That was July

 

This has felt like a long month but the end of it came in a rush!  These posts are (inevitably) lists and very self-centered but they are helpful to me for looking back.

It's been a lovely month weather wise and my garden is flourishing.  (I'll do a garden post very soon.)   Jack has been twice.

I've taken services on three Sundays.  I've also hosted four on-line services.  

I've had a go at water colour painting and will have another go soon.  I've also done on line courses on Google maps, iPhone usage, and American current affairs, 

I went swimming just once as, unfortunately, I've had several days in pain but am OK now.  

I had a glorious breakfast out.  This is a treat for myself and a cousin when my car needs servicing.  Then she makes lunch at home but we are both too full to eat much!  And another friend and her husband invited me to their house for lunch.   I had a trip to our local ice cream parlour and we had a tasting.  It would have been rude to refuse any of these invitations..  

Now, what will August hold?

The Cooker

Not Mother's but the same era!

When I was a little girl Mother had a cooker.  A gas cooker.  A pre-war jobby and a bit of a monstrosity by today's standards.  Cleaning just the hob (which had to be totally dismantled for the job) seemed to take forever, as I remember.  

She had a big silver kettle on that cooker so she could make tea as needed.  There was an eye level grill, useful for toast.  But that was it.  Everything was cooked on the cooker.

I have a double oven.  And a hob.  Both easy to clean.  And an electric kettle.  And a toaster, rarely used these days as I rarely eat toast.  But I also have a microwave.  And an air fryer.  There's an Instant Pot too as well as a bread maker and a slow cooker.  

And of course I have a fridge, a freezer, food processor, electric whisk, blitzer.  And a dishwasher.  

How on earth did Mother manage?

(I don't know.  But I do know that she bought me my first dishwasher and my first freezer as she was determined that I wouldn't have to do the same as her!)

What's in a name?

I used to be Rector of a hamlet called Spital in the Street.  Sounds revolting but it was originally a Hospital on the Street.  We're talking place of hospitality for travellers going along Ermine Street to the Shrine of St Hugh at Lincoln.  

Lincolnshire has some wonderful place names.  People who went over to America took place names with them.  We have the original Boston.  We've got a New York too.

Comedians seem to like our place names too.  You may have come across Mavis Enderby in Bridget Jones Diary but she has her place in this county.  

And when comedian James Rogers wanted a stage name he chose the name of a Lincolnshire village.  Boothby Graffoe. 

Sad but lovely day

Yesterday I went to Thoresway church to say goodbye to Claire.  

Claire has been in Market Rasen for eight years, first as curate and then as their vicar and has been much loved by all the Market Rasen Group of four parishes.  When the Priest in Charge of the Walesby Group left three years ago he was not replaced so Claire took on a further ten parishes.  She has been the only paid cleric for fourteen parishes for these last two and a half years.  There are a lot of trained ministers (including me) helping her, fortunately!

She said goodbye at Market Rasen last week and The Walesby Group yesterday.  (Last week we clergy took her out for lunch which all of us enjoyed!)  It was an emotional service as she has been very well loved and will be sadly missed but she is going to another parish in this Diocese and will doubtless be much loved there too.

The end of the service was especially emotional and she gave us all God's blessing.  What she didn't know was that E, a non-stipendiary priest in that group and M (that's me!) had planned on sending her off with God's blessing so there were tears as she knelt and we laid our hands on her head.

May her new parishe be as richly blessed through ministry as we have.  

Keeping Sunday special

 It was when I was writing about harvesting going on into the evening until there was no more light that I remembered that Grandad never allowed harvesting on a Sunday.  No matter how things were going, Sunday was a day of rest, at least from arable work.  The animals still had to be fed, milked and cared for, of course.

On Sunday the focus was on the home.  Sunday dinner (lunch) was the culinary highlight of the week.  It was usually roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with vegetables from the garden.  Grandma made the best gravy I have ever tasted.  Even the horseradish sauce was homemade for horseradish was a rather vigorous weed.  

It would be followed by a fruit pie, apple, rhubarb or plum.  These were the fruits grown in the garden so those were the fruits we ate.  It was served with cream from the farm cows.  

For my grandparents tinned food was a rarity and grandma would open a small tin of salmon and make sandwiches for Sunday tea.  There would be home made plum bread (a Lincolnshire fruit loaf), cakes, pastries and a purchased Swiss roll, again a special pleasure for grandad.

