot imagine ever not wanting to be involved with it.

Ah well, onwards and upwards.....!

Toodle oo

Daisy

Everyone's history

I've been very sad for years now that, when I was growing up and looking forward to an independent life, a husband and babies, I didn't make the time to really get into the lives of my grandparents, aunts and uncles or even cousins.

And now I'm hearing from others of their sadness and regret at not talking to their kith and kin about their life experiences, histories and stories, and perhaps wondering if this is what everybody does?  There must be some individuals who realise, early on, that the more senior members of their family have a great deal more to offer than presents, outings, treats and loving companionship.  These things are, of course, priceless and wonderful, but what about their thoughts on life and the history they've lived through and its impact on their lives.

What about their particular history and its impact on their own family and the way their shared family history has been relevant and of great interest to the generation down, and the following ones.

Two steps back and one step forward is how I think of life, for you must understand the how and what of before, before you can chart a way forward, for yourself and loved ones,.

Both my grandfather and father were of the opinion that the past was a different country and, what's more, it was past and therefore not of any interest, relevance or significance to anyone; so nobody talked much of what they'd gone through.  And yes, of course, those two generations had gone through two world wars and had seen terrible things happen all around them.  They didn't want to revisit those scenes which, most probably, were still revolving round and round in their heads, and how awful to burden other folk with the same images and carry on a collective memory into the future.

And then, of course, our grandparents and their generation, and the one below them, do tell stories of their younger days, some even too much, in a rambly sort of way, which almost becomes a terrific burden to all in hearing range.

What a problem for all, with its swing-imbalance of too much, too often, too boring, not now because I'm busy elsewhere to, please tell me more (I can't remember), who's this in your photograph album ( pictures not dated, unknown faces and unknown places, destinations, or reason for photograph altogether), to "hold on please, my pen can't keep up with your thoughts and words, slow down please, so that I can get everything down on paper!".

And then you've got to keep all your handwritten notes neat and tidy, and safe, until you are able to commit them for posterity, on your computer.  Plus you absolutely must respect their dignity by not pressing them too   distractedly when they tell you they really cannot remember a huge family happening, which they simply must remember; perhaps something awful happened, which they utterly  do not want to recall, think about, and definitely not discuss with an ardent teenager or worrying, persistent 20-something.

Do get talking to your loved ones, or get the younger members of your clan to start talking to your siblings, cousins, and other senior family folk who all once lived, loved, worked and survived,  and who now have a unique story to pass on to any patient and interested listener.

More communication, please, between the generations is what I'm talking about....so do please get talking and find out what really happened way back then, before you were born!

Must go to sleep now........Daisy xxx

A good weekend for me

And you too, I hope.

A very good ,piano lesson yesterday, my fourth, and more to come.  At first I'd decided to have just six classes and see how both my tutor and I thought it was all going.  But...I'm having so much fun, I'm determined to carry on and see just how far my enthusiasm will take me.

And cake baking.  Today I cooked another Simnel cake and finished off the one made earlier in the week.
My gluten-free bread is OK and better toasted, so will make another batch when I return from London.

Our book club had a party--type gatheration on Saturday evening, which was great fun, and I bought home a doggie-bag for the dear SO because he didn't really feel up to coming.  He's much better but not quite there yet, with regard to meeting new folks.

And today, well an early morning walk with Alice and coffee out, followed by lunch at home.  I cooked during the afternoon, watched some TV and then began doing some family research for my children, and  managed to find a cousin-ship link between their father and his cousin, which had been baffling us for a little while.

So a very quick email to my children, a quick input of a new piece of work on Wattpad, which is an online vehicle for new work and readership and now I really must stop chatting and doing things and....simply go to sleep.

So off to London tomorrow and I'll catch up with all of you very soon.


Cheerio ...

Daisy

Daisy-made...........

I've been baking cakes, making soups and more-ish dinners and scrummy puddings.

Just love cooking and feeding my family and friends and now re-discovering the joy of creating nice food for all occasions.

Watch this space .............


Just a few weeks ago, I really couldn't bear to cook but then, we had just moved into  our new home, and the place was full of boxes full of things and books and china and goodness knows what else, all wanting and needing to be rediscovered and displayed and experienced all over again...so there really wasn't much time or enthusiasm left over for food, which a girlfriend of mine was absolutely shocked by, for she's seen me cooking for hours and loving every minute, even the clearing up!!

Actually, after my divorce, now many years ago, I also experienced a similar disinclination to cook, but I guess that's just par for the course, hey?

