The Marriage of….


The marriage of J Molony and Miss Kenny took place on 30th January when the lonely surroundings of Coolmeen were enlivened by a gay wedding party. The ceremony was performed by Rev D Courtney, PP and Mr Martin Moloney cousin of the bridegroom was best man. The bride, youngest daughter of the late Daniel Kenny Coolmeen, was given away by her brother and looked charming in a biscuit coloured dress trimmed with chiffon and roses.

Miss Roche, Ennis, and Miss Mary Reidy, Boloughera were bridesmaids and were tastefully dressed in fawn colour cloth with hats to match. The wedding party were met at Kildysart by a number of young men bearing torch lights who headed the procession through the village. The guests were entertained at the home of Mr Moloney (Martin).

Unusual wording for this day and age?

The above report appeared in the Clare Journal on Monday 12th February 1900. The wedding took place one hundred and fourteen (114) years ago today.

Coolmeen is a townland in County Clare, Ireland. It is located on the north bank of the Shannon Estuary 7 kms (3.5 Irish miles) to the south west of Kildysart.

Modern road sign at the  cross roads

Modern road sign at the cross roads

Why my interest?

1. Mr John Molony and his bride with no first name were my paternal grandparents!She did actually have a first name: Margaret. She was the daughter of Daniel Kenny and Bridget Kelly. The Kenny’s were part of the reason for my auburn hair!

2. The different spellings of the name Molony/Moloney.
They were correct. John Molony & Martin Moloney were in fact double cousins, each related through both of their parents.** Years later my father served his time as a draper’s assistant to Martin Moloney & Sons, Textile Specialists.

3. The description of the outfits worn by the bride and bridesmaids.

Can you imagine any bridesmaid or flower girl today, being described as ‘tastefully dressed in fawn colour CLOTH’! Jen, Triona and Alice, I am looking at you three in particular! 😆

The giddy goose of my inner crafting eye is visualising the Misses Roche & Reidy, wrapped mummy fashion from a large bail of fawn cloth as sold by Martin Moloney & Sons! Do you think they got a discount. 😉

Bale of cloth

Bale of cloth

Let me take you back before this date in 1900……

It was in March 1878 that John was appointed Postmaster of Kildysart.

Besides running the Post office, John became:

  • Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths
  • Travel Agent for all the Trans Atlantic shipping lines
  • Insurance Agent,
  • The Inspector of Gunpowder and Gun Licenses.
  • An Import/Export Agent
  • He opened a grocery/bar, so stamps and postal orders were sold at one counter and groceries & liquor at the one opposite.

My grandfather was the man who anyone wishing to emigrate to America or England, went to for his or her Identification Papers.

Mind you, “The Licensing Act of 1872 forbade anyone to be drunk while in charge of a cow or steam engine on a public highway”. I wonder how that effected business on a Fair Day?

1907 Molony Family at Post office

1907 Molony Family at Post office

John & Margaret Molony with the first five of their eleven children, outside the Post Office in 1907. The babe in arms dressed like a doll, was in fact John. Sure ’tis no wonder he ran off to America in 1925! No. I don’t think he was wearing dresses when he went! 😉

John later extended his portfolio, as we say today, by buying a small farm – he had a large family to feed and rear, and the boys took their turn at bringing home the cows for milking and taking them back to the fields before and after school each day.

My grandmother worked in the shop as well as keeping hens, geese & a goat. I think a couple of pigs were under her charge too!

In the early 1900s there were many businesses and trades in Kildysart: saddlers, shoemakers, nailmakers, dressmakers, milliners, blacksmiths, tailors and millers. Alas, most of these no longer exist.

Moving forward to 1942/3 the following description of the Kildysert area is interesting.

Considered a quiet village in today’s world, Kildysart has minimarkets, hardware shops, a bank, pharmacist, clinic, veterinary clinic, credit union, garage, RC church, Community Centre, Quay Marina and seven pubs. Alas no mention of the Post Office.

