Today we received parcels. For Christmas. That should be so exciting. And it was. But it wasn't. These parcels meant we wouldn't be seeing Andy over Christmas. Actually we just won't be seeing Andy. After nearly four years, Hollie and Andy have decided that he will stay in Manchester, because he loves it and she will stay in London, because she loves it. And although they both love each other very much it just isn't going to work. So for this perfect couple it just wasn't perfect timing. My family is sad. We will miss him very much. He had come to be a part of our family. Kai would refer to Mummy, Poppy, Mimi, Auntie Hollie, Andy and Bailey (the dog),
I declare here, in writing, that I trust you God. That's all.
Friday, 23 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
The most wonderful time of the year.
There's something about Christmas. I'm not sure what it is. I can't begin to imagine what it's like in a hot country because the dark nights, the cold, all lend themselves to the snuggling down, watching old movies, fires blazing, drinking warmed drinks, twinkly fairy lights, candles, wonderful warm spicy smells of cinnamon, cloves and oranges. Which in turn lend themselves to the magical and the mystery that is Christmas.
I've always loved Christmas and never quite went along with the shunning of the excesses and the pagan elements that serious evangelicals would like to speak of. Rather for me grab back what the enemy has stolen and make this a celebration to remember. You only have to read the Old Testament and the history of the Jewish Nation to know that feasts, festivals, celebrations, festivities all had a place. The generous heart of God, shown in so many ways and trumped totally by the gift of our salvation through his precious son Jesus, his birth, his death, his resurrection, should only be imitated. So be generous. But not just to the ones you love, that's the easy part but, to quote my friend, do not be in danger of abandoning those who are already abandoned. Think on that. I am.
The truth is that the 'magical and the mystery' that set Christmas apart, whether you know it or not, is the magic and the mystery of the birth of God's Son. Born to a virgin, conceived by the Holy Spirit, God in human form, visited by shepherds, who had been visited by angels. Visited by wise men with magical and mysterious presents. Gold because he was a king, not an obvious one. Frankincense because he was a priest, ready to bridge the gap between us and God. And finally myrrh, a burial ointment because he was born to die.
I've always loved Christmas and never quite went along with the shunning of the excesses and the pagan elements that serious evangelicals would like to speak of. Rather for me grab back what the enemy has stolen and make this a celebration to remember. You only have to read the Old Testament and the history of the Jewish Nation to know that feasts, festivals, celebrations, festivities all had a place. The generous heart of God, shown in so many ways and trumped totally by the gift of our salvation through his precious son Jesus, his birth, his death, his resurrection, should only be imitated. So be generous. But not just to the ones you love, that's the easy part but, to quote my friend, do not be in danger of abandoning those who are already abandoned. Think on that. I am.
The truth is that the 'magical and the mystery' that set Christmas apart, whether you know it or not, is the magic and the mystery of the birth of God's Son. Born to a virgin, conceived by the Holy Spirit, God in human form, visited by shepherds, who had been visited by angels. Visited by wise men with magical and mysterious presents. Gold because he was a king, not an obvious one. Frankincense because he was a priest, ready to bridge the gap between us and God. And finally myrrh, a burial ointment because he was born to die.
Meekness and majesty, Manhood and Deity
In perfect harmony, The man who is God
Lord of eternity, Dwells in humanity
Kneels in humility, And washes our feet.
O what a mystery, Meekness and majesty
Bow down and worship, For this is our God.
Father's pure radiance, Perfect in innocence
Yet learns obedience, To death on a cross
Suffering to give us life, Conquering through sacrifice
And as they crucify, Prays Father forgive.
Wisdom unsearchable, God the invisible
Love indestructible, In frailty appears
Lord of infinity, Stooping so tenderly
Lifts our humanity, To the heights of His throne.
Graham Kendrick
Christmas is so special that, more than any other time of the year, it causes great sadness when there is a loss. We talk about it being the 'worst time'. Those losses come in many forms, but they are all painful especially during a period when all around are celebrating. So please, as you read this, stop and say a prayer for those who you know are sad. My prayer for my friend Daphne and for my family is that they may experience the 'peace that passes understanding' this Christmas, directly from the one who the angels told the shepherds was the 'Prince of Peace'.
Friday, 16 December 2011
Never work with children & animals.
There's a huge market for children's nativities. Certainly putting one on guarantees a posse of doting parents along with the rest of their friends and family who want nothing more than to see their little one all dressed up in the cutest nativity garb performing beautifully. Actually strike that. Beautifully is not what we really want, is it now. We want hilarious. Antics that mean You Tube would be a definite possibility if the organisers of said nativity hadn't told us that any videoing (why don't we call it dvding now) was strictly for personal use and not to be put on any social networking sites etc. Boo hiss. Spoil our fun won't you. Obviously the million actual You Tube funny nativities were filmed by people without any conscience.
Kai's been in two so far - school and church. At nursery we were excited for singing whilst on mummy's knee and once he did manage to get back into the genuine performance he kept us amused by sitting when everyone was standing and then standing when everyone was sitting. A total improvement on his last nursery gig, with a glimpse of his true potential showing through. I would, of course, love to reveal this all to you but I don't think you'd class as personal use. Sorry. The one advantage of sitting on mummy's knee is we did get to video, I mean dvd, sorry...... film him at close range. And what a beautiful shepherd he was. Yes, I know he wasn't Joseph, or Angel Gabriel, or the innkeeper but shepherds are cool (she says through gritted teeth and a wonderfully fixed smile).
Onwards and upward. Nativity number two, held at our church. Still a shepherd. His choice actually. Nothing to do with the fact that he'd been bought a shepherd's outfit by his Auntie Jeanie who felt we were one family who might just get to use it. Of course he could lose the lamb and it would have been a great Joseph outfit or even an innkeeper. What am I talking about, he did lose the lamb. And the staff. And the headdress. And eventually the whole costume, but not until he had dutifully sat front stage with his mate Samuel (who was a cow) throughout all the scenes not requiring him. Time for the shepherds and he'd gone. Behind the organ, fighting with Samuel the cow and eventually got trapped between the floor pedals only to be rescued by Uncle Des. When I say rescued we're talking major achievement. All I saw from the corner of my eye, was Des's rear end as he climbed over the stage, narrowly missing the Christmas tree, and dragging Kai out from under the organ. There were lots of tears but who cared, because Millie was on stage!!
