The Granny Basket

Granny at Surfer's Corner, Muizenberg





Once upon a time, a long time ago, when my children were just two bricks and a tikkie high ……   Nah! That doesn’t work! A couple of decades ago three young children had a wonderful Granny who lived in a very tiny bed-sitter overlooking the vlei - a kind of lake. Granny’s bed-sitter consisted of a small kitchen (with a large house-size double door fridge), and a living room with a single bed, a red cushioned, black leatherette three-seater sofa, and a chest of drawers. One half of the long wall between the kitchen door and the bathroom door was a built-in cupboard, and the shower-basin-toilet bathroom was back to back with the kitchen. The long, big window gave her a picture on the weather, the sea, the vlei and in summer, the busy road crammed with holiday-makers going to the beach.

There wasn’t much room in Granny’s flat for three adults and three children, but somehow we managed and Granny even managed to cook a Sunday lunch for us all – even though it was done in batches.

The best treasure in Granny’s flat was the daisy embroidered, plastic lined, handle-less basket under the bed.  As soon as the three children arrived, and after greeting Granny with a hug and trying to avoid a kiss, the basket would be dragged out from under the bed and emptied on the 3x4 foot rug next to the bed and for the best part of the visit - about two hours - the contents of that basket would keep three under nine-year olds quiet or occupied, or both.

Granny with Nicole and cousin Lindsey

There was an injured Barbie doll, whose leg or arm or head, had to be salvaged from the bottom of the basket and whose tiny tight clothes were a challenge to get on or off; there were about eight domino bricks which would form walls, or beds or fences; there were about six wooden blocks of various shapes to build to a tower and then dramatically bash down – usually on top of sister’s carefully laid dominoes; and some coloured plastic rings to stack on a plastic cone.

 



Granny with Sean

The basket has always been known as the “Granny Basket”. 


I’m not a Granny yet, but I wanted to have a Granny Basket ready for any children who might come visit, and so the charity shops kindly obliged!  So far I have a red-roofed house-shaped shape-o-toy with all its wooden blocks; a wooden house/barn with removable roof and little wooden stairs inside – it’s currently sitting on my bureau with the Christmas lights flashing through it’s window holes and lighting up the little straw lady standing in the doorway.  I also have a box of 100 blocks in a tub with a shape-o-toy type lid – all 100 blocks of different shapes are there, the future Grandad counted them!  And then there’s the books: card-paged Funny Bunnies by Nicola Baxter; Georgie Adams’ Nursery Story Book; a set of 25 Walt Disney books (all 25 for £3.50!); and four Enid Blyton books: The Wishing Chair Again, The Enchanted Wood, The Big Story Book, and The Book of The Year.  Together with a selection of soft toys received as presents from special people, I reckon my Granny Basket is ready for the children!

The children who enjoyed the Granny Basket - Sean, Nicole and Megan!

Apart from the (grand)children, there’s one other thing missing.



The Basket!



Off to the charity shops again!





Measuring our Happiness?

        So Prime Minister David Cameron has decided he needs to "measure the nation’s happiness". Basically what makes the people happy will tell the government what to do to keep the people on their side!  The question is of course, what defines happiness? Mr Cameron has hastened to add that this is not a question about politics, but rather how happy are the people of Britain in themselves. How ‘happy’ are they with their health? Their family situation? Their future? Their social life? And it has to come up: their financial status?

        The journalists have picked this last bullet up quickly and gone out on to the streets of Britain asking the nation: “Happiness or Money?” Of course the people will say Happiness; they know that money doesn’t provide everything they need. They’ve seen miserable millionaires, billionaires commit suicide, and emotionless faces of the rich and famous splashed across tabloid pages. It’s also the ‘right’ thing to say. We don’t want to look greedy or materialistic on camera! So with a superficial laugh, 99% of the people say they’d rather be happy than be rich.

       What I haven’t heard being asked after this initial question is: “What will make you happy?”  I’m almost positive that a very high percentage of answers to that question will contain the word: Money!

Sights & Sounds in a London Suburb Friday 8am

* Diamond sparkling spider-webs on emerald green hedges;

* Motley group of scarf, hat and boot brigade waiting at the bus stop (and I know some are only going one stop further, just around the corner!)

* Carefree, once light-coloured mongrels tearing between the trees in the park, skidding on wet leaves and grass and kicking mud up into the cold sunshine’s rays.

* Girl, about 11 or 12 years old, walking up to school door, Dad standing at car door on the street. “Just one more?” he calls gently. She turns slightly as I pass the open gateway. “Try?” he pleads, “Just one more?” She slips into the building and he walks around the car. What was all that about, I wonder?

* Two uniformed officers pace around the one-way entrance to the road where Nick Clegg, Deputy Prime Minister, lives – wonder where he’s going today?

* Dads rushing towards the nursery school in business suits, duffel-coats and Harris Tweed scarves pushing buggies of squirming toddlers. Or tightly holding on to an excited, jumpy three-year old, all smiles and excited about going to school. Or trying to tightly hold on to a two-year old throwing a temper tantrum about not being picked up and carried. Two-year old being sternly disciplined in foreign language!

* Builders & painters (paint on overalls) striding down the pavement with paper cups of Nero’s coffee. Foreign? British? No conversation this morning, no clues!

* Worker-looking group standing on corner pointing, animatedly planning the day’s work. Foreigners? Nah, British face! As I get closer and hear the plans – they're foreign. Got that one wrong!