After tea we would go to the little chapel in the village.  My grandparents were Methodists.  It was a bit of an ordeal for me as any children present were expected to sing a hymn to be listened to by the adults and I never knew the hymns chosen for us.

I was happy to go to chapel though, as I knew that after chapel we would go to Cleethorpes for a walk along the front and a local ice cream.   

Summer Holidays

 I've been thinking about those week long holidays spent at my grandparents' farm.  I know I'm looking though rose coloured spectacles but they are the only ones I've got!

Very similar to "our" farm

I used to stay with them most school holidays but summer holidays were the best.  It was extra good if I could go towards the end of the holiday when harvest would have started.

The farm was "mixed" as most were in Lincolnshire in those days.  There were cattle being fattened as beef, sheep, a few pigs and a lot of arable fields.  They grew wheat and barley as well as crops used for winter cattle fodder like mangold wurzels.  It's the wheat and the barley I remember most.

Barley is harvested before wheat and back in the fifties it was a much more labour intensive business than it is today.  My grandfather was in partnership with his brother, and their sons and grown-up grandsons (as well as the regular labourers) would do their best to be there to help get the harvest home.  I can remember the harvesting machines making sheaves which were stacked into stooks to finish drying before being taken down to the yard for threshing.  The terriers resident on the farm had a great time killing the rats which had been hiding in the crops.

Building stooks

Harvesting would go on until the light was too poor so, although the men came to the yard for lunch, a picnic tea of sandwiches, cold tea and cake had to be taken to the fields.  That was my favourite bit of the harvest!  In retrospect I think grandad probably enjoyed this break with us (one of my cousins would also be there with his dad) and our chatter was a welcome diversion.  I hope so.

When tea was finished we were allowed to cadge a lift on the next tractor going back to the yard, having had a lovely afternoon in the fields.

An average sort of day

 When I asked for ideas for posts, writing about an ordinary day was suggested.  Yesterday was a pretty ordinary day so I wrote this post over the course of the day.

I've been awake since around 02.30.  I couldn't find sleep but that's OK.  I just laid in bed and listened to a familiar audiobook until 04.00 when I let myself get up.  The first two or three hours are spent writing my journal, reading other people's blogs, sorting my finances, checking emails etc.  There's also time for a bit of peace and quiet with God as I can be pretty sure there won't be any interruptions.  Before 07.00 today I had also made arrangements for some dog-sitting next month.

07.00 is time for for chat with Jack or, more accurately listening to Jack.  He tells me about what he did yesterday and what's he's planning today.  Today he's toddling off to Mablethorpe for a few days so we won't be chatting until Monday.

After that I am ready to make a proper start to my day - sorting the kitchen, tidying the sitting room and the rest of the round of domesticity.  

Today I had hoped to go to Brigg but it's raining so I'm stopping at home.  The ironing will get done, I'll phone a couple of friends and I'll work on a crochet blanket I am making for a small boy of my acquaintance.  There are very few children in my life and I treasure each small person.

One of our local clergy is leaving this Sunday so the rest of us took her out for lunch.  It's great to see each other socially but sad to say goodbye to C who has been a really good vicar.  And after that I tried to do a detailed examination of the back of my eyelids but they wouldn't stay shut.  

Then I decided to collect garden produce.  This will be tasty over the next few days.  

I had a very good lunch at the pub so I won't need much this evening.  Instead I shall spend the evening getting on with the crochet, having a video call with a cousin, watching Miss Marple (currently available on BBC iPlayer) and mulling over the day.

I've done nothing exciting today but I've thoroughly enjoyed what I have done.

God is good.  

Being with Grandma

Summer holidays for me always included a week at my grandparents' farmhouse.  This is an update of a post I wrote in 2015.

My grandparents' farmhouse

I knew my grandparents’ house throughout my childhood until they moved when I was thirteen.  From the outside it looks a gloriously elegant dwelling.

 The interior would not strike anyone as elegant!  One came out of the yard into the back kitchen where there was a big scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room.  That was the main place for food preparation as there was a Calor gas stove for cooking and a big old fashioned Belfast sink.   Water was piped into the house when I was about eight but before that it had to be fetched from the outside scullery.   On that table grandma did her baking, prepared vegetables and once a week churned butter in the old wooden churn.  I loved helping with butter making.  My grandmother had her own unique pattern which she would stamp into each block of butter and I was usually allowed to make one pat myself with a very different pattern on it.  Making butter was physically hard work as water had to be boiled to “scald” the churn and actually standing and turning the churn handle for quite a long time certainly made one’s arms ache.

