THAT BLOG done - now back to my own,

In case anyone is interested in my account of the whole process of rewritng a novel, you can read my guest blog on
Read Short Stories and Write Short Stories at Shortbread | Home of the Short Story

Meanwhile back on my own poor neglected blog, the bananas are growing and its raining! This is a two fold blessing - it will fatten up the bananas, give every plant and tree in the area a good wash and a soaking, and put me in the right mood to pack for England.

So we are delighted to see it. The cat is not!
She  normally perches at the bottom end of the swimming pool retaining wall from where she can see the path along which we will return home from an hour of debauchery in the local bar, then she will lead us up the path, doing somersaults to trip us up.
When it rains she sulks in her nest on the outside sofa and looks at us as if its all our fault.

It was raining when I took this photo last October - the last time I saw my grandsons - so I am well prepared.
I shall be away for two weeks, leaving the OH to fend for himself - don't forget me while I'm gone!

DON'T FORGET ME WHILE I'M GONE!

I am taking a month off, starting tomorrow with a four-hour flight to Gatwick, where my younger daughter will meet me. Then I shall have four days at my elder son's house sharing a room with my grandsons, who are now much bigger than they were at this family wedding.
L-R: No2 daughter & husband. No1 daughter & husband. No2 son & new wife. No1 son, wife & boys.

I will visit my mother and some friends, have my eyes tested, and see what the Post Office has to offer in the way of OAP Travel Insurance.
I must also buy some M&S socks and knickers and blackcurrant sweets to take to my younger son and his wife in Canada.
Two weeks in Canada! My first ever visit, and the longest trip I have made alone for 22 years. The itinerary my daughter-in-law has planned sounds fabulous, and includes a trip to Lake Elliot for Canadian Thanksgiving, but the main thing is to see where my boy has settled with his Canadian wife.
Then ten whole days back in the UK to relax, pick up my new glasses and do a bit of shopping before a flight home to Tenerife.

No1 daughter will keep an eye on the OH while I'm gone, so all I have to do is enjoy myself. And perhaps make a few notes, and write a story or two, and maybe blog once or twice just to keep my hand in, so don't go too far away!

EYESIGHT and a POEM

A couple of years after this photo was taken I was wearing glasses and have worn them ever since. I spent my teenage years bemoaning the fact that I had to spoil any outfit with my National Health glasses - my parents couldn't afford private ones. Each time I had new glasses I had to choose frames without being able to see them, and each new pair reduced me to tears when I realized once again that they hadn't transformed me into a beauty! After an unsuccessful flirtation with lenses it is only now, in my later years, that I have learned to accept them.

Eyesight is something most of us take for granted, but if, like me, you had to take early retirement due to eyestrain, you tend to be a tad paranoid. Every new floater might be Retinal Detachment and each blurred moment Macular Degeneration. Other people enthuse about laser surgery – me, I’m terrified I’d be one of the failures. How could I write or read if I couldn’t see? I couldn't admire the photo of my grandsons playing with the neighbours' dogs in an English meadow, or see the growth of a cactus flower.

This is this morning's photo - it won't be long before the flower is fully open.

The flame trees in our complex are just bursting into leaf, though they still have last year's seed pods. In a few weeks they will be aflame with orange blossom - what a shame not to be able to see that.

The reason for all this introspection is the book I am reading - Nicholas Evans' The Smoke Jumper - in which a young man is blinded by an accident, and I wondered how I would cope.

Some years ago I worked for the RNIB and wrote a poem about being blind. I shall put it on My Writing page if you want to read it.

Oh yes - and Happy Diamond Jubilee to you all, Congratulations to Her Majesty, and I wish I was in England to join in the festivities, rain and all!

NAVIDAD & NOVEL

NAVIDAD = Christmas. We spent our last two Christmases in England and they were the best we’ve had in the past twelve years. Christmas isn’t the same without family, especially our grandchildren.

The Tenerife shops display  decorations, gifts, and cards - the usual commercial glitz that you see in England - and we've got used to seeing them against the background of sunshine. Wearing thin summer         clothes, we push our trolley between aisles loaded with festive food.

Some families buy a leg of Jamon which sits in the kitchen for weeks covered only by a tea-cloth, to have slivers cut off for tapas or sandwiches. You can buy a leg for 30 euros but the best ones (with black hooves) can set you back 130 euros. 

Then there's Turron = a sweet sold in slabs mainly at Christmas. Most varieties contain almonds, and it can be hard like crunchy toffee or soft like nougat.  If you want traditional English food there are shops and restaurants that cater for that too, and people book early to have their Christmas dinner with entertainment in the sun.

The locals have their traditional family meal late on NOCHE BUENA – literally, GOOD NIGHT – which is Christmas Eve, and we’ve been lucky enough to be invited to a few homes. We have had Italian – strange to be eating pasta on Christmas Eve! – and twice we joined a family of good friends for their dinner of traditional Venezuelan food.

NATIVITY PLAY

One year my mother was here, and she and I went to the nearest church for Midnight Mass.

The churches here are lovely. Some are centuries old and dark, with the scent of candles, flowers, fabric and ancient prayers. Others, particularly in the south of Tenerife, are newer and brighter.

The doors of the church we attended were left open to the air of Noche Buena, and children ran in and out. Their mothers and grandmothers were inside the church, praying on behalf of the whole family, one assumes, but the fathers stayed in the square drinking beer - except when the Nativity Play was performed, when they buzzed around the church like paparazzi. One memory I treasure is of a girl who played the Virgin Mary. Her portrayal of a heavily pregnant woman was so realistic that the entire congregation was in hysterics.

NIGERIANS

Last December, just before we flew off to England, we were attracted to our village Cultural Centre by the sound of music. We found open-sided marquees full of Nigerians celebrating a national festival. Every single person was dressed in their best, in every imaginable colour and pattern, and the women in the most elaborate head-gear. I stopped a toddler from straying onto the road and found his mother – she bowed low several times with clasped hands to thank me. We wanted to stay and asked one man where we could buy a beer – he gave us four cans from his table and said, “It’s all free.” We had a wonderful time and the dancing was great. The next morning there was no sign that anything had happened – no marquees, not a scrap of litter – only our aching feet told us it hadn’t all been a dream.

NOVEL An agent asked for the whole manuscript of one of my novels a month ago. If she doesn’t get back to me soon with a decision I shall have NIBBLED my NAILS to NOTHING.