Leigh’s Miscellany

When the history books get round to writing up 2020, it’s highly unlikely that they’ll turn to my blog for inspiration, although they could do worse, to be honest. You won’t find any graphs or speeches from Government ministers here. I’ve gone back over the year and picked out things that meant something to me. If they make you smile, or even think, then I’ve done my job.

1. Since lockdown, the social side of shopping has really come to the fore. Having donned my wellies and tramped through the muddy lanes for a mile or so, I get to Wickham for the Saturday market. Olga the Jam Lady and I chat away nineteen to the dozen and if another customer approaches, I suggest they buy some of her Lebanese Fig Chutney. If you’re anywhere near East Suffolk, I suggest you do too. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. I then amble over to see Marie and Graham on the cheese and pie stall and there is more chattering and guffawing. Fruit and veg from Newbourne is next and then a trip to Mrs Spencer and Nice Quiche Lady to stock up on pastry goods for mum and dad and a banter-filled twenty minutes with the boys at Revetts’. Exercise, socialising and shopping. Win win.

2. We got a cat. This is worth two or three bullet points alone. I can’t believe I’m telling you this (bracing self for many sarcastic WhatsApps from friends) but I actually used images of said feline to make Christmas presents. Yes. The children all have a framed photo of the sixth family member on their bedside tables, my daughter has a pencil case and phone cover with her little furry face on them and my parents have a picture of her on the mantelpiece. What have I become?

3. Pre-lock down, I made an effort to look half-decent outside the home. Make-up was applied, hair brushed, nice clothes selected. These days, I can mostly be found with hair in plaits, no make-up, mismatched clothes covered in ash from cleaning out the Rayburn and wellies, like as not. Because really, who cares?

4. Towards the end of the year, I made a significant discovery. There are people in this world who are unpleasant and unkind and who like being that way. Now, this might sound a bit negative, but it’s not. I’ve spent my whole life trying to spread a little happiness, and having it thrown back in my face (occasionally) has not been much fun. This year, I finally realised that I don’t have to do it anymore. It’s liberating.

5. Friends have been a huge part of carrying me through this year. Long-established ones scattered around the country (Essex, Devon, Fife, Northamptonshire) and local ones have kept me going. I’ve met some wonderful fellow writers on the ACW group, including two ladies who have become dear friends without ever actually meeting me. Looking forward to it one day, girls!

6. When I first became a mother seventeen years ago, I was stressed. What if I got it all wrong? What if I messed everything up? In spite of my parenting, the children have turned out pretty well and I felt quite emotional on Christmas Day watching them with their elderly grandparents. They made an effort to chat and listen and when it was time to take them home, they took their hands, put their arm across their shoulders and walked them carefully across the drive to the car. It was wonderful to see.

7. Sticking with the parenting vibe, this year music has played a significant role. Our eldest son is a drummer and has been expanding his musical knowledge. When it was legal, I spent a lot of time ferrying him across Suffolk to band practice while we listened to music. Loud music. Mostly heavy metal. Sometimes, he’d say things like, “Have you ever heard of a band called Rage Against the Machine?” I would snort and remind him that I had a life, thank you very much. He’s got into Led Zeppelin (excellent) and reminded me how much I like them. It’s been a delight watching him discover music which sound-tracked my youth and listening to bands he’s introduced to me.


8. I never had time to watch TV before the pandemic, but 2020 has been the year of quality entertainment. All the usuals plus some outstanding programmes. The Trial of Christine Keeler, Mrs America, Roadkill, Harlots, Staged, The Queen’s Gambit and yes, I admit it, Bridgerton. Corsets, big posh houses, carriages and lots of how’s your father.

9. For me, this has been the year that my dream came true. An actual book deal. I still can’t quite believe it, even though I’ve got an author’s headshot (taken by lovely Cherry Beesley at Simply C Photography) and a book cover. Thank you, Instant Apostle for taking a chance on a new author. The diary of Isabella M Smugge comes out in February. Watch this space.

