Winter Chill

While some are sweltering under the African sun, we are toasting ourselves by our 'real' fire because its decidedly chilly outside and in the morning we will need to scrape the ice off the car. Not a lot happening here in some ways. My 87-year-old cousin says the way to keep young is to find younger people to be friends with. Too true. But where are they? It seems that most of the families with children are too busy doing their own thing to attend community events, so it's more old fogeys wherever we go. And they are the ones organising everything too.
Having said that, two couples are going to start a Sunday School in the village church next week, which is great. But how they'll manage in a necessarily quiet, cold and loo-less side chapel, I can't imagine.
Our rector is retiring, so this week we have initiated a prayer meeting for God's will to be done and the Right Person to come. It's a promising development.

Long Mynd

While we live here we intend to make the most of the beautiful countryside, but don't always live up to those intentions. Last week we took a 'day off' from knocking holes in walls and other stuff, and went to the Long Mynd.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to me!! I start to feel like a ticking time bomb, wondering when the explosion will come. But according to Joan Bakewell on the radio (I almost said wireless) yesterday, old age doesn't start till 70, so I am still middle-aged. Which means I will still be at the top end of the range when my sons become middle-aged!
Speaking of whom, I opened a new jar of Marmite this week and looked at the pristine new surface and remembered when we used to do that together. Which also reminded me of our arrival in the Big Town many years ago, and agreeing to think of one another when Concorde flew over. History.
The picture above is of HoF's works in progress. Our new kitchen looks more and more like an African one, but thankfully in this chilly weather I can still cook a meal indoors. Drying the washing inside isn't so easy though.

Minutiae

Inspired by the African family's blog, I thought I would try the diary idea too.

Tuesday.
Not so late getting up. Have had two good nights sleep, not so guaranteeable these days. Porridge for breakfast. Misty outside but not so cold as last week. Clean some sooty patches from the lounge carpet and look ruefully at the black hole where last night's Real Fire spat. Whilst HoF lies in, so I couldn't possibly use the vac, I search online for info to follow up my researches yesterday in the record office into the minutes and roll books of Methodism in our area. When Himself arrives he works on getting me a new email address for my future role as editor of village mag.
Walk down to village and pop in on monthly coffee morning held in the Methodist Chapel, with 'free nail clipping'. Are about half a dozen there. Ask about some of the things I'd learned yesterday, like The Plan and share my favourite howler: 'Brother S was dismembered for drunkenness.'
I have the bones of an article for the local history journal but feel I need to get a real grip on what it was like to be a Methodist in the 1840's, how classes worked and so on. I have copies of some letters written by a young convert and am following her story as well as finding more on our American cousins' ancestor. Feel gleeful that yesterday's research shows these two would have known each other. Meet the chapel organist who is interested in the history of the house he used to live in, so take his email address.
Walk on to visit J who is very unwell with symptoms physical and mental. Feel pretty useless but then don't think we're meant to find self-satisfaction this way. Drop a library book at S's. We go to the same book group and as I borrowed from her last month, she is having this month's first. Then to M, a good friend, whose company I have been missing, to invite them round, but end up being invited there for Sunday lunch instead. How did that happen? Meet current editor who says he is going to send me a mountain of info. Gulp.

Home to mist indoors as well as out, as HoF grinds away at the chimney he is paring in the laundry room. No point in housework, (crocodile tears) so upstairs to research for man spoken to this morning and email results. Also invite a friend from church to dinner tomorrow.
After lunch, using last of homemade soup, there is time to read. Start 'Travels with My Aunt' by Graham Greene and take it with me to read on bus. Have to go to town as the book I borrowed for the book group is due back there today. Initially I am the only peron on the bus and instinctively sit in the middle. How bizarre. So that my conversation with the driver is shouted down the aisle. A friend gets on next, and last, so we chat all the way and agree to see each other on the way back when the bus will be crowded with school kids.
Go to the library and decide to join. Browse the Local History section and get in a queue to speak to the helful local historian but leave before I reach him because I have a bus to catch and am a bit vague as to what I want. Info on local Methodism, but more of an idea on how it all functioned. Wander through a few shops, looking for gift ideas. Men as usual are the tricky ones. Shall have to persuade HoF to get interested. Get to the bus stop where hoards of youth are milling, read a little, realise my friend is nowhere to be seen. Has the bus gone, I ask the girl next to me. Think so, she says, that one always goes early. Oh no, and I was trying to be good and save money. Now I have to phone to be fetched, blah.

Home and make us a cuppa to compensate for my error. Then research some more online stuff. Methodist distinctiveness I read was 'They preached salvation by faith and they practised a prayer life'. Hmmm
Made dinner. Butter beans in tapenade says the recipe, but I do my version. We are trying to eat healthily and economically since America plus dubious goings on in banks. C comes as we reach pudding stage to talk about the school club where HoF plays guitar, and some thoughts on the coming interregnum. HoF is so grubby after his day of grinding that he heads for the bath. J phones to apologise for being rude in the morning and seems quite chirpy now. I do cross stitch which I started for travelling and can't decide whether to abandon it in favour of knitting which is more of a winter sport. Listen to the radio, including item on high suicide rate amongst older Asian women and of course, more on the American election. I like these cosy autumn evenings.

American Reflections 5

An 'encouraging' sign in a Pacific coast hotel

That bird is a drainpipe! We like it, wonder if we could copy it?
Final thoughts are mainly about language. Basically we use the same words but mean different things. One day I said to a young lad 'your room's a tip, but then I haven't got a leg to stand on'. Total mystification! Firstly 'what's a tip'. Secondly, 'what do you mean, a leg to stand on'.
HoF used the phrase 'something rotten'. Again, incomprehension. Well, no, it wasn't exactly the best English.
Pre-owned = secondhand
Spendy = pricey (rather like that one)
We had fun with each other's incomprehension and the need for frequent translations.

Another thing that had our eyes boggling was drive-thru banking. Yes, really. We thought it might be really handy for crooks, but actually it's probably safer. You are outside where everyone can see you, the bank clerks inside, like at a petrol station. You put your request slip in a bottle thing (like at Jacksons) and whoosh it goes, sucked up and deposited with the clerk who sends back your money and watches while you count it.