Mamalade

“The sun is a-shining to welcome the day and it’s Heigh ho, come to the fair.”

After several bleak windy days - our coldest July days in known history - it was such a relief to wake to a clear sunny morning yesterday, because it was the day our local community held its big annual festival.

It was the biggest and best ever! We made twice as much as last year on our World Vision Stall. (Of course, it was rainy last year.) We sold hundreds of Lucky Dips. The kids kept coming back for more. My Squawking Chickens all sold, and all of the dolls’ dresses Mum made and her handmade Birthday cards. Most of the Flower Fairies sold. And lots and lots of other things.

There were hundreds of other stalls - and it must have been a record crowd this year. The streets all around were lined with cars. As well as crowds of people, great flocks of squawking white cockatoos swooped over the area all day, making us quickly don our hats when they settled in the tree above us. It was a miracle that our stall was unscathed……… but my car was well splattered with white spots.

Local groups provided the entertainment in the centre of the area, and our Toastmasters Club acted as emcees for the day.

It was a great day for our community.

Dry Paint

My friend’s little girl had her face painted at the festival. I admired her beautiful butterfly face as she sat on the chair beside me. Suddenly, she leaned toward me and rubbed her nose on mine. Then she leaned back and scrutinised me carefully with forget-me-not blue eyes.

“The paint’s dry now,” she said.

Daddy gone to work

“Daddy gone to work,” Miles informs me.

“Did he go on the bus?” I ask.

“No”

“Did he ride his bike?”

“No”

“Did he ride an elephant?”

Delighted giggles. “No, too big!”

“Did he ride on a mouse?”

Little squeaky voice. “No, too small.”

“Did he ride a lion?”

“No, too scary!”

“Did he ride a duck?”

“No, too quacky.”

“Did he go on a waggon?”

“No, too fall-offy”

Did he go on the train?”

“Yes!” Miles jumps up and down in glee.

I look at him in awe. This kid is only two!

Observations from my patio

“All together now, one more time - 1, 2, 3…..”

And the trio of magpies perched on the telephone pole swell their chests, lift their voices in unison and warble an orison of praise to the morning sun.

Down below, Ingrid imagines she is a ferocious tiger as she furtively stalks a peewee. Then runs for cover when it suddenly turns to face her.

The man across the road collects his newspaper from his front lawn. He then walks next door, picks up his elderly neighbours’ paper and places it by their front door. The elderly neighbours’ cat sits outside the door, emitting plaintive wails to be let in and fed.

The woman from the house on the other side arrives back from driving her husband to the station. She is still in her pyjamas - white with pink and blue flowers. So far her luck has held out and the car didn’t break down on the way.

More cars swoosh by as parents drive their children to school. (Who was it who said, “It is a mother’s duty to deliver children. Obstetrically the first time and by car for years after.”?)

A group of schoolboys ride by on bikes, eagerly discussing the merits of the television programmes “Survivor” and “Shipwrecked.”

A little girl who looks about 8 walks along - slowly, thoughtfully, with one foot on the kerb and the other in the gutter. As she passes, I hear her talking softly to herself. She looks small and vulnerable. I watch till she reaches the corner and pray that the rest of her journey will be safe.

A teenager stops his bike at my letterbox and tries to feed it with a bundle of junk mail. The front of the letterbox falls out onto the ground. I keep meaning to get something to cement it in.

My next door neighbour backs his car out and drives up the road, returning a few minutes later with a carton of milk. It would have done him good to walk that short distance, I reflect idly.

Hmmmn…….a bit more exercise wouldn’t do me any harm either and it’s getting late…….

I hurriedly complete my early morning chores, gather my things together and rush out the door to attend a meeting. My foot is already on its way down when I notice that Ingrid has had trouble with another fur-ball and thrown up on the bottom step.

Icky sticky goo

I had to go out early on Wednesday. No time to sit in the sun. No time to waste while cooking breakfast. Consequently, my porridge turned out a bit runnier than usual. It was a cold morning, so I took my breakfast into my bedroom and tucked my toes under the doona while I sipped my steaming cup of tea.

Then I reached out for my bowl of porridge. I thought I’d placed it on top of the pile of books on the bedside table, but it wasn’t there.

Had I left it in the kitchen?

It was not in the kitchen. Nor the bathroom. Puzzled, I returned to the bedroom and looked again on the pile of books.

Aha! The bowl had slid off the books, turned upside down and a slimy mixture of porridge and sunflower kernels was oozing down the side of the adjacent cupboard and the wall and forming a gooey puddle on the carpet. I managed to pull the cupboard out from the wall and clean up the mess before I went out.

Just as well. It would have dried like cement.

Hey! Do you think I could use it to fix my letterbox?

Beefeaters

The kids have had the last fortnight off school. Shea (my niece) spent Monday at Mum and Dad’s place so I went along too. (Her brother Callum was at Kindy.)