The post office is now McMahon’s Chemist Shop, a name mentioned in the 1942 link above

The Post Office is now a Chemists shop

The Post Office is now a Chemists shop

*Not alone were they my grandparents, but there were many similarities unknowingly repeated in my life.

**This double spelling surfaced again in the next generation. My father, Dan Molony married my mother – Eileen Moloney, although she was born in Dublin, her paternal Moloney ancestors came from Murroe in County Limerick, across the mouth of the River Shannon from Kildysart County Clare.
The double cousins have come into play for some of my nieces and nephews, since two of my brothers married two sisters.



Ward Miles Scot was born in July of 2012, fragile and tiny at 26 weeks, three and a half months premature. Over the following 15 months, his dad, photographer and filmmaker Benjamin Scot chronicled his son’s progression from the frailty of 101 days in incubation to full health.

This reminded me of a true story I told a few years ago on my old blog. I am unable to link to it, but I feel it is worth retelling.

Donal’s Cot

Donal weighed in at 2lbs which is just short of a Kilo. He was a very premature baby that his mother carried for less than six months. He had no hair, eyelashes, eyebrows or nails and his skin was porous. He was not expected to survive for very long so the Paediatrician suggested taking him home. His actual words were “He might as well die at home as in here!”

Donal’s homecoming was not as easy as it sounds. His father was sent to find a ‘small’ cot/crib which he did, and it was ready and waiting for the new occupant when he arrived with his ill mother and a nurse. The nurse lived with and became part of the family over the next six months, she was called ‘No-No’ by Donal’s two year-old brother, and the name stuck. To this day if you say the name ‘No-No’ to any of the family they know exactly who you mean.

The Paediatrician soon arrived and set to work.

He gave precise instructions about feeding and cleaning the baby. Donal was not to be washed or bathed in water! His skin was to be cleaned with olive oil and cotton wool.

Food was to be administered by medicine dropper, every hour on the hour!

He rigged up a large light bulb over the cot to provide extra heat for the premature baby and it was to remain on night and day. Being wintertime the temperature was quite low. A fire was lit in the bedroom and kept going day and night.

Each day was a milestone, but there were many, when they fought to keep the baby alive. The Paediatrician was a regular caller and was delighted with any little improvement.

The danger stage eventually passed and Donal was introduced to bottle feeding and began to put on a little weight. The first size baby clothes fitted and slowly the pleasure of washing and bath-time became part of the daily routine. The light was removed from over the cot, but Donal slept in it for a full year.

With Donal’s move to a normal sized baby cot the little one was cleaned, covered and stored in the loft. It was used again with pride for the arrival of each of his four younger siblings.

The little cot appeared for the first time 62 years ago. There were no incubators, or ‘Baby Units’ in hospitals like we have today, the only clothes for premature babies were dolls clothes. Houses had no central heating and washing was all done by hand. Nappies were rinsed, then boiled and when washing was complete they were line dried. The feeding bottles were sterilised by boiling. A baby was hard work back then!

The little cot moved through the family for the arrival of each new baby. Cousins, nieces and nephews all started their lives in it. I spent my early months in it as did Elly. For Donal the most precious moment was the day he placed his own daughter in the little cot. Now once again the cot is stored away and who knows, someday Donal might be blessed with a grandchild to sleep in that very special Cot.

The post above was written on October 29, 2007 – six years ago. Since then Donal has been blessed with two granddaughters the latest one born a couple of months ago, almost a world away in Sydney, Australia. The proud grandparents have just arrived home from a month singing, dancing round the room, and getting to know the latest arrival.

UPDATE: The video link above about Ward Miles Scot, a very premature baby seems to have been removed. Born at twenty six weeks, the tiny baby was almost invisible for tubes, drains, monitors and huge pads over his eyes so large they covered his face.

UPDATE 2: Barbara found a new link to the video and has added it in the comments below. Perhaps it is better there to show how different the treatment is for premature babies these days.