10. Before the pandemic, I thought I was fairly well-informed. This year has opened my eyes to the predicament of those who live with chronic disease. Some of the most beautiful and heart-breaking writing I’ve ever read has expanded my world view this year. If 2021 is going to be any better than 2020, and we can only hope and pray it is, we need to major on compassion. The headlines are full of stats, but let’s remember that each of those numbers represent a person with a family and hopes and dreams. Just like me. Just like you.

So that’s it for 2020. It’s been quite a year and I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to follow me. Otherwise, I’d be a delusional middle-aged lady in plaits sitting here writing words that no-one reads. Happy New Year and God bless you all.

Images from Pixabay

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.

I Never Thought I'd See the Day

 

This week, I’ve found myself doing things that surprised me. Aged 54, living a relatively comfortable life, it would be easy to get into a rut. Get up, make packed lunches, herd children into car, drop off at school, buy bananas and stuff from Melton Produce on the way home (I don’t know what my parents do with them, but I can’t keep up with demand), load the dishwasher, put on a wash, get down to work. That’s pretty much how every day looks and that’s fine. Work these days involves all kinds of thrilling things. This week, I conducted one interview with a 22-year old Christian mission worker in Manchester, drafted my Christmas blog for More Than Writers, wrote up a piece on writer and stand-up Paul Kerensa, conducted a lifestyle interview on a beautiful Cambridge house and started editing my novel, The Diary of Isabella M Smugge.

Interesting stuff.

But it is not that of which I speak. Anyone who knows me knows I am not really an animal person. My philosophy has always been to keep animals who benefit the household in some way. Our chickens and quail lay eggs for us and in return enjoy a happy life being fed, watered and given plenty of space in which to amble. Dogs are a no-no due to all the time and attention they need. I just haven’t got that time and it wouldn’t be fair to have one. Mr Leigh is mildly allergic to cats and I am terrified of them, so we’ve always set our faces against the suggestions from the children that a cute little kitten might be a nice addition to the family.

As I told you back in June (https://bigwordsandmadeupstories.blogspot.com/2020/06/its-been-quiet-week-in-lake-wobegon.html), we adopted a kitten aged three weeks very much to our surprise (and, presumably, hers). Now a cheerful little thing aged around five months, she has somehow managed to get us all wrapped around her velvety little paws. She has not one but two beds, bought by my besotted husband and daughter to keep her warm at night. “You put the base in the microwave and it heats up,” they told me, returning from a trip to a well-known pet store not a million miles from here. “She’ll love it.” She doesn’t. It’s been completely ignored until we discovered the other day that if we put it in front of the Rayburn when it’s lit, she’ll curl up in it and go to sleep.

A kitten scratching post set provided entertainment until she got too big to squeeze through the furry tube. A crackly mat is also largely ignored. What she does love, more than anything, is Nerf gun bullets. She will play with them for hours and the house is littered with them. Also scraps of paper and random pieces of fluff. Just like young children, if you buy her a toy, she’ll play with the box. There’s a life lesson for us all there.

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I were in the kitchen having a conversation that I would never have thought possible.

Him: “Have you thought about what we should get Misty for Christmas?”

Me: “We should get her a little stocking, don’t you think? How about some antlers?”

Him: “Definitely a stocking and maybe some cat treats. I’ll have a look in that well-known pet store not a million miles from here.”

Me: “How about we get her one of those big scratching posts for her main present?” 

At this point, we broke off and uttered the phrase that has become a daily occurrence.

“I never thought I’d see the day…..”

There will be some people reading this who are spluttering into their coffee at this point. Lynette, Cathy, Steph, you have known me long enough to find this kind of kitten-based chat hilarious. It gets worse.

