Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Raincheck

Today

Another dump of about 6 inches of snow fell last night on top of the last lot which is largely untouched. We cleared and salted the steps and path and helped our neighbour get his car up the close.

"It's raining in Oakhill" he told us later. Oakhill is about two miles away. Apparently the temperature in Dorchester is 5 degrees.

Later the Somerset Podiatry Service rang to ask me if I could make it to an appointment tomorrow. The caller stopped herself "I've just seen your address," she said "of course you can't." I asked her what is was like in Frome. "Well, actually, I'm calling from Wells," she answered "and it's not too bad here."

In My Day

Which takes me back to a weekend in, I think, 1989 or 1990. Becky was about twelve and some of her friends were staying for the weekend. There was Sarah from Cranmore, Tuesday from Shepton and Emma (was that her name - I may have made it up) from Pilton.

We had a pleasant evening - they were a mannerly bunch - although they were probably awake half the night watching videos and chatting.

In the morning when I got up I saw that the Close was covered in snow and it was still falling fast. I woke up the girls. "Sorry to cut your weekend short," I said "But you'd better call your parents to tell them to pick you up now while they can still get through."

Sarah first. Her brother answered. "Oh, Mum's already left," he said "As soon as she saw the weather."

Next Tuesday. Her Mum answered. "Snow?" she asked doubtfully "It's raining rather hard here in Shepton, but if you say so. I'll get going."

When Emma called, her mother simply thought she was pulling her leg. "The sun's shining here," she said "What are you on about? I wasn't going to pick you up until lunchtime." She was clearly annoyed at losing her child-free lie-in. Emma pleaded and eventually her mother came to collect her. Much astonishment at the differences in the weather, comments about how hard it can be to get down the Close, and Emma was forgiven.

It's surprising how much colder it can be when you live on top of the heap, so to speak.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Uniquely You

Today

I really should stop wasting time on silly Facebook Quizzes. The latest took my name and DOB and ranked my parents' originality on the basis of how popular my name was in 1947. 116th, that's what and my parents only got a B+ for originality. What's more, the quiz told me that the equivalent name today (ranking 116th, that is) is "Rylee". What kind of a name is that?

It seems to me that people these days are not given "real" names, just collections of letters that sound nice. But then, I may be old-fashioned to think that names should have some meaning or carry ancestral weight.

In a recent article I read an idea that name-giving can be ranked as though they were sandwiches, from the dull (cheese & pickle - "John" or "Ann") to the adventurous (honey & anchovy paste on pumpernickel - "Mylene" or "Tatum"). At least the first is palatable and digestible.

In My Day

The names that Mamma and Daddy gave us were a mixture of the safe and ancestral. I may have mentioned elsewhere the family legend that David, due on Feb 14th, was to be called "Valentine" until he delayed his birth by a day. I don't know what Daddy thought of this, but Mamma used to say that he vetoed "Oliver" for Chris as being way too outlandish (today Oliver would rank only a bit above the cheese and pickle). Second names for both were familial - "Lawrence" for David, carrying on Daddy's 2nd name and "Paul" for Mamma's father.

I copped the ancestral principle big-time, "Alice" for Mamma and "Julia" for my grandmother Hedwig Eva Julia). Mamma had named Beatrice before she was born, being certain that she was carrying a girl. (She had a slight proviso that if she was wrong "Benedict" would be the name but fortunately she and Daddy didn't have to argue that one out.)

The only one of us whose name was shortened was Chris - "Xopher" or "Xpher", although Beatrice later tried out a variety of shortened forms, settling on Beaty or Bea which I guess is better than "Trixie".

At school names were a sort of burden of varying weights from the outlandish (we had a Norwegian girl at school named Solveig who patiently explained again and again that the "G" was silent) to the dull - Susan - and the fashionable -Sandras and Brendas abounded back in 1950's England.

In Germany recently I talked to my cousins about our names - the eldest, also Julia for the same reason as me and Wiebke who was given this Danish name after an old friend of her mother's who is still alive and living in Minnesota. "Did you know," said Wiebke "that Grandmother was known as "Julia"?" She showed me several documents with "Julia" followed by "Hedwig" in brackets. No, I didn't, and was somehow comforted to know that she, too, carried this burden of using day-to-day a name other than her first given name.

We touch hands across the generations, Grandmother.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Slippery Slope

Today

Snow; quite a lot of it. Although I don't trust those panic-stricken news reports which mainly exist to pander to newsreaders' self-importance, it's true that it's been very cold.

The snow has been fine and powdery, so not very slidey where it hasn't been driven on. Yesterday I persuaded Paul to come out for a walk up the lane.He agreed, although he then grumbled about being cold for half the walk. "You just need to get your metabolism working" I said knowledgeably "then you'll warm up. The trouble is you don't exercise enough. Crikey!" I added "I sound like my Mother!" I was very snug inside my down-filled body-warmer which may have had something to do with my patronising attitude.

As we walked back down the steep bit of Susannah's lane, Paul assisted me. "It's not really slippery," I said "But I lack physical confidence. I don't know which of my parents had the worst attitude: Daddy who thought that all exercise for girls was wrong or Mamma with her "stuff and nonsense" attitude."

In My Day

We quite often had snow, post-Christmas, when I was a child. The album shows many a picture with 4BH swathed in white. Mamma would frequently shoo us all out with an instruction to play in the snow. Chris would make slides and abandon himself to the dangerous pleasures of whizzing downhill unstoppably. I was more scared than excited by this and would never trust myself to follow suit.

Making and throwing snowballs was safer but could get a bit dull and, anyway, as our gloves were always woollen, our hands quickly became wet and cold. Little ice balls would entwine around the fibres of the wool before soaking uncomfortably inwards.

And I don't remember any snowmen, although I'm sure some were made.

In fact, as soon as I could, I'd be back indoors by the fire with a book, hoping Mamma wouldn't find me and shoo me out again. All of which makes my attitude to Paul even more absurd.

I tried cross-country ski-ing a couple of years ago and found that I was very good at one part of it - falling over.