How was Yours?

Ours was, as usual, quiet. Nothing like the excitement this year of being in a foreign country and all being together to celebrate like last year, but that was always going to be a very special one-off.

And I wouldn't want to give the impression that we didn't have our own sort of quiet fun because we did. It was obviously the year of the gifted  clothing. I had put the word out and the OH got the Christmas jumper his heart has been craving

 

Son No 2 may not have been craving a Jedi bath robe but he was certainly delighted with it

 

as he seemed to be with his Dr Who Lego - I think they must have sold shedloads of this new box this Christmas

I had dropped quite a lot of hints about wanting a new dressing gown myself but obviously they fell on deaf ears. However this is not to say that I had a disappointing time, I didn't.

 

I don't have very many more pictures of Christmas as I didn't go wild this year with the camera, although there is a not very exciting one of the small cassata I did for dessert. I used to make one three times this size, but now there are only three of us to eat it, and given that you put on four pounds every time you walk past it I reduced the size this year. It was still lovey though.

 

 

 

 

Son No 1 and family Skyped late on on Christmas Day and we had phone calls form my sister and the OH's brother and mother. The weather was so disgusting that we didn't get our once traditional Christmas morning walk to the beach though.

 

And then it was all over for another year. I know a lot of people hate the 'hanging time' between Christmas and New Year but I love it because I get all sort of odd things done, that need doing but that I can't find the time for normally. Clearing out my deleted e-mails, re-organising my Ph D folders, both virtual and real, ridding the house of extraneous cardboard boxes (if we didn't need them for posting Christmas presents then they aren't needed at all) and catching up with letters that have languished far too long needing to be answered.

 

Oh and I may have booked a rather special holiday this morning as well.......

 

 

 

It's Not Just Knitting You Know...

I've tried various crafts in my time, and I was a serious cross stitcher back in the day before my eyes, or at least my right eye, betrayed me. And I still do the occasional bit of stitching. I have mountains of card making supplies too, although I haven't made a card in goodness knows how many years. And then there were these.....

 

In a way they remind me of painting classes at school. Because in the infants I could always see in my mind what my picture was going to look like. However as I cannot draw, not no-how, the picture my hands produced was always sadly inferior to the picture in my head.

 

It was the same with these. A friend linked on Facebook to some really lovely decorations made with twigs and ribbon, with the ribbon just tied around the twigs carelessly in bows and knots. They looked great.

 

Flushed with enthusiasm, and mindful of all the low scrubby trees that inhabit TWTWCTG I said to the OH, I need some twigs. Obviously the expected response to this was, 'I will go out at the weekend and cut you some willow darling'. The response I got was 'How many? How long? What width do you want them'. 'Just twigs' I said ' for decorating'. But that wasn't enough information evidently and no twigs were forthcoming.

 

But then I had a brain wave. I took the used reeds from an empty reed infuser and searched out all my Christmass-y coloured ribbon. I set to work, but sadly soon realised that my carelessly tied knots were not nearly as attractive as the carelessly tied knots on the Facebook link. It wasn't long before I was reminded of how rubbish I am at making bows as well. After several false starts I was reduced to cross winding two lots of ribbon round some old reeds and leaving it at that.

 

Like I said, infant school painting all over again. I did however pop these on the tree. And to be honest, they looked OK. OK enough for me to pack them away and use them again next year anyway.

Some good news.....

and you will find it, if you follow this

And why do I find that good news? Well, it's like this. You know how you get TV or radio programs sometimes and they ask a celebrity about the outstanding teacher they had as a child; the one who enthused them with a passion for reading, or art, or playing a musical instrument? I'm always surprised that everyone seems to have had one, because I didn't.

I had good teachers (and bad ones), interesting teachers (and boring ones) , teachers who may have been interested in their subject, and some of them who patently weren't, but none of them stood out to me as exceptional. Even at Uni, none of the 'experts in their field' who taught me kindled in me any interest in their subject beyond what I already had. Admittedly that was at quite a high level before they ever opened their mouths, but it's still disappointing to think that they couldn't add anything extra.