Then the dear SO has been unwell and sleeping badly and me too, so it's really not surprising that I was wilting at the mere suggestion of cooking anything other than water and toast or baked beans!

And anyway, didn't I have my jars of turkey comfit and rice cakes to eat for lunch, jacket potatoes with salad for supper and, for my favourite meal of the day - breakfast - gluten-free cereal and lactose free milk plus blueberries or bananas to devour.  I hardly needed to cook at all!!!

My piano lessons continue apace and I must say the note reading is becoming easier, thank goodness, for I've always been terrified by music's strange symbols and squiggles,, and past attempts to join a choir have always been totally frustrated by my lack of theoretical understanding.  The glares I've received from ardent members has been amusing!

Now,I shall be away next week with my daughter and grandchildren, so busy with them and also, hopefully, out and about if the weather is good and if not, then somewhere warm and cosy, for me to sit and read.  I have several works to read up for the book club and my Christmas books are anxiously awaiting my attention.

Alice is demanding a walk...cheerio

Daisy

Diary notes!

Up and out fairly quickly this morning, for both of us are booked to have a reflexology session and we didn't want to keep our lovely reflexology therapist waiting.  In fact, we were rather late and we found our therapist having a cup of tea while she waited for us to arrive, and then she made each of us a cup of tea, so we chatted and finally...... I got onto her treatment couch and the dear SO took Alice off for a short walk.

My treatment was blissfully relaxing and very therapeutic, and the dear SO had treatment too....so both of us were walking on air afterwards.

Fast forward to Saturday morning, where I am now, and trying to do a quick catch up!!

The week has simply sped by with me cooking...all those muffins and breakfast scones.  Do you recall, I called them drop scones, for that is our name for them as children at home, mine and for my young children; and in earlier days people called them Pikelets.

The name "pikelet" derived from the 17th century Welsh bara piglydd, which spread to the West Midlands in England, and other counties, and Anglicised to "pikelet" to denote a flat pancake, drop scone, griddle cake - from the type of cooking pan, used on the stove/range  top, and essentially a thin, flat round cooked item i.e. a flat crumpet.

Mostly now they are cooked and served immediately but in previous times, they were slightly under-cooked, cooled, then stored and kept, to be eaten at a later date.

And now I think we all call them pancakes, breakfast or otherwise, and enjoyed universally and very often eaten with maple syrup.....delicious.

Yesterday I made a Simnel cake for Mother's Day, in memory of past times, when servant girls were given a day off from serving in the big house and allowed home to visit their mother church and spend a few happy hours with their families, and they took a special cake with them.

History tells that the name derived from a brother and sister both wanting to make a cake in different ways; one to boil and one to bake ie Sim and Nel  and thus we now have a Simnel cake, which has a layer of marzipan in its middle plus a top layer, adorned with 11 ball shapes, to represent the eleven apostles.

This is probably a popular and wide spread story and maybe loosely based on an original interpretation of a medieval cake baked for the middle  Sunday of Lent, known as Refreshment Sunday or Mothering Sunday, during the forty day period of Lent.  Apparently the word Simnel comes from the Latin name "simila" for fine wheaten flour, used to produce a type of "biscuit" which was both boiled and baked.  After the 17th century, the name was transferred to a rich fruit cake mixture, then enclosed in a saffron coloured pastry case, and made from a fine flour, hence the connection with the name "simila".

Now today, marzipan has replaced the pastry case, which beautifully complements the cake's lovely rich mixture, with the marzipan finished by being lightly toasted under a hot grill, before flower or ribbon decorations are added.

The cake is also served on Easter Sunday and decorated with fluffy chickens, flowers and tiny foil covered Easter eggs.  It's delicious served in very thin slices and much loved by all keen fans of marzipan.  I can never quite decide which is my favourite part of a Simnel cake, between eating it or making fresh marzipan in my own  kitchen........I'm afraid the jury is still out on that one!!!

Phew I was busy for I also baked gluten-free bread for myself and a mixed grain flour loaf of bread, plus rolls, for the dear SO.

Oh, and then, made toad in the hole for supper

I'm indebted to Sara Paston-Williams book - Christmas and Festive Day Recipes - for her notes on the medieval and historical references to today's simnel cake; a National Trust book.

And indebted to Wikipedia for reference to how the word "pikelet" came into being and usage.

Do bake one for yourself and enjoy every morsel - you will be absolutely delighted by its presence at your Easter gatherings.

Toodle oo

Daisy