Who's Millie I can hear you mutter. Well remember her name please. Millie aka Emelia Geake. Note the spelling of Emelia, not Amelia, so she wouldn't be A Geake. Truesay! Honestly, every actor there ever was, every successful director including Spielberg, need to watch their back. Millie is after their job. She is amazing. Five years old and she owned, I mean literally owned, that stage. From the 'mummy I'm the only true Mary' to 'mummy they're all touching the baby' to grabbing poor baby Jesus from her much younger friend who was also a Mary (unrecognised by Millie, obviously) all this and more. So much more. Never have I known or even seen a thespian so young, so talented, so ambitious, so convinced of their divine right to be on the stage, so creative, so luvvie. Well, not for a good 46 years or so. What I love so much about Millie is she reminded me of someone. Someone I know really well, someone I watched frequently, through the looking glass. Millie was me!
So maybe don't bother remembering her name unless it's to eventually find her blog. Where as a young but middle-aged, gorgeous but well rounded, Mimi she records her fanciful thoughts and musings in a bid to fulfil her own need for a bit of creativity in her world. A little bit of Millie in my life keeps me entertained. Got to love that girl!
Kai's been in two so far - school and church. At nursery we were excited for singing whilst on mummy's knee and once he did manage to get back into the genuine performance he kept us amused by sitting when everyone was standing and then standing when everyone was sitting. A total improvement on his last nursery gig, with a glimpse of his true potential showing through. I would, of course, love to reveal this all to you but I don't think you'd class as personal use. Sorry. The one advantage of sitting on mummy's knee is we did get to video, I mean dvd, sorry...... film him at close range. And what a beautiful shepherd he was. Yes, I know he wasn't Joseph, or Angel Gabriel, or the innkeeper but shepherds are cool (she says through gritted teeth and a wonderfully fixed smile).
Onwards and upward. Nativity number two, held at our church. Still a shepherd. His choice actually. Nothing to do with the fact that he'd been bought a shepherd's outfit by his Auntie Jeanie who felt we were one family who might just get to use it. Of course he could lose the lamb and it would have been a great Joseph outfit or even an innkeeper. What am I talking about, he did lose the lamb. And the staff. And the headdress. And eventually the whole costume, but not until he had dutifully sat front stage with his mate Samuel (who was a cow) throughout all the scenes not requiring him. Time for the shepherds and he'd gone. Behind the organ, fighting with Samuel the cow and eventually got trapped between the floor pedals only to be rescued by Uncle Des. When I say rescued we're talking major achievement. All I saw from the corner of my eye, was Des's rear end as he climbed over the stage, narrowly missing the Christmas tree, and dragging Kai out from under the organ. There were lots of tears but who cared, because Millie was on stage!!
Who's Millie I can hear you mutter. Well remember her name please. Millie aka Emelia Geake. Note the spelling of Emelia, not Amelia, so she wouldn't be A Geake. Truesay! Honestly, every actor there ever was, every successful director including Spielberg, need to watch their back. Millie is after their job. She is amazing. Five years old and she owned, I mean literally owned, that stage. From the 'mummy I'm the only true Mary' to 'mummy they're all touching the baby' to grabbing poor baby Jesus from her much younger friend who was also a Mary (unrecognised by Millie, obviously) all this and more. So much more. Never have I known or even seen a thespian so young, so talented, so ambitious, so convinced of their divine right to be on the stage, so creative, so luvvie. Well, not for a good 46 years or so. What I love so much about Millie is she reminded me of someone. Someone I know really well, someone I watched frequently, through the looking glass. Millie was me!
So maybe don't bother remembering her name unless it's to eventually find her blog. Where as a young but middle-aged, gorgeous but well rounded, Mimi she records her fanciful thoughts and musings in a bid to fulfil her own need for a bit of creativity in her world. A little bit of Millie in my life keeps me entertained. Got to love that girl!
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
A journey not too far.
Off to see mummy and daddy and it's an expedition in itself. Not a difficult one and certainly one that is worth it, but an expedition all the same. Well actually it isn't technically an expedition as the dictionary definition is a 'journey taken by a group of people'. And although I am accompanied as always by Father, Son and Holy Spirit I'm not sure they count. Still I set off at 9.30 am so as to avoid the rush hour and more importantly to avoid the extra payment that London Transport charge for the privilege of no seat, morning garlic breath and sweaty armpits, yes, even in the morning. Right now, as I type on the train, it is already 11.14 am exactly and I'm only just leaving London. Euston station to be exact.
First leg of the journey is a bus from Hanwell to Ealing Broadway. Not hard to do but totally fascinating as I listen to a mum and her daughter discuss everyone's pregnancy that they know, including their own sister/daughter who's about to have an Alfie. Which is also the name of the next door's cat. Did you know you can't find Christmas cards with 'to my sister and brother in law and baby bump'? ..... although I wanted to tell them that I bet you Alan's mum could find one. Anyway, haven't they heard of Moonpig. Thank goodness for pens and an ability to write, so 'and baby bump' was added to the front of the card at the bottom. Nice! Was the journey really THAT long?
Second leg. Tube train to Euston including changeover. But first a stop at Starbucks for the worst cup of tea I've ever tasted. Should have had one at home. Then equally irritating is the fact that I then have to carry around a half empty or should I say half full cardboard cup everywhere I go. I say half full not because I'm that kind of person but because no matter how far down the liquid is, it still manages to spew up and out of that tiny hole in the lid, on to my hand, the floor, my legs, the person next to me, and my book - which if you're interested is The Catcher in the Rye. I know, I'm a late starter. I carry it around because there is nowhere to put it of course. There are no rubbish bins on the platforms - as a bomb could be hidden there. Please read that word quietly as I don't want to panic anyone. I am on a train remember. Can't put it, the cup that is not the book, down on the train as it could fall over and spill everywhere so eventually as I disembark at Euston I slyly put it on a bench and squash any guilty feelings of littering God's beautiful word, although I'm not sure Euston station counts.