 

In fact I had to wait until I was much older before I encountered a truly inspiring teacher in Meg Bateman. She taught a module on my UHI M Litt in Gaelic poetry, and I will not lie, I floundered for the first couple of sessions. Then I had a lightbulb moment, and fell in love with Gaelic poetry, even though I can only access it in translation. I suspect it's a bit of a marmite thing, but I  loved it.

 

But it wasn't just the poetry that Meg taught me. In fact the two most important things she taught me were

 

1    that you can learn from everyone if you are willing to open your ears and close your mouth

 

2    that 'glib' is not only not clever (even though it can sometimes sound it) but more than that, glib is, in an academic context, shameful. A true scholar is never glib.

 

I hasten to add that she never said these things in so many words. I learned them from observing her own academic openness and rigour and contrasting them with my own attitudes.

 

So I was delighted that such an inspiring, knowledgeable, hard working, sincere scholar got the recognition she deserves.

 

And she's also an acclaimed poet in her own right; her work is well worth seeking out if you're that way inclined.

Christmas

 

 

It's Christmas. I can't quite believe how easy, for once, the journey to get here was. Cards all hung, presents from us and to us have all arrived, the cassata for dessert tomorrow has been in the fridge for hours, the turkey is defrosting, the house is clean, as are the inhabitants (except maybe for the odd cat paw) and I do believe we are ready.

 

I had an image in my head for a long time about how the Christmas tree would look in the new sunroom surrounded by parcels and stockings and how I'd have candles all along the windowsills and I'd sit there as it got dark and watch the flames. And lo! it even came to pass.

 

I remember someone once giving a talk in church about how easy it was to let Christmas become routine, but I don't think that's ever been the case with me. For many years it was just hugely stressful and I hated it, but aa time has gone on it has got easier. And as I've got older I think I've got easier too. And most years have been a little different to the previous one, so routine has never set in.

 

Perhaps for everyone as we stack up more Christmases it becomes less about the stuff and more about the intangible things that are the ones that really matter; being with the people you love, talking time out from ordinary life to reflect on all the good things of life, perhaps even to think about those who aren't as fortunate as ourselves.

 

Whoever you are with tomorrow, however or whatever you are celebrating, I wish you peace and joy and all that you would wish yourself, for that day, and all the ones that follow.  

 

 

Project 60 Number 17

Making ice cream. It is actually a wee while since I made this. It had been on the Project 60 list but I had sort of given up on it as ice cream makers of the sort I wanted were horribly expensive and I wasn't about to spend that sort of money on something just to make one batch of ice cream, which isn't something I'm a huge fan of in the first place. In fact you might wonder why I wanted to do it at all, but its partly down to watching too many cookery competitions on TV and partly because - well, you know, I'd never done it before. And at the end of the day that is what Project 60 is all about.

Anyway the OH took to haunting e-bay looking for ice cream makers and eventually he found one that he assured me was a bargain. It was still an eye watering amount of money but it was a good machine and almost brand new. The person selling it on e-bay said they had bought it but discovered after using it only once that her husband was lactose intolerant so that they had no further use for it.

This puzzled me a bit. Ice cream makers are not cheap and it seems to me that by the time you have the sort of disposable income that allows you to purchase one you are surely of an age where you have previously noticed that you are lactose intolerant?

However that might be, the OH purchased the machine and it duly arrived. He couldn't wait for me to mentally gird up my loins ready to use it and he made some ice cream almost straight away. It was very nice. Emboldened he tried again. The machine made a funny noise, a bit like 'phutt-bang' and died.

I was not amused.

I am now going to cut a long story very short and just say that due to helpful people; the lady we bought the machine from, and in customer services at both Lakeland and Sage , we ended up with a brand new machine, as the one we bought was still under warranty. It took a bit of doing, but only because it was hassly and involved people digging out invoices and till receipts and scanning them and e-mailing them about, but it was done.

I have now used it twice and although I am not one for blowing my own trumpet I will say that the ice cream produced was lovely. The OH has used it rather more often and has been more adventurous with his flavours. I have stuck to vanilla, while he has done raspberry, lime, and cinnamon and chocolate chip. Honours are however about even since he 'cheats' and uses cream, whereas mine have been custard based and therefore more difficult to do.

