:: The Wendy House ::

I do love the sound of a banjo before bedtime.  This lullaby is the first song that I remember singing.  During those good old days, sing-along-a-mumzie was a regular and highly valued feature of my daily life (1966).  The lullaby musical genre appears slightly under-exploited by current popsters.

The Seekers sang Morningtown ride

Thanks to Scarlet for introducing ‘jukebox monday’ on her blog, an idea I am shamelessly apeing here in The Wendy House.

Bangladeshi restaurant in Earley, Reading.

Dressed in white shirts and black neatly ironed trousers the Garden of Gulab staff welcomed me into their restaurant and were able to find a table for one in the crowded restaurant.  The customers looked and sounded pale skinned English,  the staff looked and sounded more Asian. 

My choice was a Balti.  I love Balti’s,  ever since I started eating them in the mid 1980s in a local Birmingham Sparkbrook restaurant on Ladypool Road.  The Ladypool road restaurant I used had no flatware and the staff would treat you as if you were an irritant if you had the afrontery to insult their food by asking for flatware.  I learned to eat my food properly,  with my fingers. 

It’s not easy. 

In the Garden of Gulab I ate my meal with my fingers leaving the impressive, superfluous, traditional English flatware untouched.  In Birmingham I was given a thick soft damp heated flanel to clean my hands after the meal.  In the Garden of Gulab I was given an individually plastic-wrapped disposable wet-paper-wipe.  Functionally sufficient yet lacking the touch of quality that I had learned to enjoy.  The food was excellent if disappointingly mild compared to my Birminghan experiences.  The balti arrived in an ordinary metal dish,  not the sizzling hot Balti bowl that it had been cooked in.  

Mumzie doesn’t like Indian food,  I think she’d thoroughly enjoy this place and the food. 

The waiter bought a complimentary small brandy to my table explaining it was because I had finished my main meal quickly.  

Excellent English-i-fied version of an Indian restaurant and charming staff. 

Mumzie:  GWENDOLYN!  Remember to shut the fridge door after you’ve used the milk

Wendy:  ………

In the US my fridge door was weighted,  it fell shut automatically.  Slightly irritating when making a cup of tea at a leisurely pace.  Here in the UK my fridge door is not weighted.  If I forget to shut it the fridge tries to cool the whole kitchen. 

Memories of mumzies wise words shiver around the room…

BT Support Engineer:  Mrs. House…

Wendy:  …my mother isn’t here

BT Support Engineer:  can I talk to her?

Wendy:  I don’t see why,  its my phone,  my home,  my internet connection and I’m 44,  why do you need to talk to my mother?

BT Support Engineer:  Ms. House?

Wendy:  Yes?

Wendy aged 12 (1975): can I have my ears pierced?
Mumzie: when your are 18yrs
Wendy: will you pay for it?
Mumzie: yes, when you are 18yrs
Wendy: if I pay for it can I have it done now?
Mumzie: yes if I choose the place that you get it done and come with you.

-

Wendy aged 18 (1981): remember you said you’d pay for me to have my ears pierced when I’m 18.
Mumzie: you’ve had them pierced already, I’m not paying for a second piercing, I’ll throw you out, if you get them pierced a second time.

-

Mumsie didn’t notice the second piercing for nearly 6 months.  Rather than throw me out she sighed very heavily and used the mumsie version of the Chinese water torture.  almost lethal.

The younger generations of the House family have, more topical, gory, body-piercing stories, because time has changed the etiquette of piercings

I did my upmost to light family festive barneys by:

• eating a whole jar of pickled beetroot at one meal.
• Using the wrong remote-control (choice of 6) to change TV channels. 
• asking for porridge.
• Securing the largest portion of Triffle.
• mentioning that ‘run cmd’ provides access to a DOS window in XP

the stager wandered through the Wendy house asking questions like “can we move that into a cupboard where it can’t be seen” and “do you have any throws“,  “pack all the books except those about movie stars,  the dictionary,  and books with classic or high quality covers,  pack anything that might provoke speculation about who you are taking their focus off the house“. 

I asked her “should I get rid of the plants” and “I expect the religious paintings and angels have to go” to which she replied “I’m glad YOU said that,  you’re right”.  ”Well religion leads to wars so its probably not good for selling homes“. 

In the Wendy House boudoir he Stager chirped enthusiastically about my Kieth Bowen print.  This print is in the boudoir because it made house guests squirm.  Which apparantly is not a good thing.  I love the charcole portrayal of a Swaledale ewe,  wool ruffled in the harsh snowdonia winds,  suckling her lamb.  It’s all mumzie!  But this mother-daughter sucky-moment in unpleasant weather isn’t a hit with the masses.  We agreed that it should probably be covered-up. 