Up the escalators I go, glancing at the adverts as I slide by. The Nutcracker by Birmingham Royal Ballet - would love to see that. Carol concert - Alan would love to see that. Wicked - seen it. War Horse - going to see that. Have got the vouchers to pay for it (fantastic birthday pressie), Alan and I have agreed we both want to see it, so not sure why we haven't bought the tickets yet. Well that's Alan and I for you, slow to get round to anything. By the way, does anyone else get that weird feeling just as you near the end of the escalator, you know that moment when you wonder if you're going to miss jumping off the escalator and be sucked under, into a parallel under-escalator world? Just me then!
Third leg and it's a train to Milton Keynes. Virgin train. Lovely train. Lots of seats. Write blog. Oooops, nearly miss my stop as I'm so engrossed. Quickly jump off, grabbing hat, coat, scarf, gloves, bag. Wow. Only a short journey north and it's way colder here. Until I remember to put on hat, coat, scarf and gloves.
Fourth leg and without a doubt the easiest. Jump into taxi and £10. 80 later I've arrived.
Actually I'm on my way back now.
It's been a lovely day seeing my parents and it's only taken 2 cabs, 2 buses, 6, yes I said 6, trains and all for the bargain cost of £41, for what is a one hour 15 minute car journey, even with me driving.
Hmmmm just one last thought. I do hope Alan had a good day driving his lovely BMW from house to house whilst listening to his favourite radio station. I bet he's back home already. I wonder if he'll meet me from the station. One less bus............ hmmmmm.
First leg of the journey is a bus from Hanwell to Ealing Broadway. Not hard to do but totally fascinating as I listen to a mum and her daughter discuss everyone's pregnancy that they know, including their own sister/daughter who's about to have an Alfie. Which is also the name of the next door's cat. Did you know you can't find Christmas cards with 'to my sister and brother in law and baby bump'? ..... although I wanted to tell them that I bet you Alan's mum could find one. Anyway, haven't they heard of Moonpig. Thank goodness for pens and an ability to write, so 'and baby bump' was added to the front of the card at the bottom. Nice! Was the journey really THAT long?
Second leg. Tube train to Euston including changeover. But first a stop at Starbucks for the worst cup of tea I've ever tasted. Should have had one at home. Then equally irritating is the fact that I then have to carry around a half empty or should I say half full cardboard cup everywhere I go. I say half full not because I'm that kind of person but because no matter how far down the liquid is, it still manages to spew up and out of that tiny hole in the lid, on to my hand, the floor, my legs, the person next to me, and my book - which if you're interested is The Catcher in the Rye. I know, I'm a late starter. I carry it around because there is nowhere to put it of course. There are no rubbish bins on the platforms - as a bomb could be hidden there. Please read that word quietly as I don't want to panic anyone. I am on a train remember. Can't put it, the cup that is not the book, down on the train as it could fall over and spill everywhere so eventually as I disembark at Euston I slyly put it on a bench and squash any guilty feelings of littering God's beautiful word, although I'm not sure Euston station counts.
Up the escalators I go, glancing at the adverts as I slide by. The Nutcracker by Birmingham Royal Ballet - would love to see that. Carol concert - Alan would love to see that. Wicked - seen it. War Horse - going to see that. Have got the vouchers to pay for it (fantastic birthday pressie), Alan and I have agreed we both want to see it, so not sure why we haven't bought the tickets yet. Well that's Alan and I for you, slow to get round to anything. By the way, does anyone else get that weird feeling just as you near the end of the escalator, you know that moment when you wonder if you're going to miss jumping off the escalator and be sucked under, into a parallel under-escalator world? Just me then!
Third leg and it's a train to Milton Keynes. Virgin train. Lovely train. Lots of seats. Write blog. Oooops, nearly miss my stop as I'm so engrossed. Quickly jump off, grabbing hat, coat, scarf, gloves, bag. Wow. Only a short journey north and it's way colder here. Until I remember to put on hat, coat, scarf and gloves.
Fourth leg and without a doubt the easiest. Jump into taxi and £10. 80 later I've arrived.
Actually I'm on my way back now.
It's been a lovely day seeing my parents and it's only taken 2 cabs, 2 buses, 6, yes I said 6, trains and all for the bargain cost of £41, for what is a one hour 15 minute car journey, even with me driving.
Hmmmm just one last thought. I do hope Alan had a good day driving his lovely BMW from house to house whilst listening to his favourite radio station. I bet he's back home already. I wonder if he'll meet me from the station. One less bus............ hmmmmm.
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Mad? Or just sad!
Aaaaargh! You know those moments when you realise something and it makes you soooooo mad. You're desperately hoping it's not this way but right now that burning feeling in your stomach is about to rise up in your throat and cause you to scream - at someone, anyone but preferably not the ones you're angry with because then that becomes a disaster of gigantic proportions that will mean life will never quite be the same.
Do you ever feel like that.
I do.
Right now.
Do you ever feel like that.
I do.
Right now.
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Space? Who need's it!
Er.. did I say that my grandson was not spoiled? Excuse me while I smile, broadly. To cover the fact that I might just be having a moment of exaggeration. Just a teeny moment!
You see Kai has 4 full sets of great grandparents for goodness sake. There's Mama & Papa, Grandpa & Nana, Nanny Irish or Nanny Alice (depending on your mood or what just comes out of your mouth) & Grandad Serge and finally Nanny Maureen & Grandad Bill. Add to this, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins, and friends - his and ours - and what you have is an incredible number of birthday gifts one month before Christmas. Which leads us, as in Hannah and I us, to tea in bed, one morning, with the hot topic under discussion: what can we get him for Christmas? At this moment I know that you are all thinking well that's easy - you don't get him anything. Father Christmas does. And you'd be so right, as he does indeed visit our home in the early hours of Christmas morning, very soon after we've gone to bed, almost as if he lies in wait to hear the light switch go off and boom he's been. Stockings pressed down, shaken and running over (as in the true spirit of Christmas - in other word's copying the generosity of the 'one' it's all about anyway). However, I don't know about your home but Father Christmas brings our stocking gifts, hence the constant cry from every mouth of "thank you Father Christmas" as each item is separated from it's wrapping paper. We're a thankful bunch. So if he 'does the stocking' what about the pile downstairs - you've guessed it! It's great grandparents, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins and friends - his and ours. It's a pile! So what do you get the boy who has loads of gifts and a few more!