 

Some of my cookery based Project 60 things have been one offs, but I have enjoyed making the ice cream, despite the minor panics around issues such as 'why is that mixture so foamy?',' is this custard thick enough' 'why is the machine playing that stupid tune? and so on. So I fully expect to make much more nex year and am already planning how best to try making it coffee flavoured.

Nae socks. Nae Gaelic.

 

 

 

Regular readers may have been surprised to note that there has been no breast beating over the Gaelic learning and found this surprising in view of the fact that the course started up again in September and I had previously fund it a struggle.

 

As it happens the course did start up again in September, but without me. I had booked a lace on it, downloaded the material for the first unit looked ta it, gave vent to a noise much like 'Waaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh' and ran screaming for the hills. Well I didn't literally run for the hills, I just e-mailed the office and said Sorry I cannot face this.

 

I am not sure if this proved that I am sensible or just a quitter. The little amount of Gaelic I had learned had taken a huge amount of time, money and energy, time which it seemed to me would be better spent working on my thesis. There are two major chapters to write over the next twelve months, and although I had managed to run the Gaelic study and writing the draft of my first chapter in parallel I had always felt that the draft would have been better had I not been spending so much time on learning a language so incomprehensible that the OH refuses to believe it is real, and contends that people just make it up as they go along to bamboozle English speakers when they hove into view.

 

The intention is that I will keep at it on my own, for 30 minutes only per day from January until next September and may pick up part 2 then. Meanwhile for the many who won't get the Nae Socks, Nae Gaelic reference: -

 

the image above comes from a Scottish Comedy Series called Chewin' the Fat. It was a sketch show that was often screamingly funny and had these  sock puppets as recurring characters. They spoke Gaelic after a fashion, and were often heard to be recounting stories of their (mis)adventures, many of which ended with them being thrown out of places with the words 'Nae socks'.

 

If you don't know them, well worth seeking out on You Tube, although I will sound a note of caution. While not adhering to any  theory of racial stereotyping, in my experience the Scottish sense of humour is very particular. I find the Sock Puppets hilarious, as does Son No 1. The OH on the other hand, finds nothing funny about them at all. In fact he didn't find Chewin' the Fat funny. Or Scot Squad. Or any other comedy program to come out of Scotland ever. He does have a sense of humour, but it's not attuned to the comic genius that resides on this side of the Scottish/English border.



The New Star Wars Film.

No I'm not going to see it. The OH and Son No 2 are in town watching it in 3D even as I write but I can't be bothered. The thing is I liked the first three in a 'Crash Bang Wallop and oh look! there's Harrison Ford' sort of a way. But the next three were, to me, absolutely dire.* I know I am not alone n this, and in fact a lot of big fans of the first three films agreed the next three were not up to standard. The difference between them and me, as far as I can see, is that many of them are prepared to forgive and forget. Myself - not so much.

 

*For those readers inclined to take issue with this I have three words. Jar Jar Binks. QED, I think.

 

I daresay a few years down the line, when it turns up on TV, that I'll watch it. And they do say that this new one is up there with Episodes IV - VI. But I'm not paying out real cash money as the phrase goes, on the off chance. Not to mention the fact that for a long time now in the cinema I've missed half the dialogue because the sound quality these days is appalling.

 

So why am I blogging about a film I'm not going to see? Well everyone else is. Who am I to struggle against the Zeitgeist.?

Lergied and Laptopless

I really am going to have to stop saying 'That's our last trip south until we go away in Feb' because that does nothing but jinx things. I really thought that after Gdansk I was a fixture here until February but that's not how things worked out and we had another quick trip to Glasgow at the beginning of this month. It was great fun, mainly. However....

For coming home we had booked the final ferry of the day from Gills Bay at 6.30. We like this one, it means we're actually back in the house for 8, and if we're only coming from Glasgow then we don't need to be off at the crack of dawn but can leave about ten, and have a proper lunch break somewhere, do a bit of shopping in Inverness (well browse their out of town Tescos and fill up the car) and still make it to the north coast with time to spare.

