Lily's Blog

And I thought I would get a lot of reading done while on hols.

But I didn’t.

I did manage two.

The first was ‘Handle with Care’ by Jodi Picoult

This was an interesting read about a child with Osteogenesis imperfecta or brittle bone disease. Her mother took a case of ‘wrongful birth’ against her obstetrician who happened to be also her best friend. I enjoyed this book because of many of the issues covered. However there were too many coincidences and at 507 pages, I felt it could have been shortened, without losing impact.

Tommy then picked up and read this book. He reviewed it here.

At the end of this book, I was interested to see, three further books recommended. Seems I am into this genre.:
‘My Sister’s Keeper’ by the same author. I have read this and enjoyed it. This has just been released as a film.
‘The Memory Keeper’s Daughter’ by Kim Edwards. Read and reviewed here.
‘Family Pictures’ by Sue Millar. Better add this to my list to read, which keeps growing longer.

The second book was ‘Leaving the World’ by Douglas Kennedy

As stated in the Observer, ‘Kennedy cannot help but write grippingly’ – exactly my opinion. The story opens on thirteen year old Jane Howard promising her parents, she would never marry, nor have children. (Famous last words!) Life doesn’t always turn out as planned. The book follows Jane’s life, her falling in love with her supervisor at Harvard, (liked the Boston bit), her subsequent marriage and the birth of her daughter. Life becomes very tough for Jane and the book was hard to put down as she searched to make some sense of the remnants of her life. The effect of the wrongful arrest (Jane’s opinion) of a man charged with the abduction of his child, forces her on a mission, culminating in her re-entry into ‘normal living’.

There were some nice lines in it:
Quotation from Mencken’s ‘A Little Book in C Major’‘Conscience is the inner voice that warns us that somebody may be looking.’

‘Then there was the state of my mother, looking ever more withdrawn and battered by the world’s indifference to her.’

I enjoyed this book.

Youngest mouse and I go to America for a few days, for an appointment with his surgeon in Minneapolis. Might even get some reading done on the trip!

I got this in an email this week and it certainly gave me a laugh!

An Easily Understandable Explanation of Derivative Markets:

Now, do you understand?

In a previous post, I wrote of that ‘other woman’ in Denis’ life occasionally mentioning the word …

Recalculating.

Recalculating is what many people world-wide are doing. Recalculating the value of … pensions, share options, property investments.

Secure jobs are now less secure.
Early retirement is becoming less of a reality.
Higher taxes and charges are now the new reality.

Irish people are busier than most …

Recalculating.

Eighteen years ago this month, my mother was killed in a car crash.

She was a wonderful person, her life cut way too short. I still believe she would be alive today if only …

‘In memory of my mother’ is a great poem written by Patrick Kavanagh, but it’s two poems by Seamus Heaney that really evoke memories for me.

The first one of working side by side with her.

The second brings me back to folding sheets with her, then piling them up on the ironing board. As children, we used to try to catch her off guard and pull the sheet from her hands. Though she pretended to be annoyed, it would bring a smile to her face. Our sheets were exactly as Heaney described – sheets she’d sewn from ripped-out flour sacks. My mother was a great baker. Odlums flour was bought by the sack, each sack containing a hundredweight, 8 stone, approximately 50kg in todays language. Nothing was wasted. The sacks were collected, then ripped, washed and four sewn together on the Singer sewing machine to make each sheet.

Growing up in our house, Monday was wash day, all day. Washing for nine took all day. These were the days before automatic washing machines and dryers. Then, it was a big cream washing machine, with wringer attached, to wring out the clothes.

I can still smell the Mondays of my growing up.

Here are Seamus Heaney’s two poems remembering his mother.

In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984
When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.

The cool that came off the sheets just off the line
Made me think the damp must still be in them
But when I took my corners of the linen
And pulled against her, first straight down the hem
And then diagonally, then flapped and shook
The fabric like a sail in a cross-wind,
They made a dried-out undulating thwack.
So we’d stretch and fold and end up hand to hand
For a split second as if nothing had happened
For nothing had that had not always happened
Beforehand, day by day, just touch and go,
Coming close again by holding back
In moves where I was X and she was 0
Inscribed in sheets she’d sewn from ripped-out flour sacks.

Eighteen years ago this month … and it still seems like … only yesterday.

In preparation for John going to college, in the ‘time honoured tradition’, parents have to submit a ‘family letter’, i.e., tell the college what they should know about ‘our kid’. This has preferably to be done by June 1 or if not sometime in the summer.