Oh don't get me wrong we're not complaining, far from it. He loves it, we love it and honestly between you and me by the time I've carried out my ritual declutter of outgrown, broken and totally useless (as in happymeal junk useless) toys and then my ceremonial 'decant' of all that is new and lovely into their prepared spaces: under beds, into newly bought plastic boxes hidden in cupboards, and delightful shabby chic chests happily displayed around the living room, then honestly it really isn't that much after all. We might run out of black bags and have filled all the recylcing containers of all that is not wanted and managed a few trips to the charity shops, but it all fits. There's a place for everything and everything has it's place. Well at least until Kai comes back from nursery or has a couple of friends round then 'the place' is on the floor, in the bed, down the toilet, under the sofa, down the back of the sofa, in the DVD player and any other number of nooks and crannies discovered whilst running round the house like wild things, a tornado of children and stuff, of stuff and children. Some gets lost. Some gets broken. All gets played with. Enjoyed. Treasured. And eventually, poor young Mimi starts to sacrificially put everything back in its place: under beds, into boxes in cupboards and thank goodness for those delightful shabby chic chests which keep my home looking less like a playgroup and more like our cosy, charming, inviting, humble place, where we belong. A place for everyone and everyone can share our place.
You see Kai has 4 full sets of great grandparents for goodness sake. There's Mama & Papa, Grandpa & Nana, Nanny Irish or Nanny Alice (depending on your mood or what just comes out of your mouth) & Grandad Serge and finally Nanny Maureen & Grandad Bill. Add to this, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins, and friends - his and ours - and what you have is an incredible number of birthday gifts one month before Christmas. Which leads us, as in Hannah and I us, to tea in bed, one morning, with the hot topic under discussion: what can we get him for Christmas? At this moment I know that you are all thinking well that's easy - you don't get him anything. Father Christmas does. And you'd be so right, as he does indeed visit our home in the early hours of Christmas morning, very soon after we've gone to bed, almost as if he lies in wait to hear the light switch go off and boom he's been. Stockings pressed down, shaken and running over (as in the true spirit of Christmas - in other word's copying the generosity of the 'one' it's all about anyway). However, I don't know about your home but Father Christmas brings our stocking gifts, hence the constant cry from every mouth of "thank you Father Christmas" as each item is separated from it's wrapping paper. We're a thankful bunch. So if he 'does the stocking' what about the pile downstairs - you've guessed it! It's great grandparents, grandparents, parents, aunties, cousins and friends - his and ours. It's a pile! So what do you get the boy who has loads of gifts and a few more!
Oh don't get me wrong we're not complaining, far from it. He loves it, we love it and honestly between you and me by the time I've carried out my ritual declutter of outgrown, broken and totally useless (as in happymeal junk useless) toys and then my ceremonial 'decant' of all that is new and lovely into their prepared spaces: under beds, into newly bought plastic boxes hidden in cupboards, and delightful shabby chic chests happily displayed around the living room, then honestly it really isn't that much after all. We might run out of black bags and have filled all the recylcing containers of all that is not wanted and managed a few trips to the charity shops, but it all fits. There's a place for everything and everything has it's place. Well at least until Kai comes back from nursery or has a couple of friends round then 'the place' is on the floor, in the bed, down the toilet, under the sofa, down the back of the sofa, in the DVD player and any other number of nooks and crannies discovered whilst running round the house like wild things, a tornado of children and stuff, of stuff and children. Some gets lost. Some gets broken. All gets played with. Enjoyed. Treasured. And eventually, poor young Mimi starts to sacrificially put everything back in its place: under beds, into boxes in cupboards and thank goodness for those delightful shabby chic chests which keep my home looking less like a playgroup and more like our cosy, charming, inviting, humble place, where we belong. A place for everyone and everyone can share our place.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
It doesn't matter if you're old or young.
I've had the pleasure of partaking in a bit of birthday celebrating this past week. From the 80 years young to the 4 years old.
It was Grandpa's (well Alan's dad to me) surprise family gathering at the weekend and it really was a surprise for most of us when late Friday night Grandpa, spying Hollie from his bedroom window, came to greet us all. He was of course ready for bed but it wasn't his pyjamas, or lack of them that kept us all staring but rather his lack of something else - I'll leave that to your imagination. Needless to say it amused the fun-loving Evans but he didn't care because his chickens, well those in the country, were all back in the roost and there's no better feeling for an old rooster.
I want to pause for a moment, before I take you through the fun of Saturday's celebrations, because Saturday was also the 19th November, a day that will be etched on the memory of us Evans for always. A day that will always cast a shadow on life itself. That shadow might change in size depending on the day, the time, the occasion but it exists and it doesn't leave our side. It's a beautiful shadow, as full as any shadow can be. It's a she and she's Kate. Daughter, mother, sister, wife, friend. Not just any one's but ours. She's in heaven now, the daughter of the King, His bride, a friend of Jesus and it is my hope and belief that one day I'll see her again...... "we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, and especially of them that believe."
It was a precious moment that saw us all stop at her grave to put some flowers there and remember - like we ever forget! Love you Kate.
Tranmere Rovers was our destination - Grandpa's football team and a total shock to him that ALL of his family became their supporters just for one day. We cheered, we groaned, we stood, we chanted but this team couldn't pull it out of the bag - not even for Hector David Garnham Evans' 80th birthday. However the look of joy that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face did not budge. Well we assume not because in usual Grandpa style he did just walk off at the end of the game and was nowhere to be found for the '80th birthday family photo' that the rest of us took part in. The guest of honour was absent so maybe he was weeping in secret for his beloved Tranmere. Eventually found, he'd obviously dried his tears and the inexhaustible joy had returned and we were homeward bound, via a stop for a '80th birthday family meal' for which he stayed, scoffed (as slowly as only Grandpa can), and smiled. I am, of course, the usurper, along with others, to this most marvelous family and I want to make it known publicly that I love the family that my husband, girls and grandson are a part of and I look to 'Dad' as one of the most wonderful men that I know. If you know me well, you understand my pride in being a 'Smith girl' but I have to say that I am also very proud to be an 'Evans woman'.