My grandparents

Above the table there were all sorts of things hanging from the beams but the thing I remember most clearly was the basket used for collecting eggs.  My grandmother had a couple of dozen hens which scratted in the yard.  They were her hens and the egg money, such as it was, was hers too.  She used to rear a few chicks which always included a few cockerels which were for the pot.

Every day the post woman, Mrs Stevenson as I remember, would cycle from the village and was a valued link with the outside world.  The farm had no telephone when I was a child so all communication was by letter.  Mrs Stevenson had to wait a while in case my grandmother wanted to write any urgent replies.  She would have a cuppa and there would be a news swap.

It’s about sixty years since our family gave up that farm and my grandparents were very old fashioned even for the fifties and sixties.  I think I am very privileged to have experienced that lifestyle.  

 

More school photographs

 I had another search around and found a few more group photographs from school.

This was two years later.  I'm sixth from the right on the second to back row (with my eyes closed.  Class sizes had started to increase so Miss Rains had a class of forty.  

This gem was a year later when I was Princess April in the class play.  I'm the long haired girl almost in the centre behind Jack Frost.  My (then) best friend Kathryn was the witch next to me.  

This was the fifth form at Grammar School.  After this I went to sixth form college.  There are only twenty two of us here but I know there were a couple of absentees.

I still meet regularly with the girl on the extreme right of the front row.  She's also on the extreme right of the school play photo. (I still say girl but we are both in our seventies!)

An old photograph

 

Writing about end of term yesterday inspired me to look for my old school photographs and this was the first one I ever had.  I was in Miss Higgins class at Priory Lane Infants School and I think this would have been 1956  I'm fifth from the left on the middle row.  

School was the first time I had mixed with such a wide variety of children from such diverse backgrounds.  The children I knew pre-school were my parents' friends' children.  (This was in the days before playgroups and nursery schools for all.)  The school drew its pupils from a wide variety of economic backgrounds and, although the picture shows bright smiling faces, I can remember several children with only vague notions of hygiene!

I was very proud of the dress I was wearing on this occasion.  My father had recently been on a business trip to America and while there he had bought outfits from Macy's for my sister and I.  In 1956 Britain was still in the grip of post-war austerity and that dress was truly a wonder.  

This time of the year

 

This week is the end of the school year around here and it's a time I remember fondly from when I was a child.

I don't remember sports days and swimming galas very fondly as I was rubbish at anything sporty, even the egg and spoon sort of race.  The best bit was the ice cream van which parked near the school gates and did very nicely.

I have always enjoyed swimming but not competing.  I'm happy just to swim lengths and maybe to increase my distance but being told to go faster just took the pleasure out of the activity for me.

There would be end of term plays and concerts (at least at Primary School) which were a lot more to my taste.

At Primary School there would be the school day trip.  I remember going to York and to Knaresborough on coaches and taking my packed lunch with me.  

The thing I remember most was autograph books.  I had a new one each year.  Everyone (or maybe it was just the girls) would tote their autograph books to every adult in the school from the headmaster to the dinner ladies.  They'd also get signatures from others in their own class.  I have no idea what happened to those books: I suspect they were in the bin before next term started. 

And on the last day there was the school report for our parents to read.  I think some children dreaded that but I was a smug little Good-Two-Shoes.  

And so home for six weeks summer holiday.  

Plan B in operation

 Plan B is in operation today because the Plan A priest is away on holiday.  Plan A is also a volunteer rather than a stipendiary minister.  (She's a retired highways engineer who is also ordained.)

Anyway, today I am going to Claxby.  About 160 people live in Claxby and about 20 will be in church today but some will be  from neighbouring villages.  There are eight churches in the group so each gets a monthly service.

You might think that vicars are a bit thin on the ground but organists are the proverbial hen's teeth around here.  I take recorded music to the churches where hymns are sung.

Claxby Church takes very good care of me.   Many churches are very happy to help people with disabilities but can overdo it.  I think it is part of my ministry to show that people with disabilities also have abilities and want to offer service. 

Parking is a bit tricky near the church so I park at someone's house and she will feed me coffee and home made cake after the service.  

