Happy days

What a lovely couple of days we’ve had here, celebrating the wedding of a sweet young couple, Sebastian and Maria.  Seb and Edward have been the best of friends since they were in the pre-prep and we’ve watched both of them grow into fine young men.  Even so, when they are together, the spirit and characters of those two small boys remain and when Seb invited Edward to be his best man it was a lovely acknowledgement of their lasting friendship. 

For us, it was a real delight to watch them both.  Edward took his responsibilities seriously, doing his best to support the anxious bridegroom and most of our phone conversations last week began with “we’ve been thinking…”  The sweetest outcome of these chats continued “…that it’d be a good idea for Seb to stay with us the night before”, so on Wednesday night we had a houseful of slightly nervous but quite excited friends, full of anticipation for the big day ahead.

It was a beautiful day from start to finish. We weren’t sure what to expect from the Nuptial Mass ceremony, held in a local Priory church but knew that it was going to include quite a few personal touches to both families.  In particular, we knew there would be music, because our friends are great musicians and several of their friends and colleagues were going to play.  We also expected the ceremony to include some Mexican traditions, acknowledging Maria’s family culture, too.  So when the bride’s mother stepped forward to read from the Bible, it seemed natural that she read in Spanish.  All wedding services are special, of course, but this one was tailor-made and from the bi-lingual readings to the ushering-activities of five kilted cousins from the Scottish side of the family, this one was especially so.

For me, the most delightful aspect throughout was that the bride and groom spoke to one another, face to face rather than standing side by side as I seem to remember my Hero and I did some 36 years ago next week.  Now I understood why Seb had expressed a slight anxiety that they would both have a fit of giggles during the ceremony, because at times like this, when we’re nervous, that kind of thing occasionally happens.  But he needn’t have worried because both bride and groom were fully committed to the serious promises they were making and the sincerity of their words and love for one another was clear to see.

 

We knew from a conversation with Seb that morning that he’d been especially worried about one particular stage of the ceremony: The tradition of the thirteen gold coins which the groom passes to the bride at some point.  He’d envisaged dropping them, of them slipping through his shaking hands or Maria not managing to hold her hands steadily enough to catch them.  But all fears unfounded, for the thirteen coins were successfully presented and all was well!

It had been a cold and rather showery start to the day but the collected crossed fingers of friends, relatives and the hundred or so ladies at the WI meeting I’d spoken to on Wednesday evening (which included the now-retired boys’ reception teacher) worked the magic, because as the married couple stepped out of the church, the sun put in a brief appearance and those dark clouds held off for a while.

The wedding reception, in a local hotel, was a fitting celebration of the couple too.  The bride’s father spoke of his lovely daughter in Spanish with simultaneous translation provided by the groom, the bridegroom himself gave a typically modest and self-effacing but heartfelt speech which generously left the ground clear for the best man.  Edward did his friend proud and confirmed what we all know already: Seb and Maria are a very special couple indeed and we all wish them every happiness as they start their life together.

Practice practice

On the “About me” page, I describe myself as someone who wants to do it all perfectly in the next five minutes.  Though that’s pretty accurate, I recognise that if something does go right first time, then (in professional-speak) “opportunities for learning are missed”.  We’ve been watching the new series of Masterchef and noting how frequently the contestants who go straight through to the second round without the need to participate in the cook-off are eliminated.  It’s almost as though the weaker cooks gain an advantage from that extra time spent in the kitchen.

In the last few days, I’ve been gaining advantage from extra time spent with my sewing machine!

I accepted a challenge recently and thought that I’d get on and get ahead.  With a couple of days open on my calendar, it seemed a good time to prepare one or two things to have up my sleeve for when life gets busy again.  So, out came the sewing machine and a small gadget called the “Spanish Hemstitch Equipment” and I sat down to create some samples.

I’d not gone very far before I decided that it was a waste of time creating mere sample pieces.  Why not use the practice pieces to make something useful?  Actually, in the small instruction book which came in the box with the gadget, there was a small project for a table mat.  I had fabric and thread on hand (!) so I cut and prepared the pieces as recommended.

I even got out my overlocker and serged the edges.  My goodness, that was quite an adventure in itself!

I finished some of the edges too, but as I did, crisis struck.

I needed to refill the bobbin and when I replaced it, I got an error message.  The hook wouldn’t engage.  At this point, I didn’t panic – the same thing had happened before and I had been given advice about what to do. 

This time, though, I got a different message.  Oh dear.

Help!  Thankfully, I have a very good friend with considerably more experience than I have and several emails later, all was well.

I’d also added two or three other “tricks” to my repertoire of actions to take when things don’t go quite right.  Every cloud has a silver lining, eh?

I was going to need to use every one of those tricks in the next few days, because things didn’t go quite right.  Remember, I not only expect to be an instant expert but I’d like it all to turn out perfectly too?  (Even if this is only a sample; a practice piece!)