Donal had none of that. He clung on to life by a thread for so long, some said he lived for spite! BUT with tender loving care he made it through.

92 ~ Part 2.

Yesterday I told you that ‘92’ was built the year I was born. Granny, almost the age I am now, moved in a couple of months before I was born. She sold her corner shop that she lived over and worked in, since she married my grandfather in Aug 1909. He told her that he wanted to mark the occasion of their wedding with a gift and asked what she would like?

“I always wanted a shop.” she replied.

Her wish was his command and she happily raised her family and worked in the shop even after my grandfather had died in his sleep in 1942. She was tipped off in 1946 that there were to be major changes in the area, with the loss of many of her customers, so she heeded advice and sold her business.

Numbers 90, 92 & 94 Herberton Road

Numbers 90, 92 & 94 Herberton Road

By the time Mammy got to see number 92 from the outside, never mind the inside, Granny had settled into a routine. Mammy didn’t like it at first sight. Perhaps it was after the snow blinding whiteness of the previous months, the fact it was not the ‘home of her childhood’ that she was used to visiting, and the post wartime rationing that gave the place a dark drab look. That feeling stayed with Mammy for the fourteen years that Granny lived there.

We had no problem with visiting as Granny filled the house with laughter and sunshine. We loved the chance to go and stay with her. We went in pairs. I think Granny suggested it that way in case we got lonely.

Our days were fun filled. We were each asked what we would like for dinner, something that never happened at home. Mammy made one dinner for all of us, take it or leave it. No matter what she made it was tasty, we were hungry, so the plates were cleared in double quick time.

We might be in the middle of lunch when Granny would ask “Will we go to the pictures”? That question was always met with a loud chorus of “Yes, Yes, Yes! So once the dishes were cleared, we all trooped off to the pictures/movies for the afternoon.

One day, whichever brother was with me, tripped over his feet and grazed his knee. Granny Florence Nightingale soon had the patient cleaned up, with a ginormous bandage and a sucky sweet – she knew how to do it! 😉 She soon had us giggling and said that if the leg had not healed by tomorrow she could put the patient on the kitchen table and chop his leg off. Well now! We knew all about having legs off!

Our other granddad had a wooden leg. The fact that he died in 1922, when daddy was eleven, had nothing to do with it. We had heard enough stories from daddy and our uncles to know exactly what to do! Sure the boys had spent many an hour walking round the house with a ruler tied to the back of their knee to practice, in case they ever needed a wooden leg.

Granny told us she had a wooden leg, we were at the table at that time, so there was plenty of surreptitious peeping under the table cloth to check it out. Granny must had enjoyed our face making and voiceless conversations across to each other because she let it go on for quite a few minutes.

Eventually she told us it was not ‘her’ leg, it was a spare wooden leg and it was out in the coal hole. Now the coal hole was not actually a hole. It was a shed in the back yard where she kept the coal. Come on now, if I can have a cupboard under the stairs – in a bungalow, then Granny can have a coal hole, that is not a hole! Right?

So once again, when the dishes were cleared, we were marched out to the back yard. Our footsteps shortened and slowed the closer we got to the coal hole door.

Granny disappeared into the darkness.

We heard a bit of clattering and banging and wood scraping along the floor… then…

Granny appeared with the wooden leg of a table in her hand! It had a claw foot. I do not know whether we were relieved or disappointed, but we stood in mouth open silence for a couple of minutes. Granny laughed heartily and in minutes we were laughing along with her. You know to this day, I can still see Granny standing there in the doorway with that dusty old table leg with the claw foot, and hear her laughing.

Bath time was another high point. Granny made paper boats for floating and sailors hats for us to wear. She wore a hat too. I cannot swear, but I think the same pattern of folded paper was used for the boats and the hats.

The two of us were put in the bath together and we played happily while the dirt soaked off, then she washed our hair, our faces, necks and ears, while we washed down as far as possible, up as far as possible, not forgetting to give possible a scrub! All the while we were led in a chorus of sea shanties.