Claxby Church likes to use the old Book of Common Prayer so we will praise God in words which have been in use since 1662 in a building which has been there since at least 1300.  

And today I will be there to help people to praise God and hear his word.  

A Constant Companion

 What would I do without my laptop computer!!!  

The first computer I can remember seeing was at the County Council offices over fifty years ago.  I was training as a librarian and the college arranged a coach trip.  We couldn't actually touch the computer: we had to look through a window from an adjacent corridor as it was in a dust-free room.  

It's over thirty five years since I bought my first computer.  It was a BBC one and, compared to the jobby I'm looking at now, incredibly limited.  I could produce documents, play a few games and do little more.

It was 2000 that I first accessed the internet and what a revelation that was.  Suddenly information which I could find only if I went to a library ten miles away, was now at my fingertips.  "What's your phone number?" was gradually replaced with, "What's your email address?"  

During lockdown I increased my computer skills greatly and was able to join in social events by zoom, order my groceries, learn crafts, keep abreast of the news and so much more, and I still do all those things.

I've now got a tablet and a mobile phone, both of which I use to access t'interweb, but I still like my laptop best.  How about you?

Annie-the-Home-Enhancer

 

I'm feeling incredibly pampered.  A sense of luxury and well-being is mine.  Annie-the-Home-Enhancer has been!

I now I am very lucky to have some of my cleaning done for for me but, as I am disabled, I don't think I could manage without her.  She comes once a fortnight and today was the day!

Jack thinks it hilarious that I tidy up before Annie comes but I'm a very untidy gal and if Annie had to tidy up, I would have to find where she'd put everything.  Her visits spur me to sort things.  She's been coming since 2018 so she's used to my little ways now.

She arrives with all her own gear - cloths, sprays and even Henry the Hoover.  The only thing I supply is an electric scrubbing brush.  When she goes my home is wonderful.

But she's going on holiday soon so I will have a whole month without Annie.  Bother!

Plan B

 Every five years I have to make a formal request for the Bishop's permission to take services and talk to my Rural Dean (Steve) about what I do.  

A few weeks ago I went to see Steve and he asked me how I see my contribution to church life and ministry these days.

"I'm Plan B" I said.  I explained that I don't want to be on a regular schedule for leading worship but I am very happy to fill in when a priest is ill or goes on holiday or when there is a vacancy after one vicar leaves and before another is appointed.  

The shortest notice I've ever had that Plan B was needed is just over ninety minutes when a priest was taken ill one Sunday morning. (I've filled in at forty five minutes notice for an on-line service but no-one could see the chaos around me then!)  Most often it's several weeks notice that someone is going on holiday.  I've been in authorised ministry for thirty seven years so I've got quite a lot of material I can use at very short notice.  

At the moment a lot of holidays are being taken.  I've done a run of four Sundays and will soon start a second run of four.  Things will soon get even busier as a local vicar is moving to another area.  Often I'm not needed for several weeks at a time so I sit in the congregation. 

I offered to step down on the grounds that I'm getting a bit long in the tooth but Steve seemed to think he needed a Plan B.  

And I've now got the Bishop's permission. 

Wilfred Owen

Henry Newbolt isn't the only poet with whom I feel a connection.  Years ago I was curate at Shrewsbury Abbey and a governor of Wilfred Owen Primary School.

Wilfred Owen was a Shropshire man and as a young man he lived in Abbey parish until he joined the army.  He volunteered during The First World War.   He died on 4th November 1918 and the telegram informing his mother of his death arrived while Shrewsbury's bells were being rung in celebration of victory just one week later on 11th November.  He is commemorated on the Abbey War Memorial but there was no specific memorial for him there.

Whilst I was curate a memorial called "Symmetry" was unveiled in the Abbey grounds.  It represents the pontoon bridge which Owen was involved in building when he was killed.

I wasn't involved in the installation of the memorial but I saw it the night before it was unveiled.  It includes a single line from "Strange Meeting" which is about a soldier who dies and meets a "enemy" soldier who is also in the underworld.   I read

I am the enemy.  You killed my friend.

I was shocked for this seemed to be confrontational and counter to everything I knew about this poet.  I went home and checked "Strange Meeting" and now read the line as 

I am the enemy you killed, my friend

How much is changed by punctuation! The soldier realises that in death, all are comrades. 

That single line has become a challenge to me, that, when I am offended or hurt, have I simply misunderstood someone else?  