Shea and I were watching something about the Queen on television.

“They have special guards at the palace,” Shea informed me. “They’re called ‘Butchers’- or something.”

“Beefeaters!” I laughed, and told her that one of their duties used to be to taste the kings meat before it was served to him, to ensure that it hadn’t been poisoned by a traitor - hence the name “Beefeater.”

Later I looked up the word in two books and they both said “Beefeater” was a derogatory name in the 15th century for a well fed servant or glutton.

So where did I get my story from? I don’t know - someone must have told it to me when I was a child and I’ve always believed it. Shea will probably believe it too, and maybe one day she’ll tell it to someone else and thus perpetuate the myth - unless I set her straight.

I wonder if I should………. my version is far more romantic!

Speed

Shea taught Mum and I how to play “Speed.” It’s a really good card game. It’s exciting, noisy …….. and could possibly get violent! Try it!

speed

How to play Speed

Divide a deck of cards between players.

Each player places 5 cards face up in front of him and leaves the rest face down in a pile.

On a given signal, each player takes the card from the top of his pile and places it face up in the middle of the table.

Now the race begins. From the 5 cards in front of him, each player adds to any of the cards in the middle, following the sequence 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-Jack-Queen-King-Ace. Or vice versa. The sequence can change at any point. eg. Jack-10-9-8-9-10-9-8-7-6-5-6-7-8-7-6 etc.

There is no taking turn, everyone slaps down cards as fast as they can. (These 5 cards are replenished from the player’s pile as they are used.) If no moves can be made, everyone puts down another card from the top of his pile.

The winner is the first player to use all his cards - or the one with the lowest score if no further play is possible.

Big spender

“What am I bid for this antique piano?”

We were playing “The Golden Hammer,” an auction game I had bought at a Garage Sale. We played cautiously at first, only buying the items we needed to win the game. Then someone bought the piano, just to prevent the others from obtaining it. The bidding price skyrocketed and we were helpless with laughter as the piano changed hands a dozen times during the game.

It’s fun to act like a millionaire for a little while.

Buddy’s game

Shea has always loved playing games. And so do I - but there are some games I don’t like.

Take last night for instance. About 2 a.m I was rudely wakened from a deep sleep by that darn cat Buddy banging on the front door to let me know he wanted to go out.

I staggered foggily to the door and opened it, but Buddy had disappeared. I turned on the light and hunted through the house, but no sign of Buddy.

Muttering to myself, I groped my way to the toilet. Then the banging recommenced, louder this time, accompanied by frenzied scratching on the carpet.

I went back to the door. Buddy was hiding again.

After another fruitless search, I returned to my warm bed and was just dozing off again, when WHUMP! Buddy landed on top of me, purring joyously and rubbing his cold nose all over my face.

I grabbed the wretch, stomped out to the door and dumped him on the other side.

I don’t like that game.

Melting moments

I think it was Picasso who said it was miraculous “that one did not melt in one’s bath.” Looking at the cats soaking up the morning sun, I wondered if they were beginning to melt. Buddy looked as though he had been poured across the patio table, with his head hanging over one side and his legs and tail dangling over the edge. Ingrid, with her golden belly uppermost seemed to have become one with the sun.

I’ve been breakfasting on the patio with them. The mornings are crisp and clear and the air is filled with bird calls. Magpies, Crows, Doves, Butcherbirds, Noisy Minors and others that I can’t identify. The sun warms me right through and I almost forget that I hate winter.

Miles was looking at the photos on the big corkboard above my table. His gaze lingered on a picture of Callum playing on my music keyboard.

“Dat Callum playing piano,” he said.

I looked over at Frances. “He’s never noticed the keyboard, has he!” It stands right beside the toybox, but Miles has never lifted the cloth cover to see what’s underneath - until today.

It might have been the photo that gave him the clue - though I think he discovered it accidentally when we were hunting for “The Three Bears” book. Suddenly the cover came off and Miles was ecstatic.

“Fi fife!” he kept demanding as he jiggled to the demo music.

Whatever did ‘Fi fife mean? Frances had gone shopping and couldn’t enlighten me. Then Miles ran and picked up his toy microphone and handed it to me.

“Fi fife!” he repeated expectantly.

Of course! I was being asked to perform the songs from his favourite TV show, “High Five.”

After Frances and Miles went home, I sat down at the keyboard and played several old songs. Music used to be such an important part of my life, but the computer seems to have taken over now.

I started playing Mozart’s Minuet in D, but halfway through, there was a dreadful discord as Buddy leapt onto the keys, sat on my hands and gazed adoringly into my face.

We spent the rest of the evening cuddling in front of the television.

