2395. Excuses excuses

Angus was a sales representative for a large chemical firm. He was constantly getting invited to attend this and that in the weekends by clients. “Come to dinner!” “We’re having a barbeque.” “Just a light Saturday luncheon with co-workers from the factory.”

Angus’ weekends were never his own. He had two children; a boy and a girl. He started by saying he could not attend because it was Algernon’s birthday or Gwendoline’s birthday. After several months of this he realized that that he had used seven or eight birthday dates for each child. What if the client repeated the invitation several months later? And which child’s birthday had he used for that client?  He could hardly have each child born twice!

There was only one thing for it; Angus began to keep a notebook. It worked perfectly.

These days he has six grandchildren. There’s no need for names. There’s no need for notebooks. It’s simply, “I can’t come sorry. It’s a grandchild’s birthday.”

2392. The children’s swing

Penelope had long pestered her husband to make a swing for the grandchildren. There was a lovely oak tree on the back lawn with a branch perfect for a swing. It would be such fun. The seven grandchildren would spend hours there.

“It’s too dangerous,” Rex would say.

“What nonsense!” Penelope would say.

At last, with Penelope’s birthday coming up and grandchildren coming for the celebration, Rex did it! It didn’t take half as long as he had imagined it would. It wasn’t half as tricky he had imaging it would be.

The birthday came and went.

“See!” declared Penelope, “The grandchildren played all day on that swing. It was so safe! It was a perfect idea to have made it!”

If only she had known what the future held.

(P.S. I shall be taking some time out from blogging as has been done in the past! Probably a short break – as I’m trying to organize my music to become famous – and rich).

2314. Granny Hoppy

Granny Hoppy was called Granny Hoppy by her seventeen grandchildren because she had a cat with only three legs. It identified her from the other grannies who were known as Granny Mary or Granny Thelma or whatever because those were their names.

Of course every Christmas Granny Hoppy would get a little gift from each grandchild. Usually it was something small or something homemade. For example, granddaughter Heather had knitted her a little woollen thing that went over the back of an armchair when you rested your head. Grandson Miles had given her a little ceramic deer from a second hand shop.

Each Christmas Granny Hoppy would make a list as to who gave what. If she didn’t make a list she would get confused because the minute a family of grandchildren arrived she would get out the gifts that had been specifically given by those grandchildren. There were far too many gifts to have them all out at once. So the ones in use were the ones from whoever was visiting her. Quite often a grandchild would say, “Granny Hoppy you’re using the present I gave you!”

The system worked well enough, and it kept Granny Hoppy “on her toes” as she liked to say.

Next week it’s Granny Hoppy’s seventieth birthday. They’ll all be there…

2012. Traditional wedding plans

Amanda was a solo mother. She had the one daughter, Anita, who was eighteen. Amanda knew that one day, perhaps sooner than later, Anita would get married. She knew that although Anita would say it doesn’t matter she really would like to have a lovely wedding. Nothing lavish; but a lovely wedding with flowers and pretty clothes and a modest but enjoyable feast. Of course, Amanda didn’t have much money but she had saved little bits for a long time. In fact, every Saturday Amanda would sell herbs growing in pots at the town’s Saturday Street Market. It was a dollar here and a dollar there.

Nineteen years earlier, Amanda had got married. She had always dreamed of a wedding. It ended up being “a rushed job” because Anita was on the way. Two weeks later, Kevin was killed in a car accident. It was partly why Amanda was determined to give Anita the best wedding possible.

Suddenly, an engagement was announced! Fintan was the loveliest. Amanda couldn’t have wished for a better possible son-in-law! His father was a lawyer, and Fintan was in his first year practising as a family doctor. Amanda couldn’t wait to meet his parents!

His parents said they’d pay for the wedding drinks; that was the tradition, and Amanda would pay for the rest. They suggested they limit the invited guests to two hundred each. Amanda said she didn’t think she knew that many people, and Fintan’s parents said that it was a good thing because they could invite more on their side to make up the numbers. It was, after all, a society wedding. He was an important lawyer in the town. Things had to be done properly.

What a mess it was for Amanda! What stress! She would have to tell Fintan’s parents that she couldn’t afford it. But first she would have to tell the happy couple.

Anita and Fintan laughed! They had a solution! They’d already thought it out. They were eloping. Tomorrow. And they did!

Fintan was disinherited. It didn’t matter too much because his medical practice flourished. These days Amanda has three grandchildren to help her on Saturdays at her herb stall. Fintan’s parents have no grandchildren; well, none that they care to know.

1910. Grandfather Giuseppe

Giuseppe felt out of place. Several months earlier he’d come from his home in Italy to see his daughter and meet his three grandchildren for the first time. It hadn’t worked out well. His grandchildren couldn’t speak Italian and he couldn’t speak English. After the initial excitement of the first meeting tension simmered.

Still, he maintained a positive attitude. With his daughter – now a solo mother – at work he was left to mind the grandchildren during the day. It was summer. They took advantage of him, especially the oldest who was fourteen. Giuseppe suspected, gauging things from the tone, that some of the English words used at him were not the politest.

Now with the summer over and the grandchildren back at school, Giuseppe set sail for home!

1865. Early shopping

(Dear Faithful and truly-tried Readers – sometimes it’s rainy and dull outside (it is winter here) and blogging takes on the flavour of the weather. So since I’m twiddling my thumbs I thought I’d go silly for a time – which is why my nomenclature on this blog is now Cloven Ruminant. (You can still call me Bruce – and anyway, Cloven Ruminant is better than Split-hoofed Cud-chewer). Quite a number of excellent bloggers are configured in a pseudonym so I thought I’d do the same and free myself from the shackles of expectation. Those shackles of expectation can at times be nullifying to ones creativity, so I’m breaking free! One never knows what riff-raff the cat might drag in when using another name. Incidentally, the goat gravatar is not a selfie but a picture of Billy my Goat. I’m younger and more beautiful. Anyway, here’s today’s story. Thanks – Cloven Ruminant).