 Yesterday, Misty paid a visit to the vet to be spayed. She returned home in good spirits with the instruction that we should put a protective cone over her head so she didn’t scratch herself. We all tried. We did. In ones, in twos, in threes. We ended up scratched and traumatised. When we did manage to get it on to her, she wrenched it off. I found myself ringing the vet and asking if they could suggest anything else. “We can give you a kitten vest if you like. It’s a bit like a Babygro.”

And so, we returned from the vet with a kitten clad in a rather natty navy-blue suit. Which she ripped off after an hour and refuses to wear.

At some point in the next few weeks, I will be looking at a kitten Christmas stocking bought by the aforesaid husband and daughter, and instead of screeching, “Have you lost your MINDS?” I will be smiling benevolently and working out what to put in it. And whether to wrap it.

Ah yes, life. It has a habit of sneaking up on you in the most unlikely ways. I never thought I’d see the day.

Images by Pixabay and Unsplash.

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in March 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.

It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon .........

 

…. was the way Garrison Keillor began each Lake Wobegon segment in his, “A Prairie Home Companion” radio show. Everyone knows everyone in Lake Wobegon and all the rules. Lutherans drive Fords bought from Bunsen Motors, Catholics purchase their Chevys from Krebsbach Chevrolet, everyone has lunch at the Sidetrack Tap and the Statue of the Unknown Norwegian (so called because he left before the sculptor got round to asking him his name) is the high point of Main Street.

Since lock down began, I could have started most of my blogs with the same phrase. “It’s been a quiet week in Loudham ….” On the whole, this has been true. The same things have happened in roughly the same order. Planting, watering, weeding, painting, re-potting, bread making, cooking, home schooling, feeding the chickens, mowing, maintaining the empire of compost bins, saying hello to delivery people, chatting to friends and neighbours at a safe distance etc.

Dear readers, be assured that what you read here every week is no exaggeration. I don’t make things up to entertain you and, it turns out, this is because I don’t have to. Recent excitements have included being joined by an enormous stag beetle as I drifted off to sleep (it was nesting in my hair), being bitten by a tortoise and losing tiny amounts of blood due to picking 13lb of gooseberries from a particularly thorny bush.

Last Thursday, however, something really unexpected and out of the usual run of things occurred. Friends and acquaintances know that I am not a cat person. I am scared of them, hate the thought of their claws being stuck into me and leap up into the air if one comes into the room. The children asked if they could have a kitten, once, years ago and have never asked again. Chickens, yes. Quails, absolutely fine. Cats, nope!

Opening our garage door, I was confronted by a tiny bundle of grey fur with huge blue eyes. My husband scooped it up and we gazed at it in wonder. Just at the moment, the three children cycled on to the drive after a long bike ride. What parents can resist three pairs of pleading eyes and three voices crying, “Can we keep it? Please, please, please?”

Not us, it turns out. We released the kitten who immediately ran to the back of the garage. We spent the rest of the day googling cat-related stuff and applying for advice to our feline-loving friends Jenny and Danni. Armed with two litter boxes and various cat accessories, Operation Kitten began. Parented by two feral farm cats, the little fur ball was not being very well looked after. It took my husband and daughter four long hours to extract her from the very corner of the garage.

That was a week ago. It has not been a quiet week in Loudham. We’ve discovered that tiny kittens need to have their bottoms gently rubbed with a wet flannel to encourage them to do a number two. This my daughter has happily done. We’ve found that Misty loves shoes and feet, and I’ve had to stay calm as she gently nibbles my toes. I’ve picked her up, cuddled and stroked her. I’m still a bit scared of her claws.

Friends have expressed disbelief at the news. “You? With a cat? You’re kidding!” I’ve surprised myself.

Just seven days ago, if you’d asked me if I would ever have a cat in the house, I’d have given you a firm negative. Things change so quickly, hearts expand to welcome in a new family member and even an old girl set in her ways like me is learning to love a cute, cuddly little kitten.

Will next week be a quiet week in Loudham? I doubt it. I’ll keep you posted.