April 17, 2017 – A to Z Challenge – N

I am not sure how much longer I am going to last with the Challenge.  Having two little kids here is killing me. It is 9 and my plan was to be in bed by 9:30.   It was a fun day but being a 9 am waker and a 10 am get out of bed retiree this 7 am stuff is a killer. Oh well, only for four more days.

We had a grand time today.  After breakfast we drove down to the pottery painting place and they painted a cow and a princess.  Both quite lovely.  We walked across and had lunch at Peaches  – three grilled cheese sandwiches.. Then home. The two girls who live behind us were already out so the four of them played until 5:30. They were in the creek, dirt, walking barefoot all over the darn place.  Quite the afternoon.  Myself a nap would have made me very happy.

The M word – Marytavy (MAIR-eye-Tay-Eve) n. A person to whom under dire injunctions of silence you tell a secret which you wish to be more widely known.

I found this very funny since it was a person or several actually I have known in my life.

Aunt Em = a Short Story

Auntie Em was a cute little thing.  Going to her home for tea and biscuits was an amazing treat.  On a usual week I would stop at her cottage at least once to see how she was getting on.

It was like being a part of an old fairy tale visiting her.  Low ceilings with big beams running across.  A warm fireplace always going.  Fresh creme for the cakes or scones or biscuits.  And the best cup of traditionally made Irish tea. She would be dressed in an old fashioned frock with a big white, starched apron and her hair up on top of her head in a cute old fashioned bun.  I was not sure of her age and was afraid to ask.  Her hair was white as could be and her skin so smooth and soft you wanted to touch it.  The kiss on the cheek always felt like butter it was so smooth.

This particular afternoon the place had a different look about it.  Quite neat with no sign of clutter.  Em always had stacks of something laying around but there were none to be found and she was in quite a state.  “Damn nottage” she was mumbling to herself.   It was quite unlike her to be swearing in front on anyone I believe.  She said it again “Damn nottage” with more anger.  I asked her what it was she was missing.

Her tale began about her cleaning up the house.  Her son William had visited and complained about all her “stuff” so she had decided to impress him the next time he stopped to see her.  For a week she went through things and managed to get rid of all kinds of things.  But what she was most upset was her tin pans.  In a weak moment she gave away in the box of “stuff” her oldest tin pans she used for cakes and other baking.   Figuring that she had enough newer ones.

This morning she set out to make scones and pulled out one of the newer ones but as luck would have it the scones burned on the bottom.  That started her to swearing and crying and she was filled with such regret at her action of the week before.  What would she ever do to replace those pans?   Were her baking days over?  So that afternoon with our tea we had scones from the bake shop up the road and she was much less lively than usual.  I felt so sorry for her and wondered if we could get the box back but to no avail.   She had donated them to a charity and could not bring herself to go up there and ask for them back.

After I left I walked up the road and stopped at the charity shop.  There were some pans there and I asked about them.  They were not sure if they were hers or not, I saw a familiar looking one I thought might be Em’s scone dish and bought it.  If she thought it was hers maybe she would not burn the bottoms again. Best 50c. I ever spent.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s