AND SO WITH A SMILEY….

I felt guilty about posting my bits of relative trivia when there are so many seriously, serious life events unfolding all around me. I don’t mean navel-gazing, though if you think about it, with the various muddles and crises going on in our own back yard here in the UK, it would be very easy to navel-gaze and shut out the rest of the world.  The ‘life must go on’ adage keeps popping into my head, paradoxically, adding to my hesitation to write. I do not really have any idea what writer’s block is. I assume that it would be different for every writer and maybe, this is mine.  Ho hum.

 

Am I okay to say I wrapped up the first Christmas parcel for 2019 a couple weeks ago; or, a visit to my dentist left me with neck-ache! I’m seeing him again tomorrow.  Also, I have been following Deacon Gilly’s Lenten determination to place negativity on the shelf in ‘my daily doings’. That’s proving to be a hard one, much more than I expected it to be. The corollary is working through it and to see and hear things that lift my spirits through the more positive spirits of others. What about, “I whistle a happy tune so no-one will suspect…’, except, people would run a mile hearing me try to whistle.  Better still, where I live, people make eye contact and smile at one another in greeting; you don’t have to know them. (There are the exceptions). However, just wandering around and sharing smiles I find can be uplifting.

So, with a smiley….TTFN    🙂

 

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DON’T YOU KNOW…

On Boxing Day, (26th December 2017) a National Bank Holiday, I was sitting at the centre table of  a row of three tables for two, in a busy village coffee shop, we consumers were all in close proximity.

On my right was a very delightful little girl with her daddy. She was amusing herself with a game and also talking with daddy.  Quite a number of ladies stopped to talk to both of them and she told them she was three years old.

As me and hubs started to sip our coffees I heard………….

Daddy may I go to playgroup this afternoon? […. may I……from a three year old. Wow!]

I commented to dad on his little’s girl’s remarkably good manners.

Dad.…..Oh, we have the Manners Book at home don’t we, and we like reading it.  She nodded

MeHave you got the ‘why’ book……Dad….No   

Meyou’ve got all the answers then? ….

DadNo…..and looking at his daughter….. no,we haven’t have we?

3 year old.Yes you have. …….

DaddyNo I haven’t …

3 year oldYes you have.

DaddyWhy do you say that?….

3 year old….Because you’re a grown up.

Daddy….Oh, I see; grown ups don’t know everything.

3 year old…… uhm yes.  You’re not mummy are you.

 

 

 

GETTING UP A HEAD OF STEAM

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When you really want something you know you have stored somewhere, that’s when you can never find it. So it was today, I hunted high and low for a canvas bag I wanted to use. Anyone within earshot of me would have heard me muttering all sorts of unrepeatable phrases. There probably was also a steady head of steam around me instead of my usual equable aura. I peered in places I knew the bag was unlikely to be, I pulled out stuff that had been shoved, er, fitted, into tight spaces. Could I fit them back; NO. They were forced back and the door was quickly shut.

Time for a break; just then hubby returned home. He made helpful suggestions of places I had already looked and one or two I had avoided. A few packages fell out on top of me as they do when you’re ploughing through a pile of ??? years’ collection.

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One more look in the cupboards, I decided, then I was going to give up. Yeah okay, you’re already there. I found the bag. It was lying neatly under a h a t. (I’m not even going to go there. The bag was found and there’s an end to it).

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One of the local charity shops is going to benefit from some of the howking out of long forgotten bits and pieces that I thought might come in useful one day. The haul includes a couple of carrier bags of wadding, created from reducing over-stuffed pillows, good for quilting and other craft work. Another stored bag contained weird shapes of fine wool fabric in two colours, together with flattened pieces of brown paper. Many memories flooded into my mind when I remembered what it was all ‘attached’ to. It made me a little wistful. Someone might get some use out of a dressmaker’s brown paper pattern and the left-over material of the garment that was made, which has long gone.