A family affair

It's a red letter day! I finally completed the mosaic commissioned for a friends 60th birthday. I say 'I' and but actually that should read 'we'! It has been a hands on, all family affair across the generations! My mum kindly took us on a family break to Centre Parcs at Easter at the start of the assignment and spent a reluctant few evenings covering broken tiles with sticky back silver foil. I don't think she quite got it really. It's hard to see purpose in holding a piece of broken tile and spending a laborious 5 minutes drawing round it, cutting out the template and then sticking it on random piece of tile. She did well really. (At 76 she must also have been the only granny to score a strike on the first go when bowling! ) When all's said and done it was commendable that she survived a week with me, hubby and two teenage girls.

I'm finally happy to be emailing her the photo of the finished product. Admittedly it has been a challenging journey. My youngest daughter ended up sacrificing all her 'gold' covered pieces of tile, created in anticipation of her own masterpice mosaic. (Sorry Ella, I promise to replace them one day!) Her generous contribution helped speed up the process. When we finally had enough pieces to lay jigsaw like across the design, we then needed to lift, stick and grout every single carefully positioned piece. If you have ever been involved with kitchen/bathroom tiling you will know that this challenges the toughest of finger tips. The carefully positioned broken tiles ripped our fingers to shreds!

It's at tmes like this I am thrilled to be married to a 'completer finsher'. Hubby added the final touches of carefully prepared varnished wood as a frame around the sides and screwed in the necessary hanging wire.

This weekend we will be presenting the completed mosaic to our friend. Somehow I don't think he'll be aware of the blood sweat and tears that have gone into finishing this piece. but hey, he's deserving of every drop of blood!

Scars of Life

Here's something else that touched my heart - a friend emailed me this the other day -

"Some years ago, on a hot summer day in South Florida , a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went.He flew into the water,not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore. His father, working in the yard, saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could. Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father. It was too late. Just as he reached his father, the alligator reached him.

From the dock, the father grabbed his little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard his screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator.

Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his father's fingernails dug into his flesh in his effort to hang on to the son he loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, 'But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go.' You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But, some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of His love on your arms, be very, very grateful.

He did not and will not ever let you go. "

Mosaic

One of the remaining passions from youth is the love of doing creative assignments. As an ART student in the 80's I had the luxury of a degree course through which to channel my creative energies. Up to now, as a mum and foster mum who works full time, there hasn't been the time or space to indulge the flashes of inspiration that have come to me. Most of my creative ideas have remained firmly in the closet of the imagination.

It's been a delight to me that now the children are older they are encouraging me to start projects and are even volunteering their assistance. Encouraged by their enthusiasm and the start of a New Year I have now embarked on an assignment commissioned over a year ago for someone's 60th birthday.

With the best will in the world it has not been easy! I was hampered initially by the fact that when I brought the 3X4 hard board on which to start the project it was placed in the garage to await the moment of inspiration when I would begin. A year on, the rectangle of hard board had begun to warp through being in the cold and damp and the laminate was separating! Undetered I reasoned that I could glue it back and began the laborious task of transferring the design onto a grid through which I could copy the precise image. 2 hours later I stood back to admire the master piece when hubby came in and promptly informed me that there was NO WAY you could glue back the hard board and that it was beyond repair.

The good news is that once in the frame of mind for this sort of thing, determination sets in and there's no stopping me. I immediately left for the timber yard and purchased a new piece of hard board. Happily the transference of the image was a lot quicker this time and the project can get underway. (That's once I have encouraged the girls to do the time consuming work of covering 100's of pieces of broken tiles with sticky back silver, did I mention that?)

The strategic placement of broken tiles is the next part of the process and then who knows, maybe it'll be ready as a 70th birthday commission!

Our baby is teenager.

Today I am an exhausted yet proud mother! Celebrations started last night when 8 teenage and almost teenage girls arrived on our doorstep to spend the night in celebration of the fact our eldest is now 13. Unsure herself of what would constitute an acceptable party, our daughter bravely left us to invent a surprise evening. Understandably Bri and I planned to wear them out! Therein lay the first problem.

How do you wear out 8 teenage girls without being left totally wrecked yourself? (Personally I don't think it's possible unless you hire in someone to take on the job!)