Play up, play up and play the game!

Sir Henry Newbolt.  He looks rather too severe to fit in on Newbolt Close

Few people know the poem from which that line comes.  It's called Vitaï Lampada and it's from a Victorian poem comparing a bloody battle with a game of cricket and is extremely dated now.  What interests me is the name of the man who wrote it, Sir Henry Newbolt.  

Sir Henry was born in Walsall but for some reason I don't know, he was educated at Caistor Grammar School.  The close on which I live is near the grammar school playing fields and it bears his name, Newbolt Close.

It's a close of about thirty detached bungalows, mostly occupied by older people.  It's a friendly place and everyone waves or speaks to each other when passing.  A few neighbours go outside on Thursdays at 11am for the Newbolt Nattering.  We know about each other's dogs and hear about grandchildren.  Volunteers for keeping an eye on houses and gardens when people go away are readily found.  And sometimes surplus vegetables/flowers/plants are dished out.

Newbolt's other well known poem is "Drake's Drum" about the legend that the drum Sir Francis Drake took with him when he circumnavigated the world will be heard beating when momentous events take place.  Legend has it that the drum was last heard during the Dunkirk evacuations in 1940. 

I think Newbolt would have approved of Sir Francis.  After all, another legend has it that Drake is the sea captain who refused to be distracted from his game of bowls just because the Spanish Armada had been sighted.  He definitely played up, played up and played the game!

(Thank you, Tracy, for your suggestion about the life of our street.  This isn't quite what you said but you sparked an idea.)

Where? What? How?

 

I've done quite a run of daily posts, probably the longest unbroken run I have ever had.

I've reflected on words, including my own name.  I've also moaned about elderspeak.

I've thought about the garden and the chap who keeps it looking good.

I've written about the things I do to keep myself happy, like walking, drawing, eating ice cream.

I've talked about Lincolnshire, especially Brigg and initiated you into its distinctive language.

I've explained my Sunday gear when it was too hot to wear it!

Yesterday when I got home from church I was too hot (and tired) to do anything - again.

So I've run out of ideas for blog posts.  Have you got any?

I have no idea!

 A couple of months ago I bought a courgette plant.  I asked Jack to plant it and before too long it flowered.  Jack was bemused by the fruits which started to appear but we left it to its own devices.  I kept looking but none seemed ready to pick.  

This evening while I was making my way around the raised vegetable bed something brushed against my leg.  A courgette.  At least two feet long! How on earth had I missed this!  And I have no idea what variety of courgette this is.  Can you help?  I think it is a grafted plant.  Fortunately I bought just one as it appears to be very prolific.

But while I was outside I also picked my first "big" tomato of the season.  I've been eating cherry tomatoes for several days but this is the first full size jobby of 2025.

And at least every other day I have picked a bunch of sweet peas.

Jack tells me his his own garden isn't doing nearly as well as mine.  Tee hee.  Shame about that! 

But thank you, Jack, for doing such a great job with my garden.  A bacon butty awaits your attention.  And I know you have some brilliant leeks which you hope I will turn into soup for you.  

Innit 'ot!

I'm not sure how long it will be before I melt but that day can't be far away!  The most important piece of equipment in my house (after the freezer) is the electric fan.  It's working non stop.  Out in the garden the fountain which is supposed to make me feel cooler when I hear the tinkling of water, sounds as though it is laughing at me.  (It is recirculating water, don't worry!)

I know many of you live in much warmer climes than we have here in Lincolnshire, but domestic air conditioning is pretty well unknown here.  We don't get enough hot weather to justify the expense.  

Last night I waited until after eight o'clock to go to the supermarket and even then it was noticeable that people were lingering in the chilled and frozen food aisles just to be in the cooler air.  

Yesterday morning I visited some friends who had come home early from their narrowboat because the dog just couldn't take the heat any more.  I have to say that the cool air in their stone cottage would have tempted me to stay at home too.  It was WONDERFUL!

Perfect?

 

I keep having a little go at painting and drawing bits and pieces.  This piece was from a WI  session a while ago.  It was supposed to be Perfect - Not! but I like my wonky version better.

I think the modern phrase for this is "winging it".  I like that as it reminds me that I get through only by the intervention of angels!  

I've never got my life together and I doubt if I ever will and that's OK.  Thing is though, that I give myself full permission just to do my best with the housework, cooking, blogging or whatever.  And sometimes my best really isn't very good.  So I give myself permission to do what I can.  People seeing me might think they are looking at the blooper reel of my life but I know that they're looking at the highlights!