For some reason, and very fortunately I had packed everything up last Tuesday night, ready for our 10.00 am departure which was fortunate as, at just before 8.00 am we had a phone call from the ferry company. Our 6.30 ferry was now the 3.30 ferry and that would be the last one for the day, weather the next day looking not very good for ferries at all,  they hoped that was OK....We chucked what was left of our coffee down the sink, picked up our bags and fell down the stairs to the car park. In the car, heading north as fast as we could ( remember this was Glasgow morning rush hour!), we had got almost to Inverness before realising that in the rush my laptop had been left behind. Son No 2, who came home for Christmas on Thursday, brought it with him. I didn't quite fall upon it with cries of joy ( I kept those for the lad himself ) but I was very pleased to have it back.

 

Truth is I have been lost without it (a reflection that opens up a whole new world of reflection and self recrimination) , and that partly explains the lack of blog posts. I could have used my Hudl to do them of course , but somehow couldn't quite work up the enthusiasm.

 

And that was partly to do with the lergy. I had a terribly sore throat all the way back, to the extent that, not only did we stop off at the local shop and buy throat sweets from The Lovely Victoria but  I actually used them. I am hopeless at self medicating and normally manage to talk myself out of  throat sweets, cough medicine and paracetamol but on this occasion I was more than happy to break into the packet of blackberry flavoured Menthols or whatever they were.

 

Over the next few days I developed a temperature, aches and pains, a runny nose and a bad cough, as well as a feeling that there was nothing in the world worth doing ever again except perhaps sleep and even that was problematic since it proved elusive. Last Saturday was definitely the worst and although I am still not quite right I am much much better than I was. Bit of a residual cough (which is annoying because I never get coughs) but otherwise about 90% on top of things. Which is good. Because apart from anything else I can update the blog.

A Funny Thing Happaened on the Way to the Conference....

if only that could have read Forum....

I was scheduled to arrive in Gdansk at about 7.00 pm which I sort of half realised before I went was going to be after dark. I had instructions for getting to Sopot by bus and rail, but there seemed to be some doubt about whether the new bits of the TriCity rail system would actually be working, or even finished, and there was still the problem of finding my hotel in a strange town after dark  in a country whose language I do not speak. The conference organisers had seemed doubtful about getting a taxi, warning darkly that the price should be agreed before you got into the cab, (people always say this although how you are supposed to know what is a sensible price for a taxi ride before you know how far it is going or anything about local taxi licensing, or indeed fuel prices is quite beyond me). In the circs a taxi seemed the most sensible option, but being a bit wary as a single woman of jumping into a car on my own with a stranger I decided to keep my eyes open as I travelled for likely sharers.

 

I thought I had it sorted when I heard a couple of men talking in Copenhagen as we waited at the gate to board the flight to Gdansk. They had been on the Edinburgh-Copenhagen flight, they were taking with Sottish accents and as I got closer to them I heard them talking about the timetable, panel scheduling etc. Bingo! I introduced myself, ascertained that they were indeed en route for the conference and asked if it would be possible to share a taxi with them when we landed. They looked a bit sheepish then the big man from the photo in the previous post said that he would have been happy for them to share a taxi with me, but as it happened the organisers  were sending a car for him and they'd both be going in that. I was welcome to tag along if there was room though.

 

I then said something really daft. I can only suppose that I was tired, and disappointed and a bit apprehensive about what I was going to do when there wasn't room in the car, which I knew for an absolute certainty was not going to have room for me and so I said with widened eyes 'They're sending a car? You must be someone important'. Obviously channelling some vacant ingénue from an ancient film. And even as the words dropped out of my stupid mouth and he said 'Well I've been invited to read a few of my poems tomorrow night' I realised that he was the Guest of Honour, Scottish novelist and poet John Burnside. And I should have known because not only have I seen the occasional picture, not only did I know he was going, but I did actually have to study one of his novels on my M Litt course.

 

Fortunately I managed not to confound my error by confessing to this latter thing since he would presumably then have asked for my opinion, and as it happens I was not over enamoured of it. In fact it was in my bottom three of all the books on the course,* but as I say, I managed not to mention it.

 

And it all had a happy ending as there were several people there to meet him, and a car, and a taxi was summoned as well and as I was staying in the same hotel as he was we did share a taxi after all, while the other guy was whisked away to where he was going in the car.

 

It was embarrassing though.

 

* Oh alright then. Born Free by Laura Hird, Growth of the Soil by Knut Hamsun and The Devil's Footprints by John Burnside.