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 |  Empty or full, shiny or a little in need of washing and sometimes just cracked! |
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I heard about these blogs and wondered why people would want to air their dirty laundry online. But I feel safe on this site so maybe it's worth a try. We'll see. This blog is complete. Please find my new blog from the link below...
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I was very interested in Nada   's blog yesterday where she shared an entry from an old journal she'd come across. I was also saddened and annoyed at my own stupidity.I've never been a hoarder and the older I get, the less clutter I want or need. I tend to keep only essential items and things I hope I'll use in whatever future I have left. Not so the men in the house, who find even parting with an odd sock a great wrench. Anyway I digress. Despite my preferance for minimalism there are certain things I cannot part with, although I'm very aware they probably serve no useful purpose. Things like ducks and bears, old photographs and items of sentimental value. Shortly after I was married, an old schoolfriend visited me and we got to talking about the fun times at school, the parties and the old boyfriends of course. When I told her I still had all my diaries and letters from old flames, she was horrified. She lectured me on how upset and hurt hubby would be if anything happened to me and he found these things, then persuaded me to bin the lot. Oh, silly, silly Scarlett. Within those diaries and letters was SO much material for fiction writing, so many memories I now don't recall and a record of a young life full of ups and downs, which are now just vague and distant misty recollections. Now, I realise I should have hung onto all of it. Was I not supposed to have a past? Was I supposed to erase everything that happened pre-hubby as if it was of no importance? I no longer care what anyone finds when I leave this life. It's part of me and part of the life that's made me who I am and if it causes jealous feelings and upsets anyone else, so be it. I won't be here to take the flack so why should I worry? I'd encourage young writers to hang on to their emotional past and letters of a personal nature; you never know when inspiration may strike through your own experiences in life and love. I shall no longer part with letters and personal items that mean a lot to me. Not that I get many nowadays. I wonder what other members find difficult to part with? |
| I dedicate this entry to those of you who were puzzled by the mention of Marmite. Here is a little information on the product - never say I don't teach you anything new. Basically, Marmite is spent brewer's yeast. Now that's not as rude as it may sound. It's only purpose has been to ferment sugars into alcohol, (get thee behind me) and was seen as an unpleasant by-product. Until 1902 when it was discovered the paste not only had a distinctive taste but was also highly nutritious. It is 100 per cent vegetarian, contains hardly any fat or sugar and although undoubtedly salty in taste, actually contains very little. It can be eaten at any time of day, whether spread thinly on toast for breakfast, in sandwiches at lunchtime or as an added ingredient for stews and casseroles. Some people prefer it as a hot drink too. Marmite is an excellent source of Vitamin B12 as well as Riboflavin, Niacin and Folic Acid. During both World Wars Marmite was served to soldiers on military duty and used to combat beri-beri and other diseases. During the Second World War it became a valued dietary supplement in prisoner-of-war camps. Marmite has been sold in small earthenware pots of a distinctive shape from the outset, although during the 1920's the switch to glass containers took place. In the U.K. sales top 23.5 million a year, making Marmite the most popular savoury spread. Vegemite is a similar product but not as strong in taste and a little thinner in consistency. During the 1980's the advertising slogan was 'Nothing tastes quite like my mate Marmite' but today it's 'Marmite - you either love it or hate it.' As I said, in my case that's not true. I've never decided whether I like it or not but will tolerate it as part of my dieting campaign. And I won't be getting beri-beri either.  During my research I discovered an hilarious website called ''How much is inside a jar of Marmite' and also that you can purchase it on e-bay, so it's been a useful and amusing investigation. Don't you just love search engines? So, there you have it. If you've never tasted Marmite I suggest you put it on your list of 'things to do before I die.' And so as you know what you're looking for, allow me to introduce you to 'My Mate Marmite.'   |