So, I invite you to raise your half empty coffee mug (forget the messy ring you left behind): raise it to the beautiful chaos that is being human.

Here's to you and me in all our wonderful imperfections!

Is tha one o the frim folk?

 

If you’re not a yellow belly, you’re one of the frim folk, in other words you are from somewhere other than Lincolnshire.  Or as my grandad would have said “Tha’s from t’other side o Lincoln”.

In a few minutes I’ll be having my daily phone call with Jack and some people would find it difficult to know what we are talking about.  You know already that Lincolnshire ducks don’t quack.  But did you know that you too could be a duck as it’s also a term of endearment?  And maybe I would have to duck if that’s what I called you and you fetched me a clout!  And then I might end up beeling (crying). 

It's been ower 'ot bi aife (it’s been very hot lately) and in the absence of a pool to dive into, I’ve been diving into Lincolnshire dialect.  It seemed a better idea than being as mardy as me bum (sulky).  Don’t get frit, though.  (Margaret Thatcher once used “frit” in the House of Commons to taunt an opponent whom she accused of running scared.)

But that name “Yellow Belly” which we Lincolnshire folk proudly use of ourselves, is actually a mystery.  There are many theories about its origin, but no-one really knows.

Living alone

 

I wouldn’t have liked to be Robinson Crusoe.  I like my own company but I’d prefer to share it with a freezer full of wonderful food, a comfortable chair and a sanctuary of a bed.  Truth to tell, I think solitude is luxurious!

Alone is a neutral word, neither happy nor sad, but loneliness is horrid.  I like solitude, alone-ness freely chosen and embraced.  Many days I see no-one, but I have up to two regular phone calls so I am not totally alone.

I talk to myself quite a lot because I get the best answers from myself.  I don’t want to argue with anyone and when I am alone there is little danger of that.  I can do what I want when I want: I had two lovely snoozes yesterday and spent a couple of happy hours listening to Radio 4 podcasts whilst I crocheted. 

My diet is, to put it bluntly, idiosyncratic.  All I fancied for breakfast was a toasted cheese and chutney sandwich and I enjoyed it so much I had the same again for lunch.  And both went down well with a P G Wodehouse short story (audiobook).

I live in a state of chaos.  Honestly.  I’m very untidy and the cleaner’s main function is to spur me on to make the place moderately tidy.  She comes once a fortnight so I can still have twelve days of chaos between visits.

If anyone phones to say they’re on the way I have a well-rehearsed dash-and-stash routine but it may take me a while to find the bed before I retire.  That’s OK: I enjoy visits from friends: happy to see them come and happy to see them go. 

Anybody else like their own company best?

Did you just call me Twinkle?

 It used to be the custom for our local newspaper to include an article about anyone celebrating their hundredth birthday.  But no centenarian ever said anything: according to the reporters they always "chuckled" it.

The last time I went to our local chemist's with a prescription the assistant persisted in calling me Twinkle.  Eventually I called her Petal which caused amusement among the other older people in the shop but the assistant was none too pleased.

According to The Guardian yesterday, this is "benevolent ageism".  The speaker means well but is unwittingly patronising when s/he uses "elderspeak".  

It's not always easy.    In some places calling a stranger Love is elderspeak but around here you can be Love at any age.  Disability also brings verbal discrimination and people with disabilities often find themselves being treated like children.

There is no malice intended and usually the speaker is trying to be kind and show him/herself willing to help and "make allowances".

But I still don't like it.  How about you?

Down the Rabbit Hole

 

Long time readers of this blog will know that I love going to Brigg.  It's about nine miles from home and it's fully pedestrianised so once I have parked my car I can wander where I like on my trundle truck.

Thee are quite a few shops belonging to national chains like Tesco, B & M, and Boots but there are also independent shops.  

Here's my butchers shop.  Brigg still has four independent butchers which I find amazing.  Newells sells local meat as well as cakes baked locally and a few vegetables.  

Just along the road is Brian's Hardware which sells everything to do with hardware, DIY and gardening!  I even bought my mobility scooter there and they maintain it for me.  

Across the road is Jaylaur's Sewing Studio.  It's been extended quite a bit since this photo was taken but it's as elastic as the Tardis!  They sell fabric and haberdashery, run courses and are happy to give advice.