It was just a few days later that us Evans were back celebrating. 'Have I grown? Am I taller?' asks the little man Kai. He'd jumped up in bed on the day of his birthday and was anticipating a huge growth that becoming 4 would instigate. Of course he'd grown, it happens doesn't it, one day older but suddenly a year older and they always look bigger, only not quite as tall as his mummy which bothered him, no matter how many times she gave away the secret of a lady's age. She is of course 22 years tall! Mountains of presents, loved by so many, what a blessed boy he is. He enjoyed every one of them, the card's perhaps not so much. Ripping off the paper, 'can you play this one with me now?' Good job he didn't have to go to nursery until the afternoon as he spent his morning surrounded by people's love in toy form. Spoiled! Never!
We had a little party for his new nursery pals, a small one with no bouncy castles, or soft play but, at his request, party games, birthday cake and party hats. Traditional, homely, a chips and chicken nuggets type of party as seen in children's books, only instead of the Tiger Coming to Tea there were 8 delightful boys and girls with their faces looking up in eager anticipation for what was coming next. Which had to be lots because their no minute attention span would have been a disaster if it hadn't been for that list in the kitchen detailing all that had been planned, in military operation style. Phew, decorating bags, sweet shops to fill the bags, musical this that and the other, pass the parcel, squeak piggy squeak, food, cookie monster cupcakes, birthday cake with candles, twice, because Alfie got there first, foam swords and tiaras, mums, dads, friends, greatgrandparents, friends, mums and as the last one leaves Hannah turns to me, smiling, with that look of 'I did good didn't I?'. It was indeed very very good. But for now, it was time for bed, we were all partied out and as he went upstairs you could just hear a little voice asking 'am I still 4?'. Yes you are, and you will be for another whole year.
It was Grandpa's (well Alan's dad to me) surprise family gathering at the weekend and it really was a surprise for most of us when late Friday night Grandpa, spying Hollie from his bedroom window, came to greet us all. He was of course ready for bed but it wasn't his pyjamas, or lack of them that kept us all staring but rather his lack of something else - I'll leave that to your imagination. Needless to say it amused the fun-loving Evans but he didn't care because his chickens, well those in the country, were all back in the roost and there's no better feeling for an old rooster.
I want to pause for a moment, before I take you through the fun of Saturday's celebrations, because Saturday was also the 19th November, a day that will be etched on the memory of us Evans for always. A day that will always cast a shadow on life itself. That shadow might change in size depending on the day, the time, the occasion but it exists and it doesn't leave our side. It's a beautiful shadow, as full as any shadow can be. It's a she and she's Kate. Daughter, mother, sister, wife, friend. Not just any one's but ours. She's in heaven now, the daughter of the King, His bride, a friend of Jesus and it is my hope and belief that one day I'll see her again...... "we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, and especially of them that believe."
It was a precious moment that saw us all stop at her grave to put some flowers there and remember - like we ever forget! Love you Kate.
Tranmere Rovers was our destination - Grandpa's football team and a total shock to him that ALL of his family became their supporters just for one day. We cheered, we groaned, we stood, we chanted but this team couldn't pull it out of the bag - not even for Hector David Garnham Evans' 80th birthday. However the look of joy that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face did not budge. Well we assume not because in usual Grandpa style he did just walk off at the end of the game and was nowhere to be found for the '80th birthday family photo' that the rest of us took part in. The guest of honour was absent so maybe he was weeping in secret for his beloved Tranmere. Eventually found, he'd obviously dried his tears and the inexhaustible joy had returned and we were homeward bound, via a stop for a '80th birthday family meal' for which he stayed, scoffed (as slowly as only Grandpa can), and smiled. I am, of course, the usurper, along with others, to this most marvelous family and I want to make it known publicly that I love the family that my husband, girls and grandson are a part of and I look to 'Dad' as one of the most wonderful men that I know. If you know me well, you understand my pride in being a 'Smith girl' but I have to say that I am also very proud to be an 'Evans woman'.
It was just a few days later that us Evans were back celebrating. 'Have I grown? Am I taller?' asks the little man Kai. He'd jumped up in bed on the day of his birthday and was anticipating a huge growth that becoming 4 would instigate. Of course he'd grown, it happens doesn't it, one day older but suddenly a year older and they always look bigger, only not quite as tall as his mummy which bothered him, no matter how many times she gave away the secret of a lady's age. She is of course 22 years tall! Mountains of presents, loved by so many, what a blessed boy he is. He enjoyed every one of them, the card's perhaps not so much. Ripping off the paper, 'can you play this one with me now?' Good job he didn't have to go to nursery until the afternoon as he spent his morning surrounded by people's love in toy form. Spoiled! Never!
We had a little party for his new nursery pals, a small one with no bouncy castles, or soft play but, at his request, party games, birthday cake and party hats. Traditional, homely, a chips and chicken nuggets type of party as seen in children's books, only instead of the Tiger Coming to Tea there were 8 delightful boys and girls with their faces looking up in eager anticipation for what was coming next. Which had to be lots because their no minute attention span would have been a disaster if it hadn't been for that list in the kitchen detailing all that had been planned, in military operation style. Phew, decorating bags, sweet shops to fill the bags, musical this that and the other, pass the parcel, squeak piggy squeak, food, cookie monster cupcakes, birthday cake with candles, twice, because Alfie got there first, foam swords and tiaras, mums, dads, friends, greatgrandparents, friends, mums and as the last one leaves Hannah turns to me, smiling, with that look of 'I did good didn't I?'. It was indeed very very good. But for now, it was time for bed, we were all partied out and as he went upstairs you could just hear a little voice asking 'am I still 4?'. Yes you are, and you will be for another whole year.
Saturday, 12 November 2011
You old Seadog.
To my dear Hollie
I'm glad to read on twitter that you have at last had an enjoyable train journey and being chatted up by the 'old' ticket collector must have made your day. Not! Maybe it was a better journey because the destination this weekend was Leeds and not Manchester, although what that then goes on to mean who knows! Still I hope you have a wonderful weekend with your man and remember just what it is you both love about each other.
It's a quiet Saturday morning when you're away and Kai is also at his daddy's. None of the 'guilty pleasure' dancing and singing that normally fills those hours before everyone disperses into the world of work. No cries of 'Seadog' (Kai's pet name for Hollie, taken from yet another Disney, Pocahontas this time). I had to make my own eggs this morning and they are never quite as good as your's. Kai is always telling me that.
