Pearls of wisdom

It’s hard to believe that something as beautiful as a pearl could be the result of a reaction to an irritation. This has always appealed to me, like the oyster, writing is my way of turning an irritation, in my case, an inability for my mind to ever be still, into something to be shared and hopefully enjoyed.
Very rarely heard lyrics from Glenn Miller’s 1941 number one hit 'String of Pearls' feature the line Call my words a string of pearls, lyricist Eddie De Lange obviously felt the same as I do.
Call me old fashioned but I love pearls, I would choose them over diamonds any day.
Worn for centuries by queens and princesses, these globules of luminance carry our history; our journey through the centuries to be where we are today.
Sexy, porous and primitive, pearls change with us. Ultimately feminine, they come in all shapes, sizes and colours and are placed in earrings, necklaces and rings. But to know them at their best, there is nothing to beat the sensation of wearing a long string of pearls. Their organic make up alters next to your skin as they take on the characteristics of the wearer. When you are warm, they are warm; they are cold when we are cold. As you pass them over your head to put them away, a waft of your scent will pass by you, and you will notice each time you wear them that their colour has altered slightly, to suit the acidity or alkalinity of your flesh.
Well worn pearls enhance the beauty of the woman who wears them as she enhances their beauty. Unlike any other piece of jewellery, they are not a trinket or expensive accessory, they are part of her.
As a woman is multi faceted, so too are pearls; layers of secretions have built up to produce the final product. Roll one gently against your teeth to feel its gritty surface and to know that it is real.
These lovely spheres contain our memories, our hopes, dreams, our loves, laughter and our tears; our history and wisdom in a string of pearls to be handed down to our daughters, so that we may continue to guide them when we can no longer be with them in person.

The world would be a better place if…

· Hair didn’t turn grey.
· Baths didn’t have overflows.
· Chocolate didn’t cause spots.
· My legs were naturally hairless.
· Lines around eyes were a sign of beauty.
· Computers had never been invented.
· Zac Efron wasn’t only 21 and I wasn’t already 45.
· Overhead lighting didn’t exist.
· All shoes were free of charge.
· The phone bill never arrived.
· Curly hair didn’t go frizzy in the rain.
And… to be continued.

Bleach or HRT?

Either, I'm turning blond or it's a sign of early onset menopause.

But just lately ,I've manifested some very strange phobias and done some very odd things.

My friends tell me I've always been odd, only now I'm noticing it, so it must be bad.

Last night I needed to turn the water temperature up on the boiler. It took me about an hour to go near it and then I couldn't remember which position it had been, to know which way it needed to be turned.

I don't change light bulbs until we virtually can't recognise each other when we're actually sat together. All because I hate heights, yet I would go up in a hot air balloon with any loony.

I've never worked out how to remove my petrol cap, without almost breaking the key off at the same time.
I feel stressed every time I buy petrol.

I have no idea how to check the water and oil in my car and consequently have had some interesting experiences with roadside rescue. The most memorable being,.
when I ran over the mechanics foot.

I find it impossible to set a digital clock. I don't trust them. Bring back the good old fashioned wind up.

Last month I threw the tumble dryer out of the laundry room window, trying to lift it onto the washing machine. Don't ask.

But my greatest faux pas has to be taking my girls camping, with a tent I didn't know how to erect and no wet weather gear what so ever. Yes you got it, it rained and blew a gale constantly.
We had the time of our lives.

Hallelujah for menopause

PS: I would have told you that I have a bad memory too, but I forgot.

My Secret Lover

My brother-in-law is visiting from Australia, he's wonderful with the children and amazingly helpful, but that's another story.

What's really great about him visiting, is the little gift he brought with him.

Violet Crumble, the name alone is delicious, Violet Crumble. It's like saying your secret lover's name, and they are my secret. I hide them from the children.

These chocolate covered little squares of honeycomb, come in a violet and gold bag, that looks almost good enough to eat as well. The advertising slogan on it says:



'It's the way it shatters that matters.'



And it is so true.

If you bite into them they taste good, but if you bash them with your pestle, the little pieces taste absolutely divine.

