Category: Family

#678 theoldmortuary ponders

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What skill would you like to learn?

My daytime yesterday was a series of jobs. Intrinsically with not a jot of anything worth blogging about. Apart from the evening which was fab. But sometimes the prompts that my blogging platform puts out each morning hit a nerve. This morning was such a moment. Yesterday I ran out of sticky tape to wrap a parcel. I had also run out of a specialist tape used for framing pictures. It made logistical sense to buy both from a specialist art shop. But as you can see there are four items in the above picture. Nowhere on my mental shopping list did a rose gold highlighter or an off-white marker feature. My exact thought as I walked out of the shop was .Why can I never just buy the two really dull items? Why does every trip to an art shop tempt me to buy more materials?

So with the two additional items in hand I then ponder where the fault lies. The culprit I decide is the specialist framing tape. I could have popped in anywhere and picked up parcel tape and just picked up parcel tape. But Loxley Gumstick Handy Artist Gummed Tape is a very dull looking product. I had to search it down . Past every known and unknown art product.

Then my pondering attention turned to the parcel tape. Had I not needed it to wrap a birthday gift, I would not have needed to be anywhere near the art shop because the framing tape was not a super urgent need.

Is not buying unplanned items a skill?

Is it even possible in an art shop ?

Two questions worthy of a ponder…

Maybe the blame lies with the birthday girl whose parcel needed wrapping.

Maybe I should just accept that for a trip to an art shop, only two unplanned items was not such a bad result and that the fault is all mine.

#680 theoldmortuary ponders

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The 15th of September, a day that I usually allow to pass without too much notice. It is 29 years ago that my father died and it is maths that makes today different. I was 29 when I had my first child so he is now the age I was when I effectively became parentless. My mother was already terminally ill with neurosarcoidosis at the time of my fathers death. This is not in any way a sad ponder. I am blissfully lucky to have two adult children who stand successfully on their own two feet and for whom being actively parented is not essential. They are also fabulous parents themselves. But what exactly, as a fully grown adult did I lose 29 years ago. How has my life map been altered by not having an older generation above me for almost half of my life. No brothers or sisters aunts, uncles or cousins to seek the answer to life’s adult quandaries. In truth I have muddled along with the help of friends and sometimes strangers. By and large muddling along has been fine, there really has been no other option. I am certain that with my parents around some of my adult decisions would have been different and better informed. That in itself is quite life affirming, in that, with a little bit of effort poor decision making can be turned around.

A few years ago I bought this painting of two Hares from a fellow artist. It reminded me of that September day 29 years ago. My Dad has quite a sociable death and he had gathered the people he wanted to see over the few days of his demise. His bedroom overlooked the flat fields of the Essex countryside. The recently harvested fields were the playground of Hares whose antics gave everyone something else, beyond death to think of.

I have never seen a Hare since.

Today I decided to turn this small picture into a much larger print as a celebration of love and loss, and all the complexity of being the young matriarch and growing to be an old one.

https://www.sharihills.co.uk/

#684 theoldmortuary ponders.

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Family1 Comment

Sometimes there is a question that requires an answer and sometimes the answer has to wait a bit. This time last year we were accustomed to being, mostly distant, hands off, Skype, grandparents to one small person. On the horizon however were two more grandchildren.

How would we cope with 3 when our hearts were somewhat full of one?

As it happens hearts swell to accomodate and we have just concluded a summer month of 3.

The answer turns out to be that we coped and 3 is fabulous.

But two of them are not on their legs yet.

#682 theoldmortuary ponders.

On By theoldmortuary.designIn art, FamilyLeave a comment

I was in a slightly eccentric cafe today when this picture knocked on my memory. In the 1970’s this print hung on my parents dining room wall. It was a mass produced print. Possibly from a chain retailer like Woolworth. This would have been completely out of character, our home exuded mid century modern good taste long before it was retro-chic. I was possibly the only person who ever looked at this picture In a small family of three we all sat at the same place at the table every day. I know my dad hated it, my mum never expressed an opinion. I imagine it was a gift that had to be seen when the person who gifted it visited. I looked at this lightly wooded scene most days for ten years. Then when I left home and there were just two people left in my home my parents decided to build a new extension on the back of the house. The wall where this picture hung was fitted with shelf units and it was never seen again, until today.

Oh the difficult conversations that have been had while staring at this woodland stream. The awkward silences, the introduction of unsuitable boyfriends. The endurance of meals that did not suit my hungover, teenage self. There were celebrations and happy meals too, reunions, parties and special birthday  gatherings.

I wonder where the picture went. My heart gave a little jump when I saw it today. There is a part of me that still wonders where the stream of life is taking me and another part that would be happy to still be in the dining room just looking at this, one more time with my parents.