I wandered into your bedroom, to look in the full length mirror of course, and as usual tripped over the many clothes still strewn on the floor - only you could tell if it was the clean washing not put away or the dirty stuff and it makes me smile. It makes me mad too, but it does make me smile. Because it's you. It's that wonderful, scatty, I don't care, but of course I do care, I'll do it tomorrow, when the whirlwind that is my social life stops just for one moment and then can I just catch up with TOWIE first, self.
I love you very much Hollie Sarah Elizabeth Evans. It's very hard not to. I loved you when you came home from hospital and straightway slept through the whole night, I love you now when you mess up my kitchen baking and I'm left with a layer of flour and icing sugar on everything for days, and I will love you forever, whoever and wherever you are. Manchester, Chicago or London?
And have I told you how very proud I am of you. Your incredible zeal for life. Your ability to make the most of all opportunities. Your desire to grab at the world by both hands, taking all it has to offer. Your love for fashion. Your brilliant friendship choices. Your ability to communicate with all kinds of people and the ease you have with them. Your passionate love you have for your nephew. Your love for young people, especially those who struggle for whatever reason. Underpinning all of this is your deep love for God, for Jesus. Wow. With God's help, a lot of your father's personality and a smattering of me, the recipe worked. I can look at you and say "we did good". "You do good."
So for now, keep at it. 'In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths'. Meanwhile I'll just go back into the unknown territory that is your room and pick up the numerous numbers of towels that need a wash.
See you Sunday evening as long as the trains are working ok.
Love you
Mummy xxxx
I'm glad to read on twitter that you have at last had an enjoyable train journey and being chatted up by the 'old' ticket collector must have made your day. Not! Maybe it was a better journey because the destination this weekend was Leeds and not Manchester, although what that then goes on to mean who knows! Still I hope you have a wonderful weekend with your man and remember just what it is you both love about each other.
It's a quiet Saturday morning when you're away and Kai is also at his daddy's. None of the 'guilty pleasure' dancing and singing that normally fills those hours before everyone disperses into the world of work. No cries of 'Seadog' (Kai's pet name for Hollie, taken from yet another Disney, Pocahontas this time). I had to make my own eggs this morning and they are never quite as good as your's. Kai is always telling me that.
I wandered into your bedroom, to look in the full length mirror of course, and as usual tripped over the many clothes still strewn on the floor - only you could tell if it was the clean washing not put away or the dirty stuff and it makes me smile. It makes me mad too, but it does make me smile. Because it's you. It's that wonderful, scatty, I don't care, but of course I do care, I'll do it tomorrow, when the whirlwind that is my social life stops just for one moment and then can I just catch up with TOWIE first, self.
I love you very much Hollie Sarah Elizabeth Evans. It's very hard not to. I loved you when you came home from hospital and straightway slept through the whole night, I love you now when you mess up my kitchen baking and I'm left with a layer of flour and icing sugar on everything for days, and I will love you forever, whoever and wherever you are. Manchester, Chicago or London?
And have I told you how very proud I am of you. Your incredible zeal for life. Your ability to make the most of all opportunities. Your desire to grab at the world by both hands, taking all it has to offer. Your love for fashion. Your brilliant friendship choices. Your ability to communicate with all kinds of people and the ease you have with them. Your passionate love you have for your nephew. Your love for young people, especially those who struggle for whatever reason. Underpinning all of this is your deep love for God, for Jesus. Wow. With God's help, a lot of your father's personality and a smattering of me, the recipe worked. I can look at you and say "we did good". "You do good."
So for now, keep at it. 'In all your ways acknowledge Him and he will direct your paths'. Meanwhile I'll just go back into the unknown territory that is your room and pick up the numerous numbers of towels that need a wash.
See you Sunday evening as long as the trains are working ok.
Love you
Mummy xxxx
Hollie and her nephew Kai.
Friday, 11 November 2011
Not a shy bone in his body.
Today was Kai's first 'performance' at nursery.
I honestly was very excited. His mother is a performer and I have fond memories of being told by another parent, at one of her first concerts, that my daughter was obviously going to be a star. Now, 18 years later, everything points to Kai following in her footsteps, charming teachers, pupils and parents alike whilst enjoying the limelight even more than his mummy did. After all he has a ready made four person audience here at home, who like nothing better than to indulge his desire to amuse and entertain. He's used to being photographed, videoed, ooohed, aaaahed and laughed at. The only query would be what genre would he particularly shine in. Probably most of them.
We arrived, his mother and I, and we were not disappointed as we were greeted with the most enormous smile and happy wave. Smugly we moved to prime position, iPhone in hand ready to record this momentous event.
Just waiting for a few more parents............ and it starts to go horribly wrong. Kai begins to roar. Loudly. Sssssh says the teacher and turns her smiling face to the audience.
"I want my mummy".
"I'm not going to sing"
"I don't want to sing"
"Mummmmmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeee".
Ten songs later with Kai sporting a well-practised sulky face, clasped between his two hands and rocking as if he suffered from some terrible abuse, the concert was over. Kai had sang nothing and to be honest I felt a bit stupid standing there, clapping all the other children who mostly had done very well.
Not quite what we'd hoped for. But hey Christmas is just around the corner, giving our boy another opportunity to show his teachers, fellow pupils and of course the other parents just what he really is made of.
Roooooaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!
I honestly was very excited. His mother is a performer and I have fond memories of being told by another parent, at one of her first concerts, that my daughter was obviously going to be a star. Now, 18 years later, everything points to Kai following in her footsteps, charming teachers, pupils and parents alike whilst enjoying the limelight even more than his mummy did. After all he has a ready made four person audience here at home, who like nothing better than to indulge his desire to amuse and entertain. He's used to being photographed, videoed, ooohed, aaaahed and laughed at. The only query would be what genre would he particularly shine in. Probably most of them.
We arrived, his mother and I, and we were not disappointed as we were greeted with the most enormous smile and happy wave. Smugly we moved to prime position, iPhone in hand ready to record this momentous event.