But it's The Rabbit Hole which is the most fascinating.  Wouldn't you want to go into a shop with a name like that?  It's the local independent bookshop.

Like most High Streets, Brigg is struggling but I for one appreciate the quality of the goods, the expertise freely offered and the sheer quirkiness of our independent shops.

And there are far more like this in Brigg.  

Do you aestivate?

 

I did, last weekend.  Everything was just too much so I aestivated with just about everyone else.  It felt like the only thing to do.  Aestivation is essential for quite a few invertebrates but this vertebrate favours the idea too.

Aestivation is the summer equivalent of hibernation.  It's an adaptation for survival in high temperatures or drought conditions to stop desiccation (drying out) of the animal.  I just use the word for getting through a heatwave!

There are lots of wonderful words associated with summer.  It's the time of frondesence when leaves and plants are in full bloom.  It's a season to long for zephyrs, those lovely breezes.  (Am I showing my age too much when I say that zephyr makes me think of cars?)

I think I might be aestivating again by the end of this week

5th July 2014

 

That was the date I started this blog.

I'd been reading other people's blogs for some time before I decided to take the plunge.  Many of my favourite blogs from those days have disappeared - Frugal Queen (I watch her videos on YouTube now), Mama's Mercantile, Baroness Prudent Spending, $12 a day to name a few.  I think the blog I have been reading longest is Tracing Rainbows, where the incredible Ang writes a post EVERY day!

I've met a few bloggers: Ang as mentioned above, Elizabeth from Small Moments, Flis from An Englishwoman and her Dog, and several others who are no longer blogging.  I've had correspondence both email and snail mail with bloggers all over the world.

I've never done a post every day except sometimes in December.  My lowest annual post count was 38 and my highest 149.  I've shared my hopes and dreams, my friendships and my struggles with disability, my delight in little things and my musings about life in general.  

So now I'll start my twelfth year of blogging.  If I can think of things to write about.  

Better than being at school.

 

When I was at school I was rubbish at sewing, art,  and "sporty things".  Always bottom of the class.  Never sewed a thing of which I could be proud.  Forget painting.  Always last to be picked for a team.

But I've been free of school for fifty five years.  And the great thing is, I don't need to compare myself with anyone else.  My body is a weird shape following a severe motor cycle crash and a bilateral mastectomy but I've found somewhere to swim without feeling self conscious.  I can sew adequately and take really pleasure in being creative with a needle.

So that leaves art.  Shame about that.  I'll never be able to paint or draw.  Or can I?

One place where I have found inspiration is Kirsten's blog "A letter from home".  Kirsten does some lovely little sketches on her blog.  I don't think she'll mind if I say they aren't great art but they are fun and they have inspired me to have a go.  They are so appealing and immediate.

Then the WI has an on line drawing club.  This little drawing (poppies before you ask) was this month's picture and the instructor takes us through it step by step.  We use felt tips which must be the most unintimidating medium ever.  The instuctor is a primary school teacher who has our measure!

And I've just bought my first paint box since I left school and I'm planning on having a crack at water colour painting.  I've found on line classes on painting flowers.  

Maybe I'll find courage to put a few attempts on my blog.  

Ice Cream

 I'm a Companion on the Wolds (COW)!  This is a group loosely organised by the church to offer companionship to women who have been widowed. (I'm just a pastor for the group.) There are about fifteen members and they meet roughly monthly.

Last month we had a very interesting tour around a beehive making factory.  Yesterday we met at a local ice cream parlour where the ice cream is made on the premises.  They have a small cafe where we had soups and sarnies and then we had a talk on ice cream making.  Even better we sampled about eight ice creams.  There was coconut, wold gold, mango, fruit of the forest, tiramisu, rum and raisin and I can't remember the rest.  

I'll be going back!

The fruits/flowers/vegetables of his labours

 Jack came yesterday.  I had to go for a rest!

He sorted my vegetable plot and planted my winter broccoli.

We had the first few tomatoes with our bacon butties.

He brought vegetables in for me to use.

He checked the runner beans.

He's given me permission to pick my sweet peas. 

He brought me some roses from his garden.

He checked the roses in my garden and approved of the "Strulch" I bought earlier in the year.  I am allowed to buy more. 

He must have been in a good mood as he allowed me to keep my poppies.  

And he took a dozen savoury ducks home with him.