#635 theoldmortuary ponders

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Family, Serendipity4 Comments

@theoldmortuary we have been without Dads for quite a long while. So it was a surprise to us that today was Fathers Day. We were at a party recently when people were excitedly discussing their grown up children visiting at the weekend.

” How lovely” we said ” Why are they coming this weekend”

“Fathers Day!”, said with incredulity, was the chorus.

It says a lot about targeted advertising that we are no longer made sad by being bombarded by advertisers trying to sell us gifts for our deceased parents. Post Covid it seems that people are making more effort to mark these days, not with gifts but with visits. Family time is more precious when it has been denied or not easy for 2-3 years.

Now we get to witness ‘ Fathering’ from a different direction. Our three granddaughters have two excellent Dads, their mothers are excellent too, but that is for another day.

Fathers Day is, for us, a day of celebrating a job well done, by the next generation.

However my photo archive has failed me. To illustrate this blog I wanted pictures of Seahorses, creatures where the Dad really does the hard graft of actually giving birth. They are not so good at barbeques or reading books but, giving birth! That is quite a good task to lift.

All my photograph archive held, was a horse by the sea.

Or an Apron in a shop window.

© Cream Cornwall

Spitalfields Life

Link above to another Fathers Day blog. So beautifully written that I had to share.

#614 theoldmortuary ponders

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Such a solid piece of good sense. This popped up on Facebook yesterday. Mostly these positivity posts leave me a bit cold, particularly if they have a religious or new-age vibe. But this one just feels like a pragmatic way to cope with the tough stuff. My dad was a pragmatic, kind person who always stated the obvious in a way that was instantly useful. Although he has been dead a while I still rely on many nuggets of his wisdom and am reminded of him often.

Museum of Modern Art. Bangkok

This painting which I met for the first time last week made me want to walk this path with my dad. I Imagine many people viewing this for the first time would instantly think of their fathers. So often parental relationships are complicated or difficult to explain but this simple straight avenue of trees looks inviting and calm, a place of great conversations no matter how insignificant or indeed life changing.

#527 theoldmortuary ponders

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Family3 Comments

When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?

This prompt from the host of my blog made me laugh this morning so it seemed foolish not to use it as my source material. Jetpack, my host, gives a daily prompt which I ignore for the most part.

At age five I was heartily sick of being asked what I wanted to be when I was a grown up so had formulated an answer that made adults slink away.

“A lady, how about you”

My mum always told me off for being rude but I was truly sick of being asked that question.

A better one was, “What sort of house would you like when you are grown up?”

The answer was always the same and could even be an adult dream fulfilment.

“I would like a house where every room has chocolate digestive biscuits available”

Neither of these were the answer that made me chuckle this morning.

In the 60’s and 70’s my mum ran several Contraception and Sexual Health Clinics. The talk in my house was often of a pragmatic sexual nature. Imagine my parents ran a hardware store and talked about nuts and bolts. That level of conversation.

Not surprisingly my mums colleagues did not have a lot of children so when they held a monthly planning meeting at our house, there was usually only one other girl, Briony, brought over to play while our mothers plotted to limit the worlds population, starting in rural Essex.

One particular summers day myself and Briony were having the best time dressing up as Hippies and planning our careers at age 8. I had at that point moved on from the thoughts of being ‘a lady ‘ .

We both almost certainly knew what might irritate our mothers. Briony’s family were Quakers and if anything the conversations in her home were even more liberal and free thinking than in mine.

Eventually our mothers clip clopped into the garden to see what we were up to. I say, clip clopped, because all of my mothers friends wore Dr Scholl wooden sandals.

Our mothers and their friends were eager to hear what two such vibrant and enegetic little hippies were planning to be.

The answer, when it came, was not what anyone expected.

” We are going to travel the world as sex addicts”

The wooden sandals were silenced.

https://www.scholl-shoes.com/en-gb?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=%5BGADS%5D_ECOM_Search_Brand_EN&utm_term=%5Bwooden%20scholls%5D&gclid=Cj0KCQjwiZqhBhCJARIsACHHEH-R8eg4hzWqbOzwMT7IPpKScWjMDVZJRh0Hnei9ViHN6IDMNkneZHUaAkVzEALw_wcB

While researching for this blog I went to the website for Scholl. I may well get a pair for old time sake and to commiserate with myself with never reaching my ambitious goal in life.