I remember staying with her on a St. Patrick’s day holiday weekend. We were all dressed and ready to go out, when re remembered we had no shamrock to wear on our coats. When we told her, she had a solution. Granny turned to a plant sitting on a shelf of the Hall stand. It was evergreen and shamrock like, though the leaves were at least ten times the real thing. Quick as a blink, she had broken off a bunch, divided it in two and pinned it on our coat lapels! We were wearing more ‘shamrock’ than any American President ever held in that cut glass bowl!

Slowly things began to change. Little things.

Granny would forget where she left her glasses, she might not remember where she left her purse. She would ask us the same question over and over again.

During school holidays we spent more time with Granny. She was minding us, but we were actually there to mind her.

She might send us to the shop twice for the same message. The dinner might be served without the potatoes, because she forgot to cook them. Our evening mealtime got earlier and earlier.

She soon made tea at 4pm. Every day.

By eight o’clock, we were starving again, growing children had hollow legs, remember. Mammy warned us to check that the gas was turned off after Granny had made the meals.

Granny would leave lights on, not put the guard in front of the fire and a time or two burnt her self on the gas stove.

My uncles and aunt noticed changes too when they visited. So it was decided for her safety that she should not stay living on her own.

She was still lucid and agreed that living alone was no longer the ideal. Of all the families, ours was the one where she felt most comfortable, but she refused to move in with us saying she would not be able to hold off interfering if we children were being chastised, so a residential home a short bus run away from us was selected.

Thus ended her fourteen year stay at number 92.

Granny lived in the home for about seven years, my brothers took it in turns to visit her each school day on their way home. The would check if she needed the evening paper, if so, one of them would go and buy it for her. I would go to see her in the evenings, my school was in a different direction.

In the early days she was able to go out alone and often hopped on a bus to our house. she would stay until after the evening meal and daddy would drive her back. One of us always went with him to take her back to her room, hang up her coat and make sure she was comfortable.

Slowly she deteriorated, her bag would be hidden in case somebody stole it. One day mammy walked across the room to open the window and outside on the window ledge, two floors up, was a bundle of bank notes rolled and tied with a rubber band.

Mammy lifted the bundle in and asked Granny why it was out on the ledge. It was Granny’s pension she had collected it that morning and put it out there for safe keeping. From then on, with the agreement of her siblings, Mammy collected the pension, gave her some pocket money and paid for what ever was needed. One of my uncles already looked after the major finances.

We were on the slippery slope….

  • Granny began to think I had been at school with her.
  • She introduced daddy as her son and not her son in law.
  • She never remembered having any previous visitors that day, even if we knew she had.
  • She constantly longed for sausages, telling us she had not had one for years.

Then there was the man.

She would point to the bottom of her bed and tell you about the man there. “He was no trouble. Very quiet. See those children? He is very good to them. He never laid a finger on them!”

She slowly sank away from us. On a good day we could steer her back to happy times and her eyes would light up for a few minutes.

Several times she became ill and we thought it was the end, but she rallied, never quite reaching the same step on the ladder of life.

She finally had a turn, but we had seen this so many times before, the staff were wonderful. Mammy, daddy and I were with her when she died.

That evening, at the dinner table daddy suggested we go en famille to say our goodbyes, so when the meal was over we drove back to the home. We gathered around the bed and daddy let us in prayer. Suddenly one of my younger brothers began to laugh heartily. Daddy stood up to his full height and asked for an explanation. My brother told him that Granny was always playing dead with us, and any minute now she would sit up and say: “Ha Ha. I fooled you all!”

We all began to laugh, Mammy and daddy included. It was how Granny would have wanted us to see her off: With laughter.

That was 12th July 1968.

We still talk about her and recall the laughter.
We loved the bones of her. Back then we never heard of dementia or Alzheimer’s, we just saw her as getting old, frail and her mind closing down. We laughed with her and never at her. We loved her.