Goodness! It was only July and already Malvina had finished her Christmas shopping. She had six children, five in-laws, and seventeen grandchildren. It was so much cheaper to buy suitable gifts throughout the year. Not only might they not be available closer to Christmas, but sometimes during the year things were on sale. Given the large number she had to buy for, every little saving was a great relief for Malvina.

As each gift was purchased, Malvina would wrap it carefully in Christmas paper and pencil the name of the person-to-receive. One year she had attached little cards to the gifts with the person’s name, but by the time Christmas arrived some of the cards had fallen off and she had to open the gifts to see who should get what. These days, as it neared Christmas, she would attach name cards.

And so it was! Here it was in July and already the Christmas shopping was done, the gifts were wrapped and well-hidden in a suitcase at the back of her bedroom closet. She had to hide things particularly well because all seventeen grandchildren were budding sleuths. So far, thankfully, they had never ventured into her bedroom closet.

Goodness! It was only September and already Malvina had finished her Christmas shopping. She had six children, five in-laws, and seventeen grandchildren. It was so much cheaper to buy suitable gifts throughout the year. Not only might they not be available closer to Christmas, but sometimes during the year things were on sale. Given the large number she had to buy for, every little saving was a great relief for Malvina.

Goodness! It was nearly Christmas and Malvina hadn’t even started her Christmas shopping. Usually she shopped for gifts throughout the year, but this year the time had flown. “I don’t know where the time goes to,” she said. She thought she had bought some gifts earlier, but she couldn’t find them. Usually she hid the gifts in a box in the cupboard in her garage but there was nothing there. How the years melded into one another. She must have shopped for the previous year!

1507: Granny Suzanne

Over the years Granny Suzanne had skein after half-used skein of left-over wool. In her younger days she had been a prolific knitter. These days, with rheumatism and fading eyesight, her knitting output wasn’t quite so productive.

Winter was setting in. She knew that her three grandchildren living with their mother “just down the road” would be feeling the cold. She couldn’t afford to pay for their heating, but she could knit, albeit with effort. She would knit warm clothes for her grandchildren and their mother.

Scarves, gloves, socks, and woollen hats were the order of the day! A bit of red, a flash of blue, a stitch or two of green… The job was done, and most of her leftover wool was used.

The grandchildren didn’t tell granny but they hated the items. “It looks like we’re street urchins,” they said to their mother. They threw the woollen items away and went to thank their grandmother. But when they visited their grandmother she was sitting in her armchair, dead.

She had died of the cold.

1493. Mrs Rasmussen

Mrs Andrew Rasmussen was known as Mrs Andrew Rasmussen or simply Mrs Rasmussen. Few used her first name. What a lovely person!

She had six children. She organised the annual school picnic, when all the parents came along with a picnic lunch on the sprawling country school grounds. She instituted the country women’s club for mutual support among the local mothers. She had a garden (both vegetables and flowers) to die for. She supported her husband in all he did at work, and even joyfully went along to the monthly factory bowls tournament, which she secretly disliked.

Of course her six children flourished. They all got reasonable jobs, got married, and had children of their own. And what a grandmother she was to all of them! They were her life!

Eventually she died; at the reasonable age of eighty-five. Eighty-five wonderful and full years! She stipulated that she was to be cremated and her ashes scattered amongst the… “Oh! Do what you like with the ashes, I won’t be minding!”

Years later, a great granddaughter was researching her ancestry. There was no headstone to go on. She searched through every local newspaper to glean snippets of insight. The only mention anywhere of her great grandmother was a reference in a newspaper on a local wedding:

Mrs Andrew Rasmussen wore an ensemble of green chiffon velvet trimmed with beige fur, and hat of the same shade.

Euphemia Broadhurst had vanished from the earth.

1009. Liver

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy being a grandmother and having the grandchildren stay over. But I like to give them proper food. Their mother, for all her excellent upbringing, doesn’t feed them properly. They’re malnourished. I make sure they’re sent home with tummies full of good healthy food.

One of their favourite foods is liver. It must be the way I cook it. Their mother claims it to be the most disgusting organ in a cow and says the children hate it. She refuses to feed it to them. But a liver is low in calories, low in fat, and packed with nutrients, including riboflavin, copper, vitamins A and B12 and B6, thiamin, protein and iron. What could be healthier?

The grandchildren gobble it up. When I come from the kitchen to the dining table their plates are always empty. Not a liver left. And it makes them full of energy. Damien, the oldest boy, always asks at the end of a liver meal if he can go out and dig the garden.

691. Did I tell you about my grandkids?

Let’s face it, no one in my eighty-seven years has ever listened to me. And now I’m in an old people’s home and everyone talks and talks and talks like someone might be listening. Either that or they never talk at all; like they’ve been struck mute.

Maybe they don’t talk because they’ve got no grandkids or great-grandkids like most have. And those with grandkids talk and talk and talk about them like they’re the only ones that have them. Like their descendants are the most intelligent things born since some remote ancestor in Africa picked up a cracked stone to sharpen the point of a stick.

I don’t talk much about my eleven grandkids and their couple of kids because no one listens. I talk about them though if I’m sitting in the corner with Fred. Fred always listens. He appreciates it. I tell him everything about my grandkids and he never grows tired of it. He agrees with everything I say.

Poor Fred. He’s totally deaf and he’s got some muscular complaint that means he nods positively at everything I say.

Listen the story being read HERE!