Ive eaten so many, my teeth ache and I think I've gone deaf in one ear from all the shattering.

Alas, only one more bag to go.

Must take the phone off the hook,snuggle up in bed with them and read a good book . Who needs a lover?

Memories

'Mum, can I wear eyeshadow to school?'
My twelve year old daughter was growing up too fast.
'I don't think so darling.'
'It's only a white sparkely (no such word, but I love it) one, it won't even show.'
'There's no point in wearing it then, is there?' I said, hoping she would forget all about it.
'But Mum, you don't understand, everybody wears it.'
'That doesn't mean you have to,' I said, 'you wear it at weekends and in the holidays, but school is a no no, it's not a fashion show.'
She went off in a sulk and I started to feel really guilty. But then it occurred to me, what I had done, when my Mother wouldn't let me wear platform shoes to school.
I borrowed a pair off a friend. We kept them in our lockers. I'd put them on as soon as I got to school, and leave the safe at home time.
The experience was delicious. Maybe it was better because I was doing it behind my parents back.
Had they allowed me to wear them, I would never have appreciated those moments in those shoes, as much as I did.
I probably wouldn't have the penchant I have now, for ridiculous, gorgeous, unwearable shoes.
That, quite honestly, would be awful. I love them, I surround myself with them; like works of art left all over the house.
I've decided to say 'no' to the eyeshadow.
The thrill she'll get, putting it on as she travels on the bus to school and removing it on the way back home, will be unforgettable.
I want her to have those little secrets.
She's such a good girl at school and at home. She deserves those exciting moments of rebellion, when you think that your Mum would go mad, if she knew.
When she's a grown woman, I know she will enjoy putting on her make-up. She will probably have drawers full of ridiculous coloured eyeshadow, that she'll never wear.
But, most of all, I hope she smiles to herself every time she picks one up, because it reminds her of a happy childhood.

Confused? You will be!

“Can I make garlic mushrooms for breakfast mummy?”
It was 7.30am on a Sunday and Freya as usual was very specific about what she wanted to eat.
“Yes,” I said, “but I don’t have any mushrooms; we will have to wait until the shops open.”
“I’ll have pancakes now and mushrooms for bunch then.”
I said, “It’s brunch, darling.”
“OK, I’ll have them for that then.”
The girls love making pancakes and constantly argue over whose turn it is to beat the batter.
I decided to put ‘Give it to me’ by Madonna on the stereo. The joke was lost on them but at least they started to dance instead of fight.
“What’s the difference between plain and self raising flour mum?” asked Sorcha. Before I could open my mouth Willow was answering her.
Willow is my eldest daughter and as such feels she is the second mother. This can cause confusion for all of us.
She has an insatiable appetite for information. When she was little, this was fine as I could answer all her questions. But now even a trip to the beach can end up with a list of books we need to get from the library.
“Why does the tide go in and out? How does the moon affect this? What do you think those ships are carrying? How do they float? Do you know mum, if you put sand in a jar of water and leave it for a million years, the sand will disappear?”
“That’s a waste of time then!” I say
“You’re weird mum,” she replies, then continues with a new line of questioning.
“Do you think those people are on holiday? Do you think that girl is the same age as me?”
“Willow,” I stop her in mid flow, “Why don’t you go over, make friends and find out.”
10am Sunday morning, we were in the supermarket as soon as it opened, in search of mushrooms. We were dancing round the aisles singing, “I’ve got cup cakes on a cloudy day,” when I almost landed on top of a man. To make matters even worse, when I looked up, I realised that, many years ago I had actually been on a few dates with him.
“Hello!” he said, “how are you? I haven’t seen you for ages.”
I suddenly turned into a sixteen year old; unable to look at him or think of anything remotely interesting to say. I realized he was holding onto a pushchair and now focused all my attention on the small child sat within it.
“Hi,” I said, as casually as possible, “your little boy is beautiful, how old is he?”
I still don’t know his child’s age; all I do know is that he said, “You look really good!” At which point I babbled something, gathered my girls and shot round the corner of the toiletry aisle.
“Mum, do you need any of those things you stick up your bum?” Freya has the loudest voice and I was very aware we were within earshot of the ‘ex date.’
“No silly,” said Willow, “they’re not environmentally friendly, she uses a Mooncup!” They started to argue about what type of sanitary protection I use. Considering that I had never been intimate with the ‘ex date’ I would have liked to maintain an air of mystery.
I said, “Can we stop it now please and talk about something else.”
“Yes,” said Freya, “can I ask, is that a hippie on that woman’s neck?”
“No, you silly sausage roll,” answered Willow, “a hippy is someone who lives an alternative lifestyle.”
“Oh, like mum then,” said Sorcha.
“Not really,” said Willow, “she’s just non-conformist.”
“Mum’s a communist?” said Freya.
“Right, that’s it, stop! Let’s find the mushrooms and go home.”
After numerous arguments about whose turn it was to pull Ermintrude, our shopping trolley home. We were in the kitchen making the garlic mushrooms. I had put some beetroot in the oven to cook, ready to make a cake.
“Beetroot makes my wee pink!” said Willow, “but do you know mum, it doesn’t happen to everyone, it depends on the alkalinity or acidity of your stomach.”
“I’m not eating garlic mushrooms if they’re going to make my wee pink,” said Sorcha, walking into the kitchen.
“For goodness sake, what’s wrong with you today? I’m going to send you all to China so I can get some peace!” I said, trying to serve up their lunch.
“Cool, I can have lots of Sushi there!” said Freya.
“No, you’re thinking of Japan,” said Sorcha, “China’s communist.”
“Great,” said Freya, “I can live that alternative lifestyle there then, can’t I?”