Yesterday I got down to the task and have just emailed it off.

Youngest mouse was reading over my shoulder as I did said task (God there’s no privacy in this house … well there’s no house at the moment).

Anyway fortified with food and wine, I went to bed last night. I woke at 3am, having dreamt that I had just given birth to triplets, three boys, (in addition to three existing mice).

Now there’s some fright!

Maybe it’s all the small children at the campsite. There are lots of parents and children but also grandparents with their small grandchildren. We were joking over last few days about the mice sending their children to the aged grandparents in France. This met with various lines of slagging. I insisted I wanted a proper ‘generation gap’. I won’t be ready for a long time, to settle down and become a properly behaved grand-mere!

Another 20/30 years minimum.

But back to the Family letter for college, as I wrote, I was thinking …

It’s not that long since I was telling another institution, what they should know about John.

His child-minder.

Tempus fugit or whatever it does when you’re enjoying it.

There are lots of fig trees growing here.

The Common fig (Ficus carica) is a large, deciduous shrub or small tree native to southwest Asia and the eastern Mediterranean region. It grows to a height of 23–33 ft tall, with smooth grey bark.

The leaves are 5-10 inches long and 4-7 inches across, and deeply lobed with three or five lobes.

In the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve clad themselves with fig leaves (Genesis 3:7) after eating the “forbidden fruit” from the Tree of Knowledge.

I’m with Eve on this – her choice of leaf for coverage was good!

However what I didn’t know was -

The sap of the tree’s green parts is an irritant to human skin.

I didn’t know this when I was trying to work out how many fig leaves Eve would have needed!

The fruit is 1-2 inches long, with a green skin, sometimes ripening towards purple or brown.

Fresh figs – delicious!

Whilst the ‘Tour de France’ may be going on while we are here, we are doing our own ‘Petit Tour de France’. Cycling has always been part of our holidays.

Each day Denis and victim (either T or me) goes. Sometimes Denis goes cycling with one of us in the morning and t’other in the afternoon. It’s easier cycling in pairs than in threes. Although there are lots of quiet country roads, some roads we meet are busy. Middle mouse arrives this evening, so we will get four bikes for next few days per Tommy’s suggestion, but two pairs for busy roads.

Tommy is doing great cycling and I think hugely enjoying the accomplishment. Cycling a two-wheeler takes a fair bit of coordination and balance and if you’re challeged in any of those areas, then cycling itself is a big challenge. To be able to cycle a two-wheeler at all, is achievement number one. To cycle a two-wheeler for decent distances at normal speeds, is achievement number two.

Whilst I might go on longer cycles with D than Tommy, I get far more enjoyment from hearing about Tommy’s

When out cycling, one gets plenty of time to think. Whilst I was out on a long cycle with Denis last Saturday, I was thinking of a triathlon I had done in Sligo in the 80’s. Not many people took part in that first Irish triathlon and certainly not many girls. One person taking part was an Ann Kearney from Dublin, a mother of two young children at the time. A very nice person. Ann unfortunately died five years ago. Her daughter Caroline also went on to sporting greatness and was an Irish olympic hopeful, but was tragically killed three years ago in a cycling accident in France, aged 24. Report here.

Life really does send missiles.

Least anyone mistakenly think just because I took part in the first Irish triathlon, that I’m some sports person, I’ll put the record straight fast. I’m not. I just like being fit.

I had completed two Dublin City Marathons, can’t remember the years but unbeknownst to me at the time, Denis also participated in one of those marathons. Judging by both of our times, I spent the race running after him. However I am happy to say I completed both in 4 hours and lots of minutes. (I only rememember the exact number of hours, not the minutes. I can guarantee there were lots of minutes though.)

I was working in Sligo when it was announced that the first Irish full triathlon was going to be held there. I always found cycling easy. I could run. However there was one ‘fly in the ointment’, I couldn’t swim. I was in my 20’s at this stage but had never learned to swim properly. I was afraid of water. An aunt, with whom we spent our summer holidays, had regularly brought us swimming as children in Williamstown near Blackrock in Dublin. The waves were huge lashing against the rocks. I was terrified. That did the damage I think.

So the challenge was, learn to swim, so as to be able to swim a mile in the open sea. The triathlon was fifteen weeks away.

I like challenges, big challenges!

Fiftten weeks passed. That cold early Sunday morning in June came. I had learned to swim. Back stroke. I still hadn’t got the hang of breathing but I had one stroke. I reckoned no one was going to let me drown, there would be rescue boats in the water.