| The diet I am following has weekly menus to choose from with plenty of variety, so it suits me as I get easily bored. The breakfasts consist of far more than I'd normally eat, but it's logical that a good breakfast kick starts the metabolism and helps with weight loss so I'm trying to stick with it. This morning was the dreaded 'boiled egg' breakfast. When people say 'She/He can't even boil an egg,' I'm afraid I can't see why it's a reference to someone who can't cook. I can manage elaborate meals, bake cakes and bread, succeed with new and exotic menus but boil an egg? NO WAY! I've tried oven timers, electronic timers, old-fashioned sand timers, even guesswork but NEVER do I get the perfect boiled egg. Last week's was too runny, with the white still clear liquid in parts. Today's was too hard, the yolk dry and the white resembling rubber. Even if I boil them for exactly the same time each egg turns out differently and none properly. I never did like eggs much anyway. It's also not true what the adverts say about Marmite - 'You love it or hate it.' I had Marmite on my toast this morning and after 55 years I still can't make up my mind if I like it or not. Next week I think I'll substitute the egg breakfast for beans - they behave themselves. So now it's time to burn off the hard egg and marmite toast. A long walk? Three inches of snow on the ground. The exercise DVD? I think I must have lay on my bad arm too much in the night and it's painful again and asking to be rested. I don't suppose bog cleaning can be classed as rigorous exercise? Maybe I'll just run up and down stairs for an hour. What a load of twaddle. Sometimes my life is just SO exciting I struggle to decide which aspect to write about. So, I'm afraid all you're getting today is a load of rotten eggs. |
| Have you ever appreciated having two arms? I know how brave and accepting zwisis is about her artificial leg and must admit my admiration for her knows no bounds. But I'm used to doing things with both arms and since my fall on Sunday have been made to realise how difficult life is when we are restricted in movement. I don't know what I've done and I don't really care for seeing a doctor, but the past couple of days haven't been as productive as I'd hoped due to only being able to use one arm. Thank goodness it's my right one. Things like lifting, hair brushing, excercising and basic housework have been virtually impossible. Still, it's a little better today so I'll leave it to mend naturally. Thanks to all who showed concern but I think I'll live...for the moment. I was up early this morning with PLANS. Two hours later I've just about managed to catch up on blogs as I had little time yesterday to spare. I'm not complaining of course. Neither will I whine about the actions of Murphy and Sod who seem to have joined me for breakfast. Today was supposed to be a peaceful day at home for me. The weather has turned foul and hubby has been forced to abandon golf so my peace is shattered. Last night I returned to my writing class. I was welcomed warmly and it was good to see everyone but the organisation has not improved and I sadly found no inspiration. My sister is supposed to be coming over tomorrow for a couple of days. She's started with an horrendous cold and now there's a question mark over her visit. My duck hammock has collapsed.  I dread to think what the dudes were up to in the night but this morning they are scattered all over the spare bedroom. Rearranging them back in the hammock will be a very time consuming work of art. My exercise routine is severely limited due to only having one useable arm. I can however still continue with my long walks. But guess what? It's trying to snow. But I shall brave the elements and if I don't make another entry you'll know I've fallen and wrecked my right arm too. |
| Every Sunday I go to my parent's house and spend some time doing jigsaws with my mother. I think I may have mentioned this before. Normally, hubby comes to collect me in the car, but due to my losing weight campaign, I told him not to bother today and I'd walk home. This threw my mother into a panic. 'You aren't going to walk in the dark are you?' 'But, it's so cold,' 'What about crossing the roads?' 'You will ring me when you get in so I know you're safe?' etc etc etc. I wish I really was the ten-year old she thinks I am. Anyway, there I was walking briskly home on auto-pilot, thinking about plans for tonight, whether I had a blog topic, menus for next week when THUD. I tripped over something and landed in a crumpled heap on the cold, hard floor.  I may have lost five pounds but it was still a heavy fall and quite shook me up. For some strange reason the fwinker nails on my left hand seem to have taken the brunt of it. They are rapidly turning blue; I must hunt out that matching nail varnish tomorrow to conceal the injuries. Even in the face of adversity vanity does not desert me. So, that's what I get for trying to be good.  Whatever exercises I indulge in tomorrow will not involve my left arm for sure. I have a feeling it won't move much by morning. But at least my right one is okay to lift my ONE medicinal drink to my mouth. Count your blessings I say. And DON'T tell my mother I fell over in the dark. She'd ground me for a month. lolThanks to kelly1202 for the merit badge. Finding those in my mailbox always makes the day a special one, even if I do end up battered and bruised at the end of it. |
YES YES YES YES YES My marathon efforts to do something constructive about myself have paid off. Over the last two weeks I've lost five pounds in weight. I am taking up less space in the world and am indeed a shrinking Scarlett. Oh, I've tried many times before but this time my resolve is much, much stronger for several reasons. I have the incentive, I have the motivation and for once, I've stuck to it. Sensible eating, plenty of water, increased exercise are all part of this campaign. But the single most important factor here is the massive decrease in alcohol intake. I've proved I can live without it and that's a big confidence booster. Okay, I'm not sleeping too well but rather that than hangovers. It may be common sense to ordinary people but to me the low alcohol intake has improved things no end. I wake up earlier. This gives me more hours in the day to be active and achieve. I have loads more energy which helps in burning off those calories. My mind is clearer and concentration is much better. My mood is improved and I feel less depressed. At last, the weight is coming off.After only two weeks I weigh less than I have in three years. Realistically I CAN achieve my target by the summer and I state in here, I WILL do it. Sorry for the self-indulgence and bragging but for once, I'm succeeding with something I set out to do and still feeling very enthusiasic about it. If I could tackle stopping smoking too I'd almost be a saint. Oh I forgot, I am one already. So, whoopdedoo, I'm pretty pleased right now. Walking to my parent's house in a minute. How many calories does putting jigsaw pieces together burn? Have a good weekend. |