Good Morning to you too!

My ex- husband rang me at 6.30 this morning to tell me, he had the new ‘Ting Tings’ CD. It was playing top blast as I picked up the telephone.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
“I am now,” I answered.
“I’ve got that music you were on about, it’s great!”
I can’t remember the last time I’d heard him so excited; well I can but I won’t go into that!
“Did you listen to the football last night?”
“No,” I said, “Why would I?”
He, (my ex) listens to the radio all night long, while he drives a truck. The solitude of his cab and the lack of human contact suit his nature. He doesn’t like people very much.
“Well, Chelsea lost, so they were interviewing their supporters and I just knew they were going to use that word.”
“What word?” I said, trying to sound interested.
“Gutted!” he spat the word down the phone.
“I bloody hate that word. Can’t they think of anything better to say, like devastated, upset, or heartbroken?”
“Good morning to you too!” I said, “Don’t take it so seriously, I think you’re suffering with ‘Cabin Fever’ go for a walk.”
“Ok, are the girls alright, did they enjoy the camping trip?”
“They had a great time, they did kayaking, archery, and loads of other things. You should have seen them though; they looked like they’d been travelling round India for six months not in St Austell for three days!”
“What did Freya do when she saw them?”
“Cuddled them and told them she’d missed them. But I hadn’t even put their bags in the boot of the car before they were arguing about who could sit where.”
“So things are back to normal then?”
“It certainly got back to normal later,” I replied, “I took them round to Sandra for tea, so the girls could play with Martha, Alfie and Eltica, but we had to leave after an hour because they were so stroppy.”
He, (the ex) was laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I said, “I was really looking forward to them coming home and chatting with them. As it was, I had to put them all in a hot bath with a cup of chamomile tea and a few drops of Rescue Remedy. They were in bed and asleep by 7.30pm.”
“Quiet night then?” he said stifling his amusement.
“Once I’d had a cup of coffee and a Fairy cake with gin icing, it was great!”
“Make me some for when I come down on Saturday, they sound great.”
“Ok, see you then, have a good sleep.”
“Yes, have a good day, bye.”
As I put the phone down, Sorcha walked in.
“Mummy, can I wear tights with my school dress?”
“Good morning darling,” I replied.
“I like you mum, you’re funny.”
“Yes, you can wear them.”
“Cool! I’d have been gutted if you’d said no.”