I've been locked out...

Of my blog that is. I starting receiving worrying messages that my browser was no longer supported, and then it was all over.  After a week and a half of fiddling around, I seem to be able to get back in again (here's hoping).

Apart from that, it has been a week of the step daughters.  Last weekend I was off to visit step daughter No 1 and her baby Issy in Hastings.  Of course I acted as a baby sleeping mat for nearly 2 hours, but we nannies don't mind. And she really is a beautiful baby, although rather noisy and unladylike in the pants department...

And then on Monday, step daughter No 2 moved in to stay with me for 3 months while she is working up in London. This is a girl who is charming, vague and not a natural early riser, so I have been something of a sergeant major with the early morning knock on the door, shoveling tea and toast into her and then setting her off to the station with a packed lunch in her bag and an umbrella.  Actually she's done really well for a girl with a heavy cold so am quite proud of her.

But Friday night, and I have the house to myself.  Kettle is on and I'm searching through the Tivo.  Ah yes, life in the fast lane...

If She Hadn't Been There

The NZ poet, Brian Turner, is my favourite. As a kiwi, I find his languages and imagery very evocative of home, and I dip in and out of his books regularly.  This is a particularly lovely one from his book Inside Outside. (I've added the pics of rata and pukekos for those not in the know...)

A man sat down to write a love poem

          and thought of clouds like rent fabric

as if falcons had ripped a dreamcoat to bits

   and spread the pieces across the sky.

Beautiful he thought, and lovely the way
       cool water rushes green and silver
over greywacke and schist

    prised from the mountains before his time.

Today, he thought, the light in her eyes

        shines like sunshine on a mayflies' wings.

And today, because he is a New Zealander,

    he thinks of scarlet and green, of rata

and keas, of pukekos and their pervy-princeliness,
     of yellowhammers and godwits,
of the kee-aa cries that are just as thrilling

    as the sound of nightingales singing

in Berkeley Square. He thinks of down

      and sheen and kindness and care.

He thinks of what he would be now

     if she hadn't been there.

Play fighting...

What is it about little boys and play fighting? A young man of my acquaintance loves his Auntie Jojo. But after the obligatory hugs and kisses, it all turns to kung fu, killer boxing and a lethal attack by light sabre.

Mostly, he is all pretend, but occasionally the odd connection slips through and it all turns to grief with yelps, tears and a right telling off from mum etc.

And yet the same young man will happily snuggle up of the sofa in my arms to watch a movie and put up with all manner of kisses and 'I love yous'. It's all very contrary. 

I think he is getting to that age where displays of affection are increasingly embarressing and must be balanced up by displays of mock hostility (although in truth, I think he has been like this since he started to walk or could hold a foam rubber sword!)

Never mind, I know his heart is in the right place. I do need to brush up on my defensive strategy though, or play the weight advantage and just sit on him when he gets feisty - it worked with my brother...

Thoughts on Red Roses

I don't mean to sound ungrateful.  And Lord knows, this isn't a problem that has plagued me throughout my life. But when men buy you flowers, why do they leap straight into red roses?

A gentleman friend has recently given me 3 bunches, one every time I see him (including one to the door on my birthday). The bunches are definitely getting bigger and more flamboyant and I am running out of vases. And while I appreciate the gesture, red roses aren't really my thing, especially from someone I see more as a fishing buddy than as a paramour. (Yes, I know, clearly a conversation needs to be had.)

The only red rose that I've really taken to was the huge bush of almost saucer sized, fragrant Ingrid Bergmans that grew by my Grandpas front door, and when he gave me some to take home, it was something very special. But in day to day terms I much prefer other flowers - pink or yellow roses, freesias, lilies, delphiniums, lime green chysanthemums, tulips, daffodils, orchids, proteas, or anything in season etc etc - get the picture?

I hate to sound ungrateful, and I understand the significance of the gesture, but it would be nice if blokes could be a little more creative about their choices.  And also take some of the  'red roses for romance' pressure off....