In the garage the Stager encountered my infamous circles and whooped with joy…   …they must have some hidden mistical powers…  …cetainly they have not been known to offend….  …maybe if you watch them and relax they hypnotize you into wanting to buy the Wendy haose  hease house.

When I told mumzie that I was suprised to find a Castle named after the English King John in Limerick on an Island called Kings Island in English town,  Mumzie wrote:

John (lackland) as he was called, was so annoyed that his brothers had their own land, dukedoms etc. that his father gave him Ireland.

 King John was born the 5th and youngest son of King Henry II.  All reports of him appear to agree that he was treacherous, cowardly and an ill mannered sloth.  He was excommunicated by the Pope and divorcing his first wife well before King Henry VIII.  He was the younger brother of King Richard I,  Richard Couer de Lion.  He ran Britain while Richard was fighting the Holy wars and Robin Hood was doing his legendary deeds in the North of England.  Wikipedia has an entry specifically on John’s relationship with Ireland.  I suspect you can now see why I was surprised to find a castle named after him,  in a predominantly Catholic nation. 

Mumzie also had some useful insights on the new ripping yarn in 10 episodes for the TV “The Tudors“:

Terrible history, and script….really corny. Got bad reviews here. Hairstyles a bit ahead of the times, more Elizabethan, and they certainly didn’t have underpants, just long shirts that tucked under.

While I was still under 5″6′ Mumzie would regularly remind me

“don’t eat cheese before you go to bed.  It will give you a bad nights sleep and nightmares“   

An informal survey of US people revealed that naught-out-of-three had been given similar advice by their Moms.  Are US Moms unfamiliar with the dreamy properties of cheese or is dreamy cheese a myth?  This post summarises my undercover research studies aimed at revealing the Wendy-dream-inducing characteristics of my favourite nibbles by eating them after 7pm for 7 nights in a week.  Here’s the dirt so far: 

• Normal dreams:  Cream cheese, Stilton
• Forgettable dreams = Brie,  Danish Blue
• Dream suppressant = Soft goats cheese, Edam,  Chimay
• Exaggerating life dreams =  Danish Blue, Havarti
• Dreams of social activites =  Havarti
• Disrupted sleep = Stilton

Everytime I get the inclination to take another cheese under the covers I will update this blog post.  You too can send me the outcomes of your undercover investigations and I’ll publish them here if you play by the official rules detailed in  ’How to play dreamy cheese‘ and show due deference to UK cheeseboard research.

Mumsie packed older brother (9yrs) and I (5yrs) on a public bus for a 40min bus ride to the Marlborough St. City centre bus terminal. 

Exciting.  Adventure.  Upstairs on a double-decker bus without any adults.  Going to the big city.  Bother held my hand as we left the bus.  We walked up the hill towards the  Bristol Royal Infirmary.  I knew the way because I came on the Bus with Mumsie every Thursday when she came to the city to shop. 

Crossing the road,  very scary.  Mumzie always held my hand, checked for traffic.  I didn’t know how to cross the road.  I still find it particularly tricky.  I held my brothers hand tightly, walked fast and close to him as we crossed the road.  Once in the hospital I had no idea where to go.  My brother read the signs and found my other brother (6yrs) in the childrens ward,  who promptly started crying. 

What a wuss.  Here in this interesting big hospital with lots of fabulous toys and other children to play with and all he does is sit in bed crying!  I wandered off to play with the other children and big toys.   One of the children was bald.  Some wacky children in here.  Then dad turned up and we left crying brother in the hospital,  crying even more now.  We rode home in Dads pale blue Ford Corsair car.  I was allowed to sit in the front seat because Mumzie wasn’t there. 

All in all  a fabulous adventure. 

Ma’am!   (check-out person)

….oooops…. (Wendy)

I forgot to pick-up my cash-back when leaving the check-out. I don’t recall ever having being called ‘Ma’am’ before.  The uses I’m familair with have subtle intonational differences that get drowned in regional accents.  Familiar uses are:

1. mumsie talking to, and of,  her own mumzie,  a Northern English term. 
2. a way of addressing the Queen directly used in the film. 
3. an abrieviation of ‘Madam’ used for troublesome girls: “she was being a right little madam“;   people who run establishments that comodify the female physique; in the French sense a mature women beyond maidenhood.

I wonder whether the check-out person meant one, some or all of these?