We planned a walk down a country lane nearby, across fields and up a steep hill then back to ours for hot chocolate. We decided to punctuate the walk with various challenges so that rewards would give a sense of fun and incentive.

First stop - the end of the lane. 'Wherefore art thou Romeo?' hailed loudly by each girl in turn from the top of the stile successfully saw each of them receive a glow stick or glowing piece of jewellery. (These took at least 15 minutes to distribute due to various pieces being dropped in the mud.)

We continued on to the bottom of the hill and the next challenge which was to sing a Christmas Carol. 'O Come all you faithful' rang out over hill and vale in a manner and at a pitch which I'm sure is unlikely to ever be heard again. It was ominous that at this point the sky began to spit droplets of rain. Bri and I looked at each other. We hadn't accounted for this. Only moments earlier we'd commented on the mildness of the night happily trundling down the hill with the excited girls glowing in their trinkets. This would throw a spanner in the works. The singing must have done it we decided and began to hurry the girls towards the next and final challenge of the evening.

This next part was the most challenging for me as it was the steepest and muddiest bit of the walk. I trailed behind and watched the bouncing figures of the youthful group become smaller and smaller as they steamed on ahead despite the now persistent and more heavy rain. When I finally reached them gathered at the top of the hill I was a sodden , sorry looking lump.

Bri was no better as he determined to take on the last challenge which in the now sleeting and wind driven rain was nigh on impossible. The idea had been inspired, each girl to light a sparkler from the girl in front and say the 'iggle piggle' poem, the problem lay in the fact that we couldn't get the first sparkler lit due to the worsening weather. When it finally DID light it fizzled out within seconds because it had become so damp in the waiting process.

We abandoned the idea and decided to head for home. Brian and I dropped exhausted into bed at 11.30 having spent the rest of the evening hanging all the wet clothes out to dry and making sure everyone was happy. The girls continued merrily partying until 2. 30am until I'd finally had enough and threatened to separate them and put them in different rooms! Silence reigned.

Today has been yet another adventure, worthy of a blog all to itself so tomorrow I will continue in different vein.

Post office pantomime

Has anyone tried buying a second class Christmas stamp of the 'religious' variety from the Post Office? One would think that on 9th December one wouldn't get a hard time for requesting them, especially as there is a week to go before the official last date of posting. I think customer services was sadly lacking when I went into my local branch earlier today.

No one was more surprised than me that in a season of supposed good cheer there was such a frosty reception to my innocent request for the religious version NOT the pantomime version. What unfolded was worthy of any pantomime I have ever seen.

I asked if they were likely to order any in and was told that it was too late as they take a week to arrive and by then it would be the last posting day for 2nd class stamps. I was incredulous! Surely a Post Office was able to obtain the services of Royal Mail to get some sent much quicker!

At this moment a second cashier appeared behind the toughened glass screen, glaring at me icily, she informed me in a superior manner, 'They've been on sale since the 5th November', as if it was MY fault for not buying stamps in November and that I should be ashamed of myself. Now I had not just one cashier but two who were staring at me with venom and obviously angry with me!

I have to say that it was at this point I realised I might not have been the first person to request 'religious; stamps after they had run out. It was obviously an issue which made them incredibly defensive. Their reaction was disproportionate to the request and their aggression uncalled for. Trying to diffuse the situation and aware of a growing queue behind me at the counter I calmly and gently apologised for causing them offence and quietly explained that they shouldn't take it personally. At this point a tirade of bitter venom errupted from the cashier,' Well that's very surprising because we're always getting stabbed in the back'.

I was growing more horrified as I realised that I might not be able to leave this battle zone unbloodied by attack. All I wanted was stamps for my Christmas cards! The anticipation and essence of joy at buying Christmas stamps for cards aimed at sending wishes of peace, joy and goodwill to all men had evaporated leaving me with a sour taste in the mouth. I made a second attempt to walk away from the till, 'You could buy first class stamps, we've got lots of those' he shouted to me. I moved back to the counter, 'Thank you ' I said, 'If I don' t manage to get any 2nd class stamps I'll come back.' With that I left the building having no intention of ever stepping in THAT post office again.

You see the fact is, last year this same post Office ran out of 2nd class 'religious' stamps early on in December and I ended up being persuaded to buy 1st class stamps. I had no intention this year of giving the Post Office any more of my money than needed to be or the satisfaction of my custom.