Faceless people

The nights are cold, but my bed is warm. Sometimes as I snuggle cosily under my doona, with Ingrid purring beside me, and Buddy on my feet, I think of those who have no shelter from the cold - no comfortable bed to sleep in. I think of them in far off undeveloped countries, or in the big cities. Faceless people, because I’ve had no contact with them in my cosy insulated life.

But yesterday, when I went to buy hot pies for our lunch, there was a man sleeping on the seat outside the shop. His head was pillowed on a green plastic garbage bag. Another green bag at his side probably contained all his possessions. He was warmly dressed and empty takeaway containers at his feet suggested he had eaten, but he was obviously homeless.

To me, he has given homelessness a face.

GST

Several of us were having a “cuppa” in the kitchen during the Jumble Sale.

“And what do you think of the GST?” asked one, leaning back in her chair with her steaming cup of coffee.

Then….. “Oh, sh…!!” Her chair suddenly tipped backwards and the cup emptied its contents all over her and smashed into tiny pieces on the cement floor.

What makes us laugh uproariously when these things happen? It must be the surprise element and the “banana skin” effect - the “it could have happened to me, but isn’t it funny when it happens to someone else” syndrome!

Luckily her layers of winter clothes protected her from being badly scalded and she was able to laugh as much as any one.

We never did get back to discussing the GST - that’s the “Goods and Services Tax” that was introduced last week. There have been all kinds of dire predictions about it, but I think life will go on much the same. Most food is cheaper, but prices have gone up on other things.

As someone said, what you lose on the swings, you make up on the merry-go-round!

I’m so glad it arrived today.

Recently we’ve had windy days, when leaves and any loose pieces of paper were sent whirling along the street. And we’ve had days when the rain drizzled down and made everything soggy.

But today was a clear sunny “good to be alive” day.

So when the postman unceremoniously dropped my mail over the fence and left it lying on the ground, it didn’t blow away, and it didn’t get wet. And luckily, I found it before any neighborhood dogs carried it off.

It was a large envelope, (too large to fit in my letterbox) all the way from the USA and marked “First Class Mail.”

What is the use of sending mail first class if it is just thrown over the fence?

It was the certificate representing my achievements over the last three years in our Toastmasters Club - my “Advanced Toastmasters - Bronze” (ATM-B) certificate. Very impressive looking, in a bronze coloured folder - which wouldn’t have offered much protection from a gust of wind or a mud puddle, or a slobbering dog.

So I’m glad it arrived today, when it was sunny and I was at home.

Teletubbies

It’s always fun, looking after my 2 year old grandson, Miles, and he’s quite happy to be left with me.

“Bye bye, Daddy. Bye bye, Mile’s Mummy.” He cheerfully waved as Joel and Frances drove off. Then he reached for his toy phone.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at Meemar’s!”

I wonder who he was phoning!

Miles loves the Teletubbies game on my computer. (It’s quite boring if you’re over two.) He’s discovered that the train scene comes on after the windmill - sometimes. (It’s a random thing.) His little body grows tense with suspense as he waits to see which activity will start. If he hears “train music”, he jumps up and down shouting, “Here it is!”

We played till way past bedtime.

Matthew’s Birthday

My little nephew Matthew turned two on Sunday. He had a family party at Mum and Dad’s place. Matthew is as quiet as his brother Robert is loud!

He quietly “cooked” strings of beads in Mum’s saucepans and served them to us while the older boys raced around with his new birthday toys.

Five-year-old Callum is so loving - he brought Mum a letter he had painstakingly printed all by himself. Then he patted me gently on the shoulder and said apologetically, “I haven’t got a letter for you but I’ll write you one soon. Okay?”

He didn’t want me to feel left out.

Did you work it out?

Did you work out the word puzzle last week? To refresh your memory -

Cross out six letters from the following line of letters so that the remaining letters, while staying in sequence, form a familiar English word.

B S A I N X L E A T N T E A R S

It’s so easy once you know the answer. Just cross out the letters, S.I.X.L.E.T.T.E.R.S. That leaves you with - BANANAS!

Don’t feel bad if you didn’t get it. I had to be told the answer, too.

Wings! Hundreds and hundreds of tiny translucent brown wings all over my patio! The aftermath of a wild orgy of the little people maybe? A fairy frolic?

And if they left their wings behind, how did they get home? Walk?

But no, closer inspection reveals a tiny seed enclosed in the tip of each wing, and I remember how, yesterday the air was filled with whirling wings and pine needles from the huge tree in my back yard.

I think it was the windiest and coldest day we’ve had this year. It was also one of the busiest at our World Vision Jumble Sale as people came in out of the biting wind to search for an extra jacket. The neat piles of clothing were soon churned into utter chaos.

“What’s this?” exclaimed one man as he entered; “It looks just like my bedroom!”

(I must admit, sometimes my bedroom gets a bit like that, too.)