#518 theoldmortuary ponders

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Family, Friends and Family3 Comments

Today would have been my Dads 92nd Birthday. For many people, including myself, he was the easier person in my parents marriage to get along with. His genetic gifts to me have been reliable, useful and enabled me to see the world and my place in it easily. My mothers character, skills and temperament was more skittish and impulsive. She divided a room, he could bring a room together.Their combined talents have given me a skittish core with a practical, sensible overcoat Sometimes I bore myself, other times I wonder what an earth I am going to get up to next. As their only child I was a puzzlement to them both. Neither could see their characteristics reflected in me because their two strong personalities masked any obvious inherited characteristics reflected in me.I was their conundrum. My skittishness was measured and my steadiness unreliable.

Marmalade is the perfect illustration. My Dad loved it and my mother hated it. There were often five or more varieties in our larder at home, experimental flavours tried once and then left to gather a dome of mould, a source of constant irritation to my mother who, once the mould level threatened good housekeeping, would throw them away with a flourish of delighted satisfaction or sometimes more fiercely, the mouldy marmalade standing in for someone or something that had really pissed her off. If my dad pissed her off she would throw away his absolute favourite, Rose’s Lime Marmalade, whether it had mould or not.

In a perfect reflection of my genetic make-up, I love marmalade. Until recently there was only ever one Marmalade for me. Frank Coopers, Thick Cut, Oxford Marmalade. From shared student homes to home ownership and settled domestic home maker, Frank Cooper has been my bitter preserve companion. More recently one of the Bobbers, Gill, has been sharing, with me,her short season Seville Orange, home -made marmalade. Gill is up there with Frank. A mass produced God and a small batch Goddess. They share the marmalade shelf now, Frank there all year, reliable. Gill fleetingly, only in season, both bitter to their core, both adored.

Wherever my parents are, and they may not have chosen,or been sent to the same other realm destination, both would be satisfied over my adult marmalade development.

My dad , thrilled that I love marmalade. My mother, grateful that it is only ever one flavour, at worst, two jars- no mould.

#507 theoldmortuary ponders

On By theoldmortuary.designIn Family, Serendipity7 Comments

What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

Here is another Jetpack ( My blogging platform) suggestion, that did actually spark a ponder. My middle name is Anne. To the best of my knowledge it has no special significance. However coupled with a first name of Juliet it creates a spelling minefield, perhaps less so in the digital age, but certainly as child and young adult I would say that at least 75% of the time I would have to correct peoples spelling of my names. Constantly removing an additional T and E from my first name and donating the E back to my middle name. Juliette Ann felt as alien as being called Geoffrey or indeed Jeffery.

A proper first world problem that I have only ever discussed with my friend Marianne ( Marion) until this week when I met a fellow artist called Norah (Nora) who expressed the problem in a different way to me. Marianne and I would agree that the wrong spelling feels uncomfortable, itchy even, just not right. Marianne has lived her life with a curious sentence. ” Marianne with any” meaning with N and E.

Norah went further , she said without her H she felt lopsided, and again the word, uncomfortable. Without her H, she said she cannot function effectively.

What’s in a name?

If I were an actor or musician I would likely have to have a stage name and that would be just fine, I could be comfortable with that. A completely different personna who did glamorous things in exotic places. While Juliet Anne returned home to do the prosaic things of Normal Life. I do not have an imagined stage name to hand.

Had I been a boy I was to have been named Noel after a much loved uncle who killed himself during my mothers pregnancy. Thank goodness that didn’t happen. If I had been a boy I would like to have been called Barzilian after my paternal great grandfather, with a middle name of  Zebediah. I would be known as Zeb. Heaping bad name spelling on my male self by the bucket load. The idea of introducing myself as Zeb is actually quite thrilling. Oh to actually be part of the boy gang with all the privilege that brings.

Names are prescient this week. We welcomed our third granddaughter into our tiny family on Wednesday.

Cecily Bea is one of  a trio of small girls who make up our next generation. Surely some spelling confusions there, especially as Bea is pronounced Be-ah.

She already has a small confusion she was born quickly on Tuesday evening, no time for any worries or concerns, but she was actually born in the early morning of Thursday in Hong Kong. The time difference making a date difference. Whenever, wherever and whoever she is most welcome.



			
					

	




			
				


				
		

		

			
#469 theoldmortuary ponders

						

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Britain is in the grip of industrial action. Yesterday it was the turn of teaching staff to protest about their pay and conditions. This meant that many schools in Plymouth were closed and families had to find care for their children in school hours. This hugely changed the weekday demographic of the visitors to the museum where I work. The galleries were buzzing with children and their grandparents filling their impromptu day of care. One grandad in his mid- sixties also had his elderly mum with him. As the grandchildren skipped about from gallery to gallery. The man and his mum held hands as they slowly made their way around the older areas of the building. Clearly reminiscing about visits they had made 60 years ago, when the act of holding hands between a mum and her child happened more often and for different reasons.