I came home, went on line and ordered 3 sheets of second class madonna and child stamps directly from Royal Mail. Free delivery within 2 days. Perhaps I should go back to my local Post Office and suggest they do the same.....but then again maybe NOT!

Amazing what a bit of Face Painting can do

As most parents know, when summer fetes and christmas fayre's come round there is always one poor parent left standing in the rain at the school gate weeks beforehand trying to get support and commitment from other parents. Suitably guilty of having declined many an invitation to help at said events, I found myself for the first time actually available to get involved. I bit the bullet and offered my services, reckoning that if I ticked the 'ANYTHING' box for involvement, it would be sufficient penance for my previous lack.

Imagine my delight when an almost immediate response offered me the task of face painting! I AM the face painting QUEEN! I even have my own kit. Tee hee what JOY!

Yesterday found me happily ensconced in the 'face painting' class room, a space specifically set aside for such purposes. I refused to be put off when I introduced myself to the person who had been doing it for the previous ten years! He confidentally told me that I could come back in an hour and relieve him and the other person allocated the task. 30 minutes in and I was summoned back to the room because there was a queue forming. Trying hard not to be intimidated by the master pieces of face painting that were emerging from the room. My hand shook as I looked down on the first person before me. I could tell by those baby blue eyes that this was a matter of utmost trust and I had never had a 2 year old starnger put so much trust in me before. The responsibility weighed heavy. She eyed me up suspiciously and I felt she knew that I hadn't done this before. (Well...not HERE and in this circumstance.)

I was inspired to ask her name and relieved when 'daddy' was forthcoming. At least I felt I was winning him over! Thank goodness she chose a simple design from the book and I was off. OK, it might not have been the BEST pussy cat in the world and it was a battle to win over my 11 year old daughter who was comparing the thickness of the mask to the others but hey...the child was smiling and daddy was happy.

There was no looking back. I became a hit with the 10- 14 age range by copying a logo from a sweat shirt which apparently is all the rage. A simple cheek design in various colours had me with my own queue! The only hiccup was the child who wanted to be a dinosaur. I had seen the previous dinosaurs and though I could happily apply the green base colour I wasn't sure about the teeth or eye effect! Thankfully the 'expert' became free and I graciously handed over the challenge.

Before I knew it, the end of the day was upon us. I made my way happily home passing, cats, tigers, lions and puff balls content in the knowledge that I had somehow made their day complete.

When you forget your 'revelation' make sure you stay in Knightsbridge.

This last week I've been in London for a few days. Mostly when I need to stay overnight I'll stay with family in North London but on this occasion I needed to be more central/south. I racked my brain trying to think of who I knew who might put me up for a night or so and was thrilled to discover that the person I ended up asking was actually the administrator of the venue where I had my meetings!

I was given a piece of paper with scribbled map and directions and, at the end of the first evening, set off with a friend clutching the instructions busy chatting as we walked the 10-15 minutes to the nearest tube. It was only when I sat down in the station explaining to my companion that I was staying over night at a friends that I was alerted to the problem. My suitcase! I had safely tucked it away in a back room of the venue and had forgotten to collect it.

The prospect of no night clothes, tooth brush or clean underwear drove me to walk BACK 15 minutes to the venue hoping that someone would still be there. (I omitted to say that I was wearing killer stilettos and was NOT happy at the extra mileage.) The shops were shutting along the road by now as it was gone 10.30 pm and I had that heavy sense that everyone would have gone home. As I turned the corner with baited breath my senses were proved right. Darkness stared back at me through the glass entrance doors and all was still except for the flashing red security light ominously blinking as it guarded the sleeping building.

With aching feet and weary heart I made my way back to the station and concentrated on the directions which I happily discovered would lead me to the heart of Kensington. As I walked along the road my step began to lighten as I realised I would actually be staying in the grandest of accomodations! As I was greeted at the apartment entrance an expanse of corridor loomed before me and I was ushered into the depths of one of the biggest spaces I've ever been in with room after room opening up before me.

Ok! My breath might smell rank and I'd end up sleeping in nothing but Hey! the accomodation distracted me from any disappointment and as I sunk into the welcome mattress staring up at a chandelier I realised that life wasn't at all bad and went to sleep counting my blessings.
When I returned the next evening I made certain I remembered my 'revelation' suitcase.