Parody targeting the Cosmopolitan readership:

This parody was inspired by

• the quality paintings and ideas in the ‘Gallery of the Absurd‘, 
• the thought provoking essays of Twisty, 
• one among many offensive Magazine covers,
• People who made witty observations when listening to me rant about the magazine,  e.g. piehole, coalandice.
• LooSea being treated, gave me unanticipated time at home.  
• my Mum for not allowing ‘those magazines that print nothing but rubbish‘ in the house (Cosmopolitan in the 1970’s).
• painting is focussing, relaxing, and cheap self-entertainment.

The original painting is available to the first person that sends me realistic details on how to deliver it to them.

Given my paint-skill levels,  this was the wrong media, medium, for a magazine cover parody.  I needed either a steady hand or a good stencil to paint small text to effectively mimic the standards of mass-printing production.  I have neither a steady hand nor the patience to create a stencil or imagination to purchase one.  This project would have been more effectively executed if I’d planned to use magazine covers to create a collage or software to design something very precise. I’ll know better next time when I pluck up the courage,  like the Cultfigurine, to venture inside the magazine…. 

I see their heads, a pair of pinballs bouncing in the distance, as they scan the hall between the taller, faster-moving, arrivals.  Dad’s thick heavy straight hair has a glass-fibre-optic luminance that is easily held in view.

Heading towards them, restraining the impulse to run, my strides extend.  I’m bound to fall over if I run amongst unsuspecting normal people.  A quick glance around confirms that  adults don’t run in arrivals lounges.  I’m an adult now.  I walk, like the other arrrivals around my parents, very very very fast. 

After the 200yrd dash I manage to approach dad head-on and get both arms around his shoulders before he’d recognised me.  His shoulders?  I don’t remember ever having been able to reach his shoulders before now.   He kisses my cheek in front of my ear.  He can no longer reach my forehead.  Standing upright with his familiar cheshire cattish grin while Mum joins the hug simultaneously giggling and chattering.  They had, they explained, ’seen’ me but not recognised me…..

I hug-herd them to the luggage reclaimation rack while mother spills the first few lines of this story, then that, then the other, and another.  I barely have time to savour the images she draws before being pulled to the next story.  Dad grins silently,  keeping his sparkly dark blue eyes trained on the baggage go-round,  going round.  In this moment of our studying the baggage go round,  unobserved chattering mother wanders off,  disappearing into the crowd,  giggling and chatting to herself as she goes.

Is this how toddlers’ parents feel when they realise they can no longer see or hear their their toddler?

I’ll never know.

pre-teenage Wendy to Mum and Dad:

not ANOTHER castle,  please no.  No more Castles.  Look, Castles are made of stone,  have dungeons and halls and lots of spiral staircases and are generally falling apart.  Once you’ve seen one or two Castle’s you’ve pretty much got the Castle thing covered.  Can we go to the beach instead?  Please… please….  …or a tin mine?  

After 6 years living inn the USA, during a visit to Mum and Dad’s home last year….

Let’s go on a day trip to a Castle or a Stately home,  or somewhere maintained by British Heritage,  please,  anywhere on your list of old places to visit?

Mum and Dad arrive in Seattle tomorrow for a week long holiday.  Holy Vacuum Cleaners!  Parental cleanliness standards are beyond my comprehension.  This means I’ll be spending Satruday blitzing the cat-fluff.  There are no Castle’s nearby so I’m going to spring Teatro Zinzanni on them,  wish me luck…

that’s how the locals say ’Spokane‘. They don’t say ‘Spo kane’. 

This weekend Flat Eric is taking me to a turn of the century (1908) Spokane city ‘Registered Historic Landmark’ Bed and Breakfast, Stoltz House, Oh Yeah Baby!

Spokane was the smallest city to host a World fair.  The first World fair with an ‘environmental’ theme inspired by concerns about mining poluting the local river.  Growing awareness of the local regional nuclear contamination attributed to the Hanford facility may have played a role.  Hanford is within 150 miles of Spokane.  Wikipedia mentions that Hanford is known for being the site which supplied the nuclear material for the ‘Manhattan project’ and the bomb dropped on Nagasaki.  We’ll be spending a few moments in silent contemplation overlooking Hanford on Memorial day.  Apparantly much of the original site is now ‘orchards’.  Hmmmmm… Washington apples,  distributed all over America.  

I once accidentally drove onto the current Hanford site and was promptly acosted by a military person waving a BIG gun. ”Sorry sir,  it was such a nice big road and so empty I thought it was a ‘toll booth’ not a military check point“. I suspect a convincing ditsyness,  it being Christmas Eve,  my ‘cute’ English accent and Flat Eric wearing his seat-belt in the passenger seat helped me get out of that without an interrogation.    

Flat Eric will be in the passenger seat again on the way to Spokane;  it has free city-wide wireless service.  YAY!  that suits this online girly,  Darling will be coming with me downtown! 

