As one born in the brighter days of the year, for me, the late spring, is very much my time. I thrive on the bright early dawns and watching the regrowth in the garden. Nothing better than the sense of optimism in the air. But, must admit, I am actually terrified of the dark days of the late autumn and winter. Therefore, the forced effort of challenging the sheer lack of light induced activity, really tires me out. This is a recognized phenomenon known a seasonally affective disorder (SAD). I certainly suffer in these darker days. I have often considered a sort of hibernation. But there is happily so much of celebration to enjoy and a huge amount of fun be gleaned from being active and engaging with life at this time of year. There is no way that I am going to be denied the chance of demonstrating my social being. What miss a party, even if it is a virtual effort! On Tuesday (21st December), just after 4pm, eight minutes (I think), we had the Winter Solstice, when everything gets sort of reset and our planet is tilted back, in it's alignment to capture the light again. For me that change was profound and significantly felt. Certainly worthy of celebration in itself...I felt revived and woke with enough energy, on Wednesday, to get up and on preparing for the next few days. Days, that I was, earlier, in fact dreading... Especially as this was to be my second Christmas Day, without my Dear Mother... So with her, very much, in my mind and an incredible determination, I managed to get through it... However, I did feel the second one has been even harder than the first., The reality of the passing of time has been highlighted. The big question is, does the passing of time actually heal the pain of grief?... Can that question ever be answered? Then the great comfort of happy memories come to the forefront of the mind. I have a huge volume of memories that really keep me going. The other thing that I wish to be able to achieve is my idea to lead others in the happy encouragement of creative pursuits during the dark winter days that I have referred to. To this end, I really had hoped, before now, to have established what I call, "art, craft, nibble and dribble" social evenings, thus bringing together like minded creative people. The idea being, to enjoy the making of good things, in an inclusive, supportive, social and communal atmosphere. This is something I wish to achieve, once we are socially permitted to be able to do so.
Oh some restless thoughts at mid-night, on The Feast of Stephen. KB.
Monday, 27 December 2021
Tuesday, 7 December 2021
7 December 2021
For host of reasons, I am finding the most vivid of memories of my childhood come rushing to the surface of my mind...In my last post here my memories of the happy little house where I was born. Warmth, laughter and excellent cooking were the features that prevailed there and, of course, got taken to our next home. In these minds eye reruns it seems every frame is filled with people...our family and friends. The big dining table in the living room, was always set for "the extra guest" or more, and the places always filled.
The meals in our home were well planned and expertly cooked by our mother. She had studied dietetics and nutrition, in Glasgow. Everything she did was well managed. Back in those early days, the 1960s, I remember, the meals related very much to shopping trips and the supply and availability of items of food. The week was punctuated by the trip or trips to town.
Tuesday was very important as it was Family Allowance Day, so that was the main food shopping day of the week. There was a regular and frequently used bus service, at the end of the road and we were very lucky as our family had use of a car. Our mother had passed her driving test just before her eldest child was born. She would often comment that this gave her a great sense freedom and confidence...She was to enjoy driving until she suffered a stroke, in February 1994, less than a year after the death of our father and granny (her mother)...Some days she would have the use of the car, driving our father to his work and then being able to get about all day. I remember from times not at school, Tuesday mornings involved a lot of queuing. First at the Post Office, in Francis Street, to collect the essential Family Allowance, lots of women met here every week, and then followed the same pattern down the street. To queue again in W. J. MacDonald's, "Willie John the Butchers", which usually followed the Post Office. Here our mother purchased enough meat and dairy produce to provide several meals. As I explained in an earlier description we did not have a croft or life stock, so we were rather deplete in the experience of such fundamental aspects of our rural life, though we did have hens that provided a wonderful daily supply of eggs. Butcher shops, in the 1960s were still literally raw places, with blood dripping animal carcasses hanging on meat hooks, from wall mounted rails. The floor covered in saw dust. They were none the less clean. "Willie John's", has been transformed over the yeas, but it is still a great local shop now in different ownership. We still go there.
