Frosty the toe man

Good day one and all,

I have been protecting my toes against the frost with thick woolen socks. The overnight temperature has hovered around minus 4.3 centigrade. (24 fahrenheit) and my old bones do not like the chilly mornings. But socks have a way of disappearing on me. I put two totally healthy socks in the washing machine and one sock goes on holiday through the washing machine portal to a distant land, and the other sock looks at me as if to say, 'I am innocent of sockitude'. So, if you see me around town with one bright pink sock and one blue one, I was forced into it by disappearing socks. I do have hope of Spring arriving early because the daffodils are popping up and the magnolia is looking magnificent.Which promises warmer weather in my future. My banana tree has survived the frosts and hasn't even wilted, for which I am grateful. With Spring cleaning approaching, I glanced at my cupboards and tried to decide if I should discard some clothes or not. I have 4 wearable dresses. I did have 5 but the material shredded on my orange dress when I walked past a nail. Luckily I wasn't exposed to ... well exposure. I am seriously thinking of repairing the rip because it was one of my five favourite dresses. Oh okay, I only have five, so technically, it wasn't a favourite. A few weeks back I wore my most colourful dress along with an equally eye watering coloured jacket, I have decided to be eccentric and bold, or something adjacent to either one of those. I was speaking to someone this week and she asked when I had become fat? I told her I had no idea when the fat era had arrived. I went to bed one night slim and lovely and woke up the next morning struggling to see my toes. Life is like that. One moment you have a cupboard full of socks and dresses and matching underwear, and then overnight, odd socks and dresses with rips in them. I remember a special dress from my youth that I loved and am so tempted to buy a similar one. Temu has it in a luscious forest green. Oh to buy or not to buy that is the question. And when I open the parcel will I dance with joy or cry? Or will I regret not buying it and adding it to my 5 dress stash? 

I was contacted by a distant cousin of my husband. 7th cousin. She asked if I knew anything about the Christiani family. Well, of course I do. Never met a single one in real life, but I have researched them up the wazoo. There's this one story that I was sure she had heard of.  Wilhelmina Christiani being on a ship that was torpedoed in 1918. She held her little daughter above the waves for three days before being rescued. Elsie (the daughter) survived but Wilhelmina slipped below the waves and drowned before she could be saved. Elsie went on to live to be the grand old age of 90 and had two daughters. So, Paula, the 7th cousin, says 'No, never knew that story.' Good grief folks, genealogy is all about the stories of heroes and great deeds. We do get the occasional punter at the FamilySearch library just wanting dates and places, And one particular man who wants to prove that he is related to Elvis and Queen Elizabeth II. But they are the exception.  I love unearthing the stories that get them hooked on genealogy. My grandpa who escaped the Nazi concentration camp and tried to walk across the Sahara desert to return home. The story of my dad sleeping through a bombing raid and later his plane being shot at over the sea and having to limp home to fight another day. My grandma was arrested as a spy when she hung her panties out of a porthole to dry. Silly stories of young men at war and also people who fought against great odds to put food on their tables to feed their children. And court records from the Old Bailey in London. One ancestor was a judge and the other one a witness to the crime of a handkerchief being stolen. And then you get people like me who haven't done anything courageous but still love to know useless facts. Like: did you know a crocodile cannot stick out its tongue and that Australia is wider than the moon? And that honey can never go rotten and yet the bottles of honey you buy have a use by date. And kangaroos cannot walk backwards. My dad used to love useless facts and I have inherited his penchant for silliness.  Now as to cousin Paula, she wants photos and stories and I will have my work cut out for me to fulfil her wants and needs. 

If life is like a candle bright

Death must be the wind

You can close your window tight

And it still comes flowing in

So I will climb the highest hill

And watch the rising sun

And I pray that I don't feel the chill

'Til I'm too old to die young.

A few friends have died lately. None of them suddenly, and all of them past the age of youth. And each time I hear of another person dying, I think of this song by Moe Bandy.  I have taken to watching videos about Hospice care. No, don't worry I'm not telling you that I am standing on life's precipice. It's like watching those True Crime dramas. They are fascinating but you don't want to be a part of it all. But it is sad to say farewell to good people. I suppose I can say I was happy to have known them and how they enriched my life. But I still grieve. 

Let me watch my children grow

To see what they become

Lord don't lets the cold winds blow

Til I'm too old to die young

Well I have had some dear sweet friends

I thought would never die

The only things that are left of them

Are these teardrops in my eyes?

And now to more positive stuff. I am in the throes of researching my latest children's book. The Moving Forest is a legend from Swanscombe, Kent where the local people stood up to William the Conqueror by camouflaging themselves as trees and negotiating a right to continue their ancient privilege of inheritance of gavelkind. William was apparently intimidated by the forest coming to life around him. He was quite superstitious and seeing the trees transform into spear and bow armed men and women was more than he could handle and he signed the treaty and thereby Kent was never conquered. (Gavelkind being the practice of leaving an inheritance to each son equally and not just to the oldest) My story will be told from the viewpoint of a child and a tree. Yes folks, Fascinating stories live in my mind. And I do have 25% Kentish blood running through my veins, so I am not stepping on any cultural toes by telling this story. How do I know that I am Kentish? DNA and a family tree that goes back to 1500 in Kent. Maybe my ancestors stood shoulder to shoulder with those camouflaged folk? Hey, maybe that is why I love being in nature? Mental health professionals tell us that time in the trees with birdsong soothes the stresses from brains, lifts mood and focuses on the positives. So what if I sometimes feel like hiding behind a tree with a crossbow to shoot at troublesome folks that challenge my peace? I am partial to poking the bear, which is absolutely not conducive to a calm life. Perhaps attacking my enemies with a feather duster? Or fern fronds? Yup, might as well use that feather duster for something useful, it's not as if I spend much time on housework? Feather duster at the ready and hiding in the silver ferns sounds about right to me.