Just waiting for a few more parents............ and it starts to go horribly wrong. Kai begins to roar. Loudly. Sssssh says the teacher and turns her smiling face to the audience.
"I want my mummy".
"I'm not going to sing"
"I don't want to sing"
"Mummmmmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeee".
Ten songs later with Kai sporting a well-practised sulky face, clasped between his two hands and rocking as if he suffered from some terrible abuse, the concert was over. Kai had sang nothing and to be honest I felt a bit stupid standing there, clapping all the other children who mostly had done very well.
Not quite what we'd hoped for. But hey Christmas is just around the corner, giving our boy another opportunity to show his teachers, fellow pupils and of course the other parents just what he really is made of.
Roooooaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
I dreamed a dream, or did I?
It's the one thing I do really well, dream. In fact I'm constantly dreaming ridiculous things that if I was to ever speak them out I'd likely be sectioned. Here's one of my recurring ones. It's not the most crazy but it's still on the crazy chart......
My husband is a piano tuner and occasionally has the 'privilege' of tuning a famous person's piano. Which totally gives me the opportunity to imagine that said person loves my piano tuning man, as he's totally lovable to all, and decides they want to be his friend which means they then want to bestow ridiculous amounts of gifts such as houses and cars on him. So when he arrives home or even more when he phones home declaring he's had a gift I start to plan where we're going to live or make extensive plans as to how I can afford the insurance of the new car, when of course that would all have been paid for anyway. It's only a tiny bit of disappointment I feel when his wonderful Japanese customers have made him a cake or it's Christmas and he's been given a bottle of wine (we're teetotallers - so we use it for cooking). After all I know my dreams are just that, dreams, of the daytime variety.
Today, my daughter Hannah phoned. Alan answered and as he brought the phone to me he uttered the words "some thing's happened!" Immediately my mind went into dream mode. By the time he'd walked from one room to another I'd imagined she'd either heard from the guy she likes, she'd been offered a west end theatre job, she'd met someone who was going to further her career, she'd just met someone. Phew! How does my brain do that - come up with unbelievable amount of stuff in a ridiculously short space of time. Of course I should know that Alan knows me, and loves to tease me. Nothing had happened at all. It was more of a 'I'm going out to dinner before I come home' conversation. It was only a tiny bit of disappointment I felt.....
Hannah has of course inherited the 'dreaming' gene from me. She calls it Hannah's world! And everything is good in Hannah's world. This probably has something to do with the fact that the real Hannah's world has been a bit tough since she hit 16. As she likes to say "8 operations and a baby", and that's not the half. So perhaps it's understandable that she/me want to dream good things.
I had a real dream once. The type that is a vision, a passion, a hope and life goals are set by it. Well unless you're me and sitting on the sofa with hardly enough energy to type into a computer whilst watching Eastenders.
I dreamt of a youth centre........ let me tell you about it one day.
My husband is a piano tuner and occasionally has the 'privilege' of tuning a famous person's piano. Which totally gives me the opportunity to imagine that said person loves my piano tuning man, as he's totally lovable to all, and decides they want to be his friend which means they then want to bestow ridiculous amounts of gifts such as houses and cars on him. So when he arrives home or even more when he phones home declaring he's had a gift I start to plan where we're going to live or make extensive plans as to how I can afford the insurance of the new car, when of course that would all have been paid for anyway. It's only a tiny bit of disappointment I feel when his wonderful Japanese customers have made him a cake or it's Christmas and he's been given a bottle of wine (we're teetotallers - so we use it for cooking). After all I know my dreams are just that, dreams, of the daytime variety.
Today, my daughter Hannah phoned. Alan answered and as he brought the phone to me he uttered the words "some thing's happened!" Immediately my mind went into dream mode. By the time he'd walked from one room to another I'd imagined she'd either heard from the guy she likes, she'd been offered a west end theatre job, she'd met someone who was going to further her career, she'd just met someone. Phew! How does my brain do that - come up with unbelievable amount of stuff in a ridiculously short space of time. Of course I should know that Alan knows me, and loves to tease me. Nothing had happened at all. It was more of a 'I'm going out to dinner before I come home' conversation. It was only a tiny bit of disappointment I felt.....
Hannah has of course inherited the 'dreaming' gene from me. She calls it Hannah's world! And everything is good in Hannah's world. This probably has something to do with the fact that the real Hannah's world has been a bit tough since she hit 16. As she likes to say "8 operations and a baby", and that's not the half. So perhaps it's understandable that she/me want to dream good things.
I had a real dream once. The type that is a vision, a passion, a hope and life goals are set by it. Well unless you're me and sitting on the sofa with hardly enough energy to type into a computer whilst watching Eastenders.
I dreamt of a youth centre........ let me tell you about it one day.
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
46 days, 12 hours and 35 minutes, but who's counting.
Started the buying of christmas decorations today. Oh and a couple of Cath Kidston mugs. You will soon find out how much I love Christmas and you can never have too many decorations and you certainly can never have too much Cath Kidston. Cup of tea anyone?
Sunday, 6 November 2011
A date for winter wonderland
Okay. I'm going to be really honest now and admit that much of my personality requires that my children be not just happy (as the usual mantra goes), but I want them to be in a relationship and happy. Obviously I don't want the' in a relationship and unhappy' because we've tried that and it really isn't great, for both them and me. How shallow does that make me?
I'm guessing it's to do with the fact that they are now old enough to leave home and have lives of their own, only I really want them to have somone to share it with, someone to take care of them, someone to support them and the truth is .someone who chooses them. There's my own feelings of insecurity rising up so high that it overflows onto my girls, who thankfully have inherited more of the security of their father who actually couldn't care at all. Well other than if there was someone else who could 'pay' for them.
It also stems from my own sense of awe that in spite of all kinds of disasters I ended up with 'the one' and don't we always want better for our children. So who do I look to for this? I credit God with, second to my salvation, the best thing that ever happened to me. Alan. And if he could do it for me, yes even me, he sure can work it for my girls.
So I pray and wait, I dream and wait, I long and wait until the day we can 'hand them over' .
Meanwhile, when I'm not constantly reminding Him, or begging Him, or demanding of Him, or pleading with Him, I try really hard to just be still. A verse in Exodus summed it up for me the other day: "The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still".