RIP Granny (1884 – 1968).

Why I was missing

Monday morning and I am still away from home. The glorious sunshine continues and at times the temperatures are way above my comfort zone. I think I was born on a bad day for thermostats… my body copes badly with extreme heat or cold.

My week began well with interesting activities right through to Wednesday night. I was due to move to Elly’s on Thursday and had arranged to meet up with one of my brothers for coffee or lunch.

Alas, I woke with a bug, and after a delayed start I thought I was well enough to keep to my plans…. thinking is one thing….

I set out to join the M50, motorway – a C-shaped ring around the north-eastern, northern, western and southern sides of the capital city, Dublin. I am no stranger to it and have been using it since it was completed in 2005. It is the gateway to reach many of my family and friends.

On Thursday I was headed for junction 13, sure it was a case of taking the slip road followed by a couple of turns and I would be there at my brother’s gate…. thirty minutes at most! Getting to junction 13 slip road was no problem. It was the beginning of a nightmare!

Before you ask, I do not use a GPS, I hate them. I prefer to look at a map, note the places I am going through and follow the road signs.

The area between Dundrum and Sandyford is now like a satellite town, buildings sprouting like weeds everywhere and no recognizable land marks to cling on to. The road signs were confusing. Very confusing. I was going round in circles, the day was getting hotter and my energy levels sinking faster than the air from a burst balloon. I pulled over.

I called my brother and he sorted me out, we had our coffee. I was poor company, but he told me it was the reason he always suggested meeting me on my turf or temporary place of abode, because unless you were actually living in the area, it was impossible to find.

I arrived back at Elly’s house mid afternoon and headed for bed. I slept most of the day and the next. By Saturday evening I was beginning to feel peckish and George tempted my taste buds with tasty morsels. It worked.

Yesterday I was well enough to join the Pratt family for George’s birthday (actual date 17th July) party/BBQ with fifteen people and ten dogs. it was fun! Well worth all the sleep of the previous days! More photos and details to follow.


We all know the phrase ‘Walking off into the sunset’. Mostly it brings to mind the idea of walking off into the never, never land of eternity, or as I like to think of it, walking into a new life, a new beginning. I was reminded of it last night while watching the sun set.

View from my back door at sunset

The sky at night on several occasions this month reminded me of another new beginning thirty years ago. Elly arrived in our lives in the early days of May and with her the beginning of a glorious summer. She was outdoors from 7.30am until it was time to bed her down for the night. The good weather lasted until October that year. Many a night Jack and I sat until well after the sun went down, I can still hear his remark ‘I suppose we better go in!’

May was a beginning for Elly and now it is also a time of endings. Last year it saw the official end of her single status as she prepared to marry her true love, George. This year May marks the ending of the time they spent is their temporary home and the new beginning of the move to their first step on the property ladder. Making a move like that is not easy nowadays. The current climate in the financial world has not made it any easier. They are to be admired for sticking in there and seeing it through.

I wish them well in their new home and look forward to sharing many visits. I hear ‘Mammy’s bed’ is on order so it won’t be very long before I have an excuse to travel south more often.

I only hope my visits are not like this:

6th May is Elly’s Day

Happy Birthday to my Baby.

love award

The 6th of May is for me a time of reflection. With each passing year there are more memories to ponder over. I think about all the things that Elly has accomplished over the years. From an early age she showed great promise and talent.

She became a sculptor

Dancing Queen Elly

She learned to dance to the Birdie Song

She learned to cook

She became a bookworm

Became expert at Car maintenance

Carried out surveys

Became accomplished as a needle woman

With this wealth of talent George must have a very easy life ❗

(pity we forgot to teach her to wash dishes;) )

The light went out…

Suddenly all was quiet. No intake of breath, just stillness and silence. Not moving I let realisation sink in.

Slowly I pushed back my chair and stood up; the man to my right stood and moved to wrap his arms around my shoulders and he wept. He held me close and both our bodies shook with the depth of his sobbing. I was numb, unable to shed tears; it was not the time to give way to my emotions. There would be plenty of time for tears, a whole lifetime; I had work to do first.