HOLIDAY! 

I’m already way too excited.  The kind of excitement that leads to these comments:

Mumzie: ”there will be tears before bedtime“ (Wendy under 4″0′)

Wendy: “there will be beers before bedtime” (Wendy over 5″5′)

HOORAY! HURRAH! 

              boing                   boing                    boing                   

boing                    boing                    boing                    boing

Fictional conversation with my ever-wise Mumsie :

Mumsie: “your dinner’s ready”

Wendy: “I’m not done yet” (tidying my bedroom)

Mumsie: “Gwendolyn,  YOU have not FINISHED.  The Dinner is DONE.  You are not a dinner that can be ‘done’.  Stop what you are doing now,  finish it after dinner, or your dinner will be OVERDONE and you risk being DONE OVER“

A quick look in online dictionarys suggests that the US usage of ‘done’ is appropriate.  It makes me wince.  It doesn’t ’sound’ right.  Obviously, I blame my mother for this over sensitivity.  She may not be responsible for this quirk of mine…

Mumzie said:

“Darling,  don’t talk with your mouth full.  Spraying partially chewed food over the person you are talking-to is not a skill worth cultivating”

“Darling, the whole world doesn’t want to see your food while you are eating it,  close your mouth”

“If you don’t chew properly you’ll get indegestion“

I suspect mum was onto something.  I’ve not yet had indegestion (42yrs).  I’ve not taken tablets to avoid indegestion. 

US server: “is the food alright for you“ (just after I put a mouthful of food in my mouth)

Wendy:  chews…   …chews faster…   …chews faster faster…  …swallows…   …. ”yes it is fine thankyou”

US Server: “that was quite a build-up” turns around and walks away before I can say anything more

I must learn to deal with servers asking me this ’service checklist’ question while i have a mouth full of food… 

Happy mumzie day

The BBC explains the origins of the day:

Most Sundays in the year churchgoers in England worship at their nearest parish or “daughter church”.

Centuries ago it was considered important for people to return to their home or “mother” church once a year. So each year in the middle of Lent, everyone would visit their “mother” church, or the main church or Cathedral of the area.

Inevitably the return to the “mother” church became an occasion for family reunions  when children who were working away returned home. (It was quite common in those days for children to leave home for work once they were ten years old.)

And most historians think that it was the return to the “Mother” church which led to the tradition of children, particularly those working as domestic servants, or as apprentices, being given the day off to visit their mother and family.

As they walked along the country lanes, children would pick wild flowers or violets to take to church or give to their mother as a small gift.

The US celebrates ‘Mothers day’ in May.  This website describes the US history as:

In 1907, Anna M. Jarvis (1864-1948), a Philadelphia schoolteacher, began a movement to set up a national Mother’s Day in honor of her mother, Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis. She solicited the help of hundreds of legislators and prominent businessmen to create a special day to honor mothers. The first Mother’s Day observance was a church service honoring Anna’s mother. Anna handed out her mother’s favorite flowers, the white incarnations, on the occasion as they represent sweetness, purity, and patience. Anna’s hard work finally paid off in the year 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed the second Sunday in May as a national holiday in honor of mothers.

It’s not clear to me why it a, new,  different day was required.  This website mentions several different, non-christian, celebrations of motherhood.  Wikipedia lists differnet days of celebration in different countries. 

The British pagan goddess Brigantia,  after whom Britain is named, is a mother figure celebrated long before christianity.  I was suprised that my search didn’t easily find information on more diverse celebrations of motherhood being appropriated into the current ‘mothers’ days.

Below is a list of words and phrases I’ve heard used in the US that could prompt this fictional conversation with mumzie

mumzie: ‘Oh dear.  Gwendolyn, what a pity.  Your language HAS deteriotated since moving THERE”

reply from US-ified wendy: ‘MOM!    So, it’s cool… …ok… …don’t spaz’ (chews gum)

or reply from UK wendy; “Mumzie you are death-defyingly CUTE!  Yes my language has changed a little bit.  The change is not really a problem because people can still not-understand what I’m talking about and I can still appropriately use numerous words of more than 4 syllables. That means there is no need for you to worry. 

mumzie: “That’s enough cheek from you..   …have you brushed your teeth yet today?” (laying an Irony? trap for Wendy)

UK & US wendy:  “MUM!  I’m 42!!!” (Wendy falls into the trap of believing her mother would actually check on her adult teeth-cleaning activities.  Whoops!)

mumsie*: Teeeee Heee Heeeee…. 