| Every day this week I've managed to get up a lot earlier than I usually do. It doesn't mean I get that craved for 'space' however, as hubby generally arrives and starts clanking pots in the kitchen within five minutes. But you know me; never one to complain. I like it! I get to finish all the humdrum tasks by mid morning and it frees up time to walk or exercise as well as spending time on WDC. Not that I EVER feel I've caught up on here though. But you know me; never one to complain. I had a great day out shopping with a friend yesterday. This friend has no nickname; she's called Joy and a joy it is to be with her. We laugh, we relax, we just enjoy the change from routine and go with the flow as they say. Shame we can't do it more often and that the day passes so quickly. But you know me; never one to complain. My poor son has to have another operation on his knee. He had one only a year ago for a torn cartilage but apparently it's ripped again. There's also a small tear in his other knee, so he may need two operations. With his travelling plans looming in September, it's a bit worrying as to whether it will all be settled by then. I would appreciate a period of time with no hospitals involved. Since I retired there always seems to be some member of the family in one. But you know me; never one to complain. So, here is a new day. I'm at the hairdressers this afternoon but have time first to go a long walk, exercise and do some long overdue housework. But as it's Friday, you know what is first on the list don't you? And as I gaze down the U bend, I'll try not to wonder if there is more to life than this. You know me; never one to complain. Have a good day my friends. |
| Yesterday my friend Gillian and I visited our old Headteacher, Mr Don Stendall. Now a sprightly 83 year-old but still the proud, strong and upright character he's always been. I remember my first day of teaching. I arrived at the school a bag of nerves and was greeted by Mr Stendall, rather an authorative figure and obviously an old soldier with high standards. I was given my registers and sent into battle, so to speak. Over the first few weeks I realised behind this tough exterior was a man with genuine values, astute insight and a heart of gold. By the end of my first year he gave me back something peevish, unjust teachers and college lecturers had taken away - my confidence. Quietly supportive but not intrusive, recognising hard work and dedication he took his staff under his wing, but would not tolerate inappropriate behaviour or sloppiness. He earned respect from everyone; pupils, parents and staff alike. His dry humour was often the cause of much squirming and he loved to watch his staff attempting to keep straight faces in front of the children. Like the time he walked into morning assembly and announced: 'This morning children, I'm thinking of a four letter word beginning with F.' The word was 'fair.' And that he was, always. I spent a very happy ten years with him as my boss and was secretly pleased that he chose to retire when I left to have my son. We've always kept in touch and visited him every so often. Sadly his wife died shortly after he retired and much as we know it broke his heart, he soldiered on as the brave souls do. Yesterday, we laughed over coffee, took a walk around the lake of the beautiful park backing onto his home and ate lunch at the cafe in the grounds. On departing we hugged this now very vulnerable looking man and promised to visit again soon. So this one's for you Don. I'm honoured to have worked for someone from 'the old school.' They don't make them like you any more. Thanks to andrew and Nada for the merit badges. I'm a little behind (I wish) and out again tomorrow but I still WUB you all. |
| I was pleased to be able to take a walk in dry conditions this morning after yesterday's heavy rain. One thing I didn't take into account was the amount of time I'd need to rescue worms stranded from their burrows after the downpour. I just can't help it; I've always done it. Show me a worm in distress and I'm putty in their h...oh, they don't have any do they?. It doesn't matter how crinkled or dried out they are, where there's life there's hope. It doesn't take more than a few seconds to pick the poor little chaps up and pop them on the soil, then cover them with a leaf. Trouble is, after a day and night of heavy rain, I was bending down every five minutes to perform my acts of heroism and I include all the cases of mistaken identity. ie. twigs and elastic bands. When my son was quite small, he suddenly announced one day he thought I'd be a saint when I arrived in heaven. When I asked him why he replied because I put up with his father. In later years, after watching many of my worm rescuing missions, he concluded I'd be the patron saint of worms. That would be an honour in my opinion. Worms are very undervalued and essential to our eco system. I don't have a problem with handling them; what's the difference between a worm and a piece of cooked spaghetti, apart from the fact it moves a bit more? Here are some interesting facts about these very important little creatures: Worms have FIVE hearts and no lungs. (Does this make them very romantic?) Worms can live for three to four years on average but have been found as old as fifteen. (HOW do you find out a worm's age? Do you count the rings?) Worms don't like onions, orange peel or GARLIC.  