Alright! I know I'm rubbish at it though.
I'm guessing it's to do with the fact that they are now old enough to leave home and have lives of their own, only I really want them to have somone to share it with, someone to take care of them, someone to support them and the truth is .someone who chooses them. There's my own feelings of insecurity rising up so high that it overflows onto my girls, who thankfully have inherited more of the security of their father who actually couldn't care at all. Well other than if there was someone else who could 'pay' for them.
It also stems from my own sense of awe that in spite of all kinds of disasters I ended up with 'the one' and don't we always want better for our children. So who do I look to for this? I credit God with, second to my salvation, the best thing that ever happened to me. Alan. And if he could do it for me, yes even me, he sure can work it for my girls.
So I pray and wait, I dream and wait, I long and wait until the day we can 'hand them over' .
Meanwhile, when I'm not constantly reminding Him, or begging Him, or demanding of Him, or pleading with Him, I try really hard to just be still. A verse in Exodus summed it up for me the other day: "The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still".
Alright! I know I'm rubbish at it though.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
Home and not so Dry
Had a lovely few days down in Cornwall. It was amazingly our 27th wedding anniversary while we were there. Not quite sure why I just wrote amazingly - was it because it's amazing we've actually reached this number without either of us destroying each other in the process. Most people believe that Alan deserves some kind of sainthood because I truly am a bad-tempered, cup half full, person, whilst I believe that any extra blessings poured out from heaven should totally be headed my way based on my toleration of what can only be described as an obsessive compulsive football disorder. Too old to play but he just didn't get the memo; so focused that dog walks and everything else are cut short so as to watch/listen/read about his other beloved. Everton. As I write Everton are on the tv, but hey, he's handsome, funny and all the football playing means he's fit and nothing like most 50 year olds, so who am I really to complain. We were joined by Kai on the break away, which amused many that we would take him with us but doting mimi and poppy didn't care - Kai on the beach, rolling in the sand and waves even in mid October is too much fun to miss out on.
And we're back and I've finally waded through the ridiculous amounts of washing that a shut pink palace generates and ready to blog on.
And we're back and I've finally waded through the ridiculous amounts of washing that a shut pink palace generates and ready to blog on.
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
Let's get down to business ....
..... to defeat the Huns. So sings Kai, aka the joy of my life, my 3 yr old grandson. Every day and it seems all day. It's from the disney film Mulan and obviously one of Kai's favourites or it has just got in his head like it gets in mine after he's sung it once. Today he went up to a girl in Macdonalds (I know, but it is half-term) and started singing it to her. She was most impressed but I knew he was singing it to her because she looked remarkably like a real-life Mulan and he undoubtedly wanted her to 'carry' him. Kai speak for 'I think you're pretty'.
So let's get down to business.. I thought I needed to write something today as tomorrow I leave for Cornwall and the ritual winter closing of our 'Pink Palace'. Sounds grand doesn't it. My very own Taj Mahal, that other rather more famous Pink Palace - well that is unless you know the Evans family and their delightful, bijoux beach hut on the rivierra. Well ok, it's a wooden shed, with bedrooms, on Rivierre Towans in Hayle, but it is PINK and it is tiny, but it does have SEA VIEWS, and it is damp, but it is OUR's and your's if you should want to stay there. So whilst I sojourn in Cornwall, I will have no computer and great as my phone is, any blogging will be left for the return. I know you won't miss me as I've not been in your life long enough but miss me enough to return here next week, hopefully full of exciting tales of pirates, smugglers, famous five adventures and the ongoing defeating of the Huns.
So let's get down to business.. I thought I needed to write something today as tomorrow I leave for Cornwall and the ritual winter closing of our 'Pink Palace'. Sounds grand doesn't it. My very own Taj Mahal, that other rather more famous Pink Palace - well that is unless you know the Evans family and their delightful, bijoux beach hut on the rivierra. Well ok, it's a wooden shed, with bedrooms, on Rivierre Towans in Hayle, but it is PINK and it is tiny, but it does have SEA VIEWS, and it is damp, but it is OUR's and your's if you should want to stay there. So whilst I sojourn in Cornwall, I will have no computer and great as my phone is, any blogging will be left for the return. I know you won't miss me as I've not been in your life long enough but miss me enough to return here next week, hopefully full of exciting tales of pirates, smugglers, famous five adventures and the ongoing defeating of the Huns.
Monday, 24 October 2011
start as I mean to go on.
I read other people's blogs, I don't write my own. Well that's what I thought until I saw those words CREATE BLOG. My natural noseyness meant that I had to click on it and here I am, somewhat confused by the logistics of it all but hey I'm not stupid, surely I can do this. And I am! Wow! blogging. I'm used to the constraints of twitter and realise that it maybe a safer option but who's reading anyway - a lot fewer than my miniscule number of twitter followers.
Mine will be the ramblings of a 'mimi' a grandmother far too soon but loving it anyway; a 'mummy' still with my girls at home and expecting that to change at some near point; a 'wifey', 'sugarplum' (changed to sugarplump when it's appropriate, which is most of the time!) which has been my life for 27 years but when you're married to my man it's not too much of a chore; and finally ' ' yes who knows who....... that's my discovery once again. I'm certainly not a teenager but I am about to rediscover who I am and what I want whilst fitting all the other stuff in as well.
By the way, I should have put this first. Over all things I belong to Jesus. I love him, He loves me, boy does he love me and in all my life I want Him to be 'well pleased'.
So, here we go, I'm not a writer, I'm not a blogger - let's find out just who I am.
Mine will be the ramblings of a 'mimi' a grandmother far too soon but loving it anyway; a 'mummy' still with my girls at home and expecting that to change at some near point; a 'wifey', 'sugarplum' (changed to sugarplump when it's appropriate, which is most of the time!) which has been my life for 27 years but when you're married to my man it's not too much of a chore; and finally ' ' yes who knows who....... that's my discovery once again. I'm certainly not a teenager but I am about to rediscover who I am and what I want whilst fitting all the other stuff in as well.
By the way, I should have put this first. Over all things I belong to Jesus. I love him, He loves me, boy does he love me and in all my life I want Him to be 'well pleased'.
So, here we go, I'm not a writer, I'm not a blogger - let's find out just who I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)