So I ripped it out.  Frogged it, as they say (ripit ripit, geddit?)

I decided that I needed to work a practice piece so that my practice project would turn out ok.  After all, I need a respectable piece of work at the end of all of this, please.  Second rate just will not do!

Even after much practice though, yesterday afternoon did not yield a single respectable sample.  More practice is needed.

A pity that most of my practice is in frogging it, though.

The Summer of ‘78

I was driving into Gloucester yesterday and choosing not to listen to a programme about rhino poaching, I switched to a different channel and was immediately transported to another time, another place – another life!  Suddenly, in my mind, I wasn’t driving down the Cotswold edge but I was somewhere in Northern Germany; in Ostholstein to be precise, travelling with the Isle of Wight Youth Orchestra who were playing a series of concerts.  The programme included Tchaikovsky's 2nd Symphony and as I hummed along to the radio I was back there in the orchestra.

In July 1978, I’d just completed my first year of teaching science in a middle school on the Island and had allowed myself to be persuaded to work with the Junior Orchestra every Saturday. One of the delights (and a huge contrast to the rest of my working week) was that whenever I lifted my baton, twenty or thirty small faces would look up and obey my every move!  Well, I’m not sure they did, but at the time it was a pretty interesting experience, I can tell you

Anyway, two weeks before the big Youth Orchestra was due to leave for a tour of the Isle of Wight’s twin county in Germany, someone discovered they were short of a female member of staff and I didn’t need to be asked twice if I’d like to go along.  That I could speak pretty fluent German and could earn my keep as an additional violinist probably counted in my favour as well. All rather last minute, but I was unattached and fancy free – what was to lose?

We had a great time and the tour was a great success.  But as I listened to the symphony on the radio it didn’t prompt the usual sheet of music memory which is generally imprinted on my brain following weeks of practice – probably because I didn’t have that experience in that particular case.  I couldn’t picture any of the concert halls or indeed, remember much of the rest of the programme.  Instead, I found myself listening for the sound of a gong: a somewhat strange memory to associate with all of that, but sure enough, as I waited at the traffic lights, almost at my destination, there it was.

Bong!

If ever you travelled with a bunch of excited youngsters and their assorted “stuff”, their instruments and other essential paraphernalia like music (!) on a two week tour of maybe five different venues in a foreign country, then perhaps you’d know why the principal picture which came into my mind as I heard that particular symphony was of a small boy carrying a huge gong.  Because, bless him, he carried that blooming gong for the whole of those two weeks for that single note!  I’d like to think that Tchaikovsky was smiling as he included that essential feature in his work, or that maybe he’s looked on with amusement as orchestras around the world have schlepped the most unwieldy of instruments to far flung concert halls for a single moment of glory.

The whole symphony is on YouTube (of course), not played by the Isle of Wight Youth Orchestra of 1978 sadly and the moment of which I write occurs at around the 34 minute mark.

So there we are, the Summer of ‘78.

Well, it didn’t finish there, did it, because within a week of returning home I’d met my hero; we’d become better acquainted over the last two weeks of the school holidays and I returned to the Isle of Wight very reluctantly indeed.  By half term, we were engaged and the rest is history!

Cue Barry Manilow?

Getting on

I thought it was time I iced the Christmas cake.

Finished.

Done.  Complete. 

After a great deal of effort this week, at last I can clear the decks of everything South America-related and move on to other things (I have quite a list).  I really ought to have resisted the temptation to do as I always do and taken my hero’s advice to forget about creating a journal this time round, for it ended up being a bit half-hearted and mainly a repository for one of two bits of ephemera which wouldn’t fit elsewhere.

I’d used the little grey Moleskine cahiers to scribble in as I went and as usual, the notes I jotted in there are a much more effective means of recording the story than anything.  This was the small drawing I did following our flight over the Nazca Lines in Peru.  Nothing more needed really, don’t you agree?

As usual, I feel I can be quite free to write down my thoughts in there!

It’s also a great way to spend five minutes here and there, practising my drawing.  I don’t feel constrained to create a pretty page or to get everything correct – I scribble and cross things out and don’t feel I’m making a respectable piece of work.  I’m just jotting stuff down.

Whereas in my journal, I feel I have to make something more attractive and “finished”. 

After a few days I had developed a common style for each page with the date, the weather and where we were.  I tried to draw and paint a couple of things in there but that paper just wouldn’t stand up to anything vaguely wet.  Even the rubber stamp ink soaked through if I wasn’t careful.

So occasionally, it was hard to fill the rest of the page and as a result, there’s quite a lot of blank space.

I filled a whole page with the cut out Andean cross pattern and went on to fill the opposite side with a few details about the day.

By the time I got to the last couple of days, I really struggled to finish it. 

I felt that on this occasion I’d told the same stories over and over again.  Why?  There really wasn’t any need to create that journal at all and I ought to have given it up before I went too far with it.  Never mind.  I’ll remember for next time!

Won’t I?