Worms do not die when they are cut in half. One end, usually the front generally regenerates. (How can you tell which is the front end?} In Ancient Egypt worms were considered essential to agriculture, Cleopatra supposedly made them sacred. Anyone found exporting worms was subject to the death penalty. I also hunted out a little poem I composed when I was teaching, to read to the children whenever we made a wormery and studied these fascinating creatures. Life’s not easy being a worm I’ve got no eyes, so I cannot see When birds are trying to capture me. I’ve got no ears, so I cannot hear When enemies are coming near, I cannot smell, ‘cos I’ve got no nose, So how do I manage do you suppose? Well, I can feel vibrations and that helps a bit But life ain’t easy – be sure of it. I can’t stand the sunshine, I don’t like the light, I have to come out and eat at night. It ain’t much fun ‘cos I have to stay In my damp, dark burrow every day. But I have to come out if the rain pours down ‘Cos it fills up me burrow and then I might drown. I’m a defenceless creature I have to say, I ain’t got no legs so I can’t run away From birds and moles and children’s feet, And I’m sure to get squashed if I go on the street. When faced with trouble I’ve no teeth to bite, No sting to use and no fists to fight, So I have to stay low down under the ground, But even that’s not safe when the gardener’s around, I get tossed by a fork and splattered with water, Then me tail gets chopped off and I’m three inches shorter, No wonder I wriggle and slither and squirm, 'Cos life's not easy being a worm. As the appointed saint, I declare today World Wide Worm Day. If you get the chance to help out some poor unfortunate worm today, please do. You'll feel much better for it, I promise. And will the fishermen/women amongst you please refrain from making hurtful comments. |
| I wonder what sort of weekend you've all had? Mine's been rather 'bog' orientated to say the least; not something I craved during a cold and rainy February. It seemed to lead on from my Friday bog cleaning session. My dad had a cataract removed last week so I thought I'd pop up to my parent's house in the afternoon to see how he was getting on and if they needed anything doing. Didn't plan on staying long. Note to self - never make plans. On arrival I discovered they were in turmoil because their downstairs loo was blocked. Dad couldn't see to phone the water authorities and mum would forget what she was supposed to be telling them after a few minutes. Dearest daughter to the rescue - 'Leave it to me, I'll get it sorted.' Famous last words. I phoned the local water authority and waited fifteen minutes on hold listening to some crummy, repetitive music. At least if you're going to keep someone waiting that long, please have the decency to play something appealing - maybe Handl's water music would be appropriate. Eventually a REAL person took all the details, then informed me they needed to know if the neighbours' drains were blocked too and the date the property was built. Well, how the hell do I know? I asked her how to find out that information and she suggested phoning the local council offices. So, off I set to ask the neighbours both sides about their drains. Nope, no blockages there. Phoned the council who said they could NOT inform me of the date of the property and to check the deeds on the house. They happen to be at my parent's solicitors. Get out the phone book, phone the solicitors and eventually find out the information required. Phoned the water authorities again, another 15 minutes listening to same crummy, repetitive music and am then informed, after relaying all the information again that because the problem was not affecting the neighbours it was not their responsibility. I pointed out my parents are both in their eighties, my dad has just had an operation and it wasn't easy or safe for them to have to keep going upstairs. Anyway, what would happen if it was their ONLY loo? The lady showed a little sympathy and promised someone would investigate within 48 hours. By five o' clock on Saturday no one had arrived and I was getting a little concerned. I phoned again, listened to the same old tune for 15 minutes (you'd think they'd change the record ocassionally wouldn't you?) and was then informed it was definitely NOT their problem and we'd need to find a plumber. Well, thank you very much. So, spent the evening on the phone searching for a plumber willing to come out on a Sunday. This morning saw us in pouring rain, standing in my parent's garden holding a hose to the drain while the plumber unblocked the loo. Eureka! The bog now works but it may take my dad some time to recover from the shock of paying the bill. So, that's another weekend down the drain. One full of sewage or effluent, whichever you prefer. Both horrible words aren't they Forever, but not as bad as the much shorter one I was originally going to type. Sorry this entry's been a load of s***. lol And I just realised it's my 300th entry. What a choice of subject for such a momentous occasion.  |
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