We started at the end of the second beach in Rosses Point and I let all the swimmers go in ahead of me. I then started on my back and back stroked the whole way across Sligo Bay coming ashore at the sailing club. Since I was the last of the swimmers, the ‘end of the race’ rescue boat kept me company the whole way. I never needed to worry about drowning! As far as I was concerned I had actually finished my triathlon once I had the swim over. I was now on the homeward stretch starting the 56 mile cycle and then running the half-marathon. They both seemed a doddle after the swim. I finished the race in an overall good time.

I stuck at the swimming but have never overcome my fear of water. I can swim all stokes now, breathing fine. I can get into a pool and swim a mile in lengths up and down, without a second thought. But if the pool has a deep end, I will only do it at the side. Years later I did a diving course in Australia but again fear of the water overtook me. Though I passed all the pool tests, I wouldn’t back flip with bottles over the side of the boat.

Back to ‘Le Petit Tour de france’

Tommy and Denis have just gone off for today’s cycling odyssey.

If we’re counting rising to a challenge, Tommy beats us all …

Hands down.

Go Tommy.

Between the Tour and the British Open, Denis has a lot of sport to keep an eye on!

After coming home from cycling last night, we watched the end of the British Open on TV. Watching it with D, I found myself wishing so hard that Cink would fail. I so wished ill on the man. I had just become a Watson fan. Watson’s only 59, but looks a lot older. Watson also looked as if he was constantly just about to cry.

Who wouldn’t immediately root for Watson?

Found this piece by Chris Chase on the web this morning. Seems I was not alone.

Stewart Cink isn’t a villain, he just played one today at Turnberry.

Had he been playing against anyone other than Tom Watson today in the four-hole playoff at the British Open, Cink could have had a Rocco Mediate-like moment. He could have earned legions of new fans while winning the title that validated his career.

(Rocco Mediate was beaten in the 2008 U.S. Open play-off by Tiger Woods).

Back to piece

Instead, he (Cink) became the anti-Rocco. He was a guy everyone was surprised to find they were rooting so hard against. Cink was the lowlife who denied sports fans of watching a once-in-a-lifetime moment, all for his own personal gain and glory. Jerk.

Rest of article here

Interesting Cink’s twitter fan base. Maybe I should follow him on twitter to make up for so not following him yesterday.

Quoting the golfer on the ditch beside me, he is less sympathetic. He says ‘Watson lost it on the 18th. His attempt at the 5-6 foot putt to win was abysmal. There should never have been a play-off.’

God my husband is all heart!

Denis also adds that years ago he was playing golf at Ballybunnion with a friend. The individual golfer playing ahead of them, called them through and commented on the good shots they had played.

That individual was Tom Watson.

Denis added that that wouldn’t happen nowadays.

I asked the good shots? He didn’t answer that. He said, ‘nowadays the presence of any internationally known golfer, even for practice rounds would attract huge crowds, as word would get out’.

We now cheat at camping.

We don’t do any cooking. In earlier years we did cook, but now that the family has reduced … we allow ourselves this. Plus French food is so delicious and coming from Ireland, it’s inexpensive. In any case a holiday for me is a break from shopping and cooking.

I can’t believe I got this far into the holiday without posting on food, I love my food!

Breakfast picnic:

Spoiled for choice with breads

Lunch: Picnic for lunch. Today olives, goats cheese and baguette. (I’m sounding like Lorraine!)

Or maybe grab a slice of pizza

Coffee stops springled in, maybe with something from the Patisserie.

Dinner: There are abundant restaurants to eat out at night. One particular favourite is called ‘Aux delices des Alpilles’, which specialises in salads amongt other great cooking.

At this stage they know us well, checking when we first turn up each year, like the swallows, how many of the garcons are with us

I’d like to straighen up the little bowl of fig chutney in that photo!

Those salads cost 11-12 Euro, house wine 4.80 for demi-litre!

One well fed mouse and his parents.

But all the cycling and walking is working off the calories. Today 60km cycle over Les Alpilles. More on cycling another day …

Grannymar left a comment on a previous post that she was enjoying these holiday postcards, so I thought I would send a real holiday postcard to readers of this blog from Maussane.

Well half postcard, half thank you card.

After a bit of a shaky start, I am now a seven-month-old blogger. Don’t we age fast!

Thanks to you for your company on the blogging journey. It woudn’t be the same half as much fun, without you, the reader!