* Busy traffic light intersection: long lorries going through almost red lights and getting stuck in the middle of the intersection. Hooting from impatient VW Golf driver squeezing past and maybe getting a scratch on back bumper. More hoots as commuters having just climbed off a late bus dash across the road to catch the next mode of transport.

** The sun, rising like a squashed ball of light between the buildings at the end of the street, rising, rising and then free in the white-washed blue winter sky.

There’s always something to see in London!

The Other End of Courtesy!

London is notorious for overcrowding on public transport. I am so very, very thankful that I don't have to take a tube or train to get to work. In fact I don't have to use any form of motorised transport to get to work - I can walk! But after a frustrating day at work, when the English winter has set in, it's dark at 4.30pm, cold, windy, etc. etc. etc. the last thing I want to do is walk for half an hour! Yes, I know it's good exercise, blah, blah blah, but I do that in the morning - 7.30 or 8am. It's a very special time to be out and watch the squirrels still darting about, hear the blackbirds, the blue tits, and every now and then the woodpecker. 

But I'm digressing; I caught the bus home today. It wasn't too full and I aimed for my favourite seat which was still vacant. However having just sat down, a lady older than me padded tiredly down the aisle of the bus and I immediately stood up and offered her my seat. "Are you sure?" she asked surprised and her dark, very wrinkly face lit up. Of course I was sure! I still believe in good manners and 'old fashioned' courtesy - unlike some creatures of the male sex - gentleman is too nice a word for some of them! - one sees on the busses day in and day out. Yes I know they say that they have stood up for ladies in the past but have been treated as if they had been grossly insulting, so the men have given up being polite, it's too embarrassing.

Anyway, so I stood up - just as the bus decided to lurch forward of course - and almost immediately another Lady, probably about 15 years my junior, stood up and offered ME her seat! I made some funny comment about all swapping places, we smiled, and I took the seat offered.

Which reminded me of a conversation about a week ago when a gentlemen about 10 years my senior (not giving anything away here, but you get the picture!) was telling us that someone offered him a seat on his train journey into work. His reaction was one of amusement and surprise that someone had considered him 'old' enough to be offered a seat! He said he was quite put out!

It's no wonder the 'younger' generation don't appear to have any manners or know the meaning of politeness and courtesy - they are discouraged from being polite and courteous! No, I didn't get all morbid about being 'old' enough to be offered a seat (and it was a lady who offered, please note!), I was just pleased to know there are still some Londoners who are kind, friendly and polite!

(The only pic we have of 'my' bus - photo by Megan in winter 2009!)

Life story

Most peope who read blogs also write their own! So there's probably a huger number of 'authors'  than the books we see on the library and bookshop shelves! But have you ever thought of writing down your own life story? Seriously! It's not that scary or difficult  - unless of course there are too many things in your past you'd rather not remember or put into writing. But it is a super way of passing on adventures you've had to your children or grandchildren. You haven't got children or grandchildren? But you might have one day! Your life story doesn't have to be written and finished in one day or in a public arena like a blog. It can just stay on your computer, and you can add or take away, edit, read at your leisure.


I'm on page 50 of mine and have got to my eighteenth year, still many to go - both pages and years! But so far it's been fun! I not only recalled incidents, but also researched what was happening in the news or what has happened to people I remember, with the result that I find new Facebook friends! For example, in my final year at school, South Africa introduced TV - yeah, look it up and find the year! How interesting to read that the most popular programmes were actually Afrikaans children's programmes! I wasn't a child at the time, but those children's programmes characters lived on and on and on. You South Africans - do you remember Bennie Boekwurm? Or Liewe Heksie? Haas Das?!!!


You don't know what to write, you say? There's quite a few books on writing your life story, the two I've got are 'Times of our Lives'  and 'Write Your Own Life Story' both by Michael Oke. They both give memory joggers and ideas for how to set it out. For example one section is headed 'School Buildings'. I bet you now have a picture of part of one of your schools that has either good or bad memories. That's a beginning!


I dare you to try it! You don't have to have a deadline to finish, just write! You don't have to publish or make it available to the world-wide public; when you're satisfied you've done it justice, just print a few copies off for your family. Believe me it's good!


Good luck!
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Michael+Oke&x=11&y=17

Frustrations & Irritations

It's amazing that there aren't more - or any - smashed computer screens sitting on our dumps! The number of "Error" messages I've received just this evening would normally have made me get enormously upset and uptight. But I'm just sitting here carrying on without a word! Maybe I've got to the point where I expect things not to go right. As a Canadian comedian living in UK said as a guest on a show sometime - nothing works in England, and you're OK with that! (or something to that effect). When two hours work, copying, typing, pasting, thinking, just disappears off the screen in front of you - shouldn't that be the most irritating, hair-pulling, screaming, hand-wringing experience? Horrors! Have I just given up? Or have I just 'mellowed'?! Does age have something to do with it? Maturity?
How annoying it is to have school kids dart in front of the bus 'queue' - a London 'queue' of course being simply a word with one consonant in it and four vowels and not much else.
But it passes. I get a seat on the bus. I retype the page ten times before going to bed at midnight, or leave it to tomorrow night. There's-always-tomorrow kind of attitude; Chill; can't do anything about it - and that's how we manage to live one day at a time!
Tomorrow's Friday. Maybe that's the day when things go sunny side up, all ready for the weekend? Maybe!