Here are the potential mumsie offending words:

“Totally” appears to be used in the US as short hand to confirm agreement.  The UK equivalent is probably ”Absolutely”

“OK” this is used as frequently in the UK.  Here in the NW US they appear to say ‘MK‘,  I’m not sure why.  Mumsie doesn’t like ’OK’ because according to her it’s not a real word.  It’s a word that the American’s bought to Britain in WW2 with their offensive gum chewing habits.  I can remember her saying to me ”Take that gum out of your mouth darling. It’s rude to chew in public.”

“Rocks” used to indicate that something is impressive.   You say “rocks!” As oppose to the slightly more verbose,  specific, mumsie approved variations ”was very impressive’ or citing specific virtues ”I really liked the way the shimmering colours reflected in the moonlight”

“Awesome” (1.) almost the same as “Rocks”  (2.) used to indicate pleasure when someone understands or agrees with you.

“Cool“ appears to have multiple meanings depending on use context.  Here are a few I’ve noticed:

1. I hear what you are saying (OK)
2. I agree with you (OK)
3. That is not a problem (OK)
4. very stylish (Rocks)
5. the right thing to do and done with style. (Totally Rocks)

“So” widespread use of this word to start and string utterances together.  It’s like conversational glue.  There are definitely UK conversational equivalents such as “right“,  “like” “eerrrr”

’spaz“ appears to be used in the US as an abreviation of ’spasmodic’ or ’spasm’.  In the UK this term is more likely to be interpretted as an abbreviation of “Spastic” a derogatory term to refer to people suffering from Cerebral Palsey.  Not politically correct in the UK.

Unlike mumzie,  I do not disapprove of using these words in these ways.  Like mumsie, I prefer minimizing repetition and maximizing creative use of a broad vocabulary that communicates effectively. 

 * I love my mum she’s wicked!

Mum taught me how to darn soon after teaching me how to knit (pre-teen) and weave.  All these skills have been valuable.  A knowledge of weaving and knitting is a useful pre-requisite for understanding the principles of darning. 

Check out my recent handy work.

As a professionally employed person I could replace the clothes.  For me, having the ability to repair is better.  It gives me a preferable choice because it

• enables me to extend the life of special clothes

• side-steps unexpected obscolescence

• reduces ICKY shopping trips 

Obscolescence.  Love that word.  Say it again with me:

Obscolescence

W Darn-good

On Boyfriends:

• Wendy age 12 “Mum, what do you think of boyfriends?” .  Mum “They’re okay one at a time“
• Gave me a front door key (age 12) and said “let us know if you’re not coming home over-night,  otherwise we’ll stay awake waiting to hear you come in“  Cunning,  I always felt morally obliged to tell her exactly where I was and when I was coming home…
• Wendy age 16, after boyfriend dumped me because I wouldn’t marry him before I’d been to college.  Wendy “what did you think of him mum?“.  Mum “He’s in the Navy dear“
• Wendy age 17, dating an Oxford University undergraduate studying “Classic’s” who had an Aristocratic family name, all boys-private-school education with a ‘plummy‘ accent.  He would bring HER roses when he visited.  She phoned all her relatives, even distant ones that she didn’t like, to tell them his name.  Never before or since has she done this. 
• Upon meeting my first love (age 19),  she left the hallway,  shut the kitchen door (NEVER normally shut) and we could hear:  “HaaaHaaaa Haaaa,  haaa,  haaa,  teeee heee heeee“
• After first-love dumped me (age 22):  “He didn’t have enough umpff for you dear“.  I know why she laughed,  I thought that was ‘Umpff’.  Poweful insight on her part,  wish I knew how to recognise “Umpff“. 

On Wendy’s pierced nose (since age 19)

• “Congratulations,  you’ve managed to highlight the worst feature on your face“
• “Oh,  let me polish that dear it’s all greasy“
• “It’s just a phase you’re going through,  you’ll grow out of it”
• “Is that a zit dear?  oh,  I couldn’t tell the difference”
• “Don’t wear emerald’s there dear“

 On Wendy’s tattoos (since age 22)

• “Oh dear,  will that wash off?”
• “Is that cancerous?”
• “What exactly is it meant to be?”

On Marriage:

• After Wendy had been ‘engaged’ for 3 years, over formal family dinner, she said to us both:  “If you want to elope,  that’s fine with us“
• After Wendy had been ‘engaged’ for 5 years,  to me in the kitchen ”If money’s the problem dear we can contribute  <generous amount>“
• Unprompted this September:  “good job you didn’t get married dear,  have you seen the cost of weddings?  Its outrageous!“

Mum’s a complete treasure.  I adore her mixture of pragamatism,  support, and clearly stated prejudice.  Love her to bits.

Wendy