I should have known to look under the or gang planck, even if I hadn’t had the written evidence to say so. After all, when one points out an orange blanket covering mountains of boxes of junk and says to one’s teenage son “Please, whatever you do, don’t touch this orange blanket because the boxes are balanced precariously and will fall in a heap”, one should remember that this translates into Boyese as “Whatever you do, you must have a poke around under this blanket as it is clearly concealing secret treasures of great interest to inquisitive boys”. When will I ever learn?
I had a wonderful Mothers’ Day, beginning with the outrageously expensive lunch at Albert Cottage Hotel the previous week. Then the day itself. It began rather inauspiciously – rather like Tractor Girl’s. I’d been unexpectedly delayed in producing my Mothers’ Day service the previous night so, when I got up early to work on it and was greeted by an enthusiastic Smudgelet declaring that I must return to bed immediately and await my breakfast, I was not overly cooperative. We struck a deal whereby I would do all the things I had to do first so that I was a stress-free zone, and then I would sit in the dining room with my duvet over me and my feet up on the chair and have breakfast-in-almost-bed… and then I messed his plans up still further by being unable to eat my bowl of cereal and having to request a replacement which was not the stale crumbs from the bottom of the old packet that I’d put to throw out for the birds. I am not a perfect mum. 🙁 But we soon overcame that small drawback.
I was presented my meal on a tray which also contained a home-made envelope enveloping (as they do) a home made card. And inside the card was an intriguing message – this time with correct spelling. “The sky is white, the sea is blue. Where there’s water there’s something for you.” It took a lot of guesses to get it right – though I think it was pure coincidence of course that I’d been banished from the bathroom all morning! For when I finally remembered that you get water in a bathroom, I went in there to discover that the mountain of dirty towels piled in the corner did indeed hide two rather enticing looking presents – neither bearing any resemblance whatsoever to a box of chocolates.
I was thoroughly spoilt, and so utterly moved by the fact they’d both been so organised and thoughtful. From Smudgelet was a gorgeous doormat for our new patio doors, complete with three welcoming cats. From Tiddles a little pink teddy holding a rose, and a beautiful card (with lovely things handwritten inside in beautiful writing) containing a most unusual gift, but one I really love. A gift voucher with no expiry date for a useless item of my choice from the intriguing Aladdin’s cave of a second-hand/antique shop near here – that is to say, the excuse for some serious browsing for some fascinating clutter which otherwise I’d never be able to justify buying! Watch this space to find out what finally catches my eye, although the problem I have with gift vouchers is that I get more pleasure from the choosing than from the buying, so I find it hard to make a final decision.
My service for Mothering Sunday went extraordinarily well, which shows that God must have had a serious hand in it, and it was interesting and rewarding to discover how many people approached me after the service to share their own stories. There had been a few tears during the service – some of them mine, indeed, as something one of the congregation said actually touched a raw spot for me, and also something that I said touched a raw spot for Smudgelet (which was a good thing, as it gave us an opportunity to talk).
Then Honorary Auntie M met us at the Lavender Farm for lunch (her treat, this time) before taking me to a garden centre to buy a plant she knew I wanted (in place of flowers, she said – we both use Mothers’ Day as an excuse to buy each other flowers). Then Smudgelet and I decided, as the weather was far too cold to go on the reading adventure that we’d planned, that we’d go and see whether Waltzing Waters lived up to Smudgelet’s expectations. It was a lovely together time. I was glad the auditorium was almost empty as Smudgelet just couldn’t contain his “Wow!!!!”s and his “Look at THAT!”s… and to be honest, I am glad he couldn’t. We both thoroughly enjoyed it, and I told him how the last time I’d been there had been to take my mum for Mothers’ Day. He was also delighted because amongst the display cabinets of lovely things, they have have a shelf of damaged goods radically reduced in price, and there we spotted the most beautiful wooden model of a Citroen 2CV at the cost of an hour’s working in the garden for me. The damage was almost invisible and doubtless it will gain far more in years to come, but the car is a beauty and he is thrilled to own it.
There should be some sort of mechanism for preserving special days such as these.
I guess there is, it’s called the memory.