Now I vividly remember Willie John MacDonald himself, indeed a substantial man in every way, he was very fond of my Dear Mother. They always quoted Robert Burns poetry to each other when he served her. I remember he wore a brown overall coat, under his blue and white striped apron.
A quick dart across the then two way traffic of Francis Street, got us to Hugh Matheson's, or Forsythe's, baker and grocer emporium. Here before the time of pre-packaging everything was slice cut or scale measured. Such shops actually smelt genuinely and beautifully of fresh product, rarely found in the vacuum packed era of today.
Further along, in Point Street, there was another such shop, Malcolm MacLean's, "Calum Sgiathanach", baker and grocer, later known as The Stag Baker's, after it's bakery relocated, to Stag Road, in late 1960s or early 1970s. Their shop in Point Street fascinated me as a child, as right throughout the year it had twisting tinsel decorations hanging from the ceiling. I was also aware of multi coloured glass in the doors and windows.
Because she baked herself, shop bought cakes were not ever on our mother's list. The only exception was if she spotted a special variety called "Kunsel"(?) cakes, rich chocolate confections, which I have not seen for decades. There would of course be purchase visits to many of the other shops in the town and we were well served by traveling shops and vans. But Tuesday morning established itself as the practical time for the main shopping for food.
The meals in our home were well planned and expertly cooked by our mother. She had studied dietetics and nutrition, in Glasgow. Everything she did was well managed. Back in those early days, the 1960s, I remember, the meals related very much to shopping trips and the supply and availability of items of food. The week was punctuated by the trip or trips to town.
Tuesday was very important as it was Family Allowance Day, so that was the main food shopping day of the week. There was a regular and frequently used bus service, at the end of the road and we were very lucky as our family had use of a car. Our mother had passed her driving test just before her eldest child was born. She would often comment that this gave her a great sense freedom and confidence...She was to enjoy driving until she suffered a stroke, in February 1994, less than a year after the death of our father and granny (her mother)...Some days she would have the use of the car, driving our father to his work and then being able to get about all day. I remember from times not at school, Tuesday mornings involved a lot of queuing. First at the Post Office, in Francis Street, to collect the essential Family Allowance, lots of women met here every week, and then followed the same pattern down the street. To queue again in W. J. MacDonald's, "Willie John the Butchers", which usually followed the Post Office. Here our mother purchased enough meat and dairy produce to provide several meals. As I explained in an earlier description we did not have a croft or life stock, so we were rather deplete in the experience of such fundamental aspects of our rural life, though we did have hens that provided a wonderful daily supply of eggs. Butcher shops, in the 1960s were still literally raw places, with blood dripping animal carcasses hanging on meat hooks, from wall mounted rails. The floor covered in saw dust. They were none the less clean. "Willie John's", has been transformed over the yeas, but it is still a great local shop now in different ownership. We still go there.
Now I vividly remember Willie John MacDonald himself, indeed a substantial man in every way, he was very fond of my Dear Mother. They always quoted Robert Burns poetry to each other when he served her. I remember he wore a brown overall coat, under his blue and white striped apron.
A quick dart across the then two way traffic of Francis Street, got us to Hugh Matheson's, or Forsythe's, baker and grocer emporium. Here before the time of pre-packaging everything was slice cut or scale measured. Such shops actually smelt genuinely and beautifully of fresh product, rarely found in the vacuum packed era of today.
Further along, in Point Street, there was another such shop, Malcolm MacLean's, "Calum Sgiathanach", baker and grocer, later known as The Stag Baker's, after it's bakery relocated, to Stag Road, in late 1960s or early 1970s. Their shop in Point Street fascinated me as a child, as right throughout the year it had twisting tinsel decorations hanging from the ceiling. I was also aware of multi coloured glass in the doors and windows.
Because she baked herself, shop bought cakes were not ever on our mother's list. The only exception was if she spotted a special variety called "Kunsel"(?) cakes, rich chocolate confections, which I have not seen for decades. There would of course be purchase visits to many of the other shops in the town and we were well served by traveling shops and vans. But Tuesday morning established itself as the practical time for the main shopping for food.
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