Canon J released me from his grip and I realised he looked exhausted, a true friend and caring pastor who despite a busy parish and wider church commitments, found time for almost daily visits in the difficult days, months and years of illness. The door opened and a nurse stepped into the room. She touched my arm and spoke quietly for a few minutes. Her patient of nine weeks suffered no more.

Having almost lived at the Hospice for the nine weeks, the last three spent day and night in the chair beside Jack’s bed, I knew the routine. We moved to the room set aside for patient’s families and tea/coffee was brought to us. The phone was on the table waiting…..

I had to make the most difficult phone call of my lifetime, to tell Elly that her Dad the light of her life had died. Elly was at University in Scotland facing 2nd year exams. In the previous six months we had several scares that the end was close and she travelled forward and back across the Irish Sea. The last time she came and stayed three weeks but Jack, levelled and lingered. In his lucid moments he kept asking why she was not at school, and this distressed him. It was a very difficult time for her and we talked it through. It could go on for weeks, months even, or it might be a matter of days nobody knew. She wanted to be at home with her dad and me and yet if she missed any more time the year would have to be repeated. Elly made her decision and having said her goodbyes she returned to Scotland and study. We spoke twice a day but she knew I would not ask her to return until the funeral. That time was now.

In the previous weeks I spent long hours alone by the bedside as Jack slept. His only living blood relations apart from Elly were two cousins and their families in Co Durham in England and I had no relations in Northern Ireland, so visitors were few. Knowing I was facing the inevitable, I used my time to make preparations. One day I paid a visit to the undertaker and made all the arrangements for the funeral, leaving me with just a phone call to set things in motion when the time came.

I made lists.

I wrote down the name and telephone number of everyone that needed to be contacted. I sub-divided these and arranged with my siblings who they would contact for me.

I wrote a potted history of Jack’s life.

I wrote details for the funeral service, hymns and prayers and suggestions of who to ask to do the readings.

I wrote a non urgent list of people to be notified e.g. the GP, district nurse, the bank, pension providers, utility suppliers, and noted things to be cancelled like passport, driving licence etc.

I decided what clothes I would need for the funeral, polished my shoes and left them all ready in my wardrobe. I made up beds for whoever might be staying over and washed all the extra china in readiness for a houseful of callers.

Once the lists were completed the notebook was put away in the bedside locker and not touched again until needed.

Early that morning it was obvious I would not be staying in this room much longer, so I packed our few belongings into the fold up travel bag that I kept in the locker. The idea of walking out of the building with a plastic carrier marked Patients Belongings in bold print gave me the creeps.

The phone calls were made; I said my final farewell to Jack and had a quiet word of thanks to the staff, then out into cold sunshine to find my car at the door warmed up with the engine running. Working on automatic pilot not knowing how the remainder of the day would go I remembered thinking it was days since I had a proper meal, it was now lunchtime so I called at a restaurant on my way home and had a solid meal. That gave me the energy to keep going and deal with what ever the day threw at me.

When I pulled up in my drive the undertaker was waiting for me. He had all the details that I had given him. In Northern Ireland, unlike the South of Ireland, a death must be registered before a grave can be opened or a cremation booked. Since this was a Saturday we could only provisionally book the church etc. The Registrars office would not open until Monday morning and as next-of-kin, that visit was down to me.

Elly phoned with arrangements of her arrival and two of my brothers came to be here for her when she reached these shores.

The next couple of days were a blur of constant visitors. Someone did my food shopping for me and my good friend & neighbour Liz who, at that time was in remission from cancer, appeared in my kitchen a couple of minutes after any visitor crossed my threshold she made tea & coffee and cleared up after it, before disappearing the way she came. The funeral & cremation went as planned and everyone returned to get on with their lives.

Elly went back to face her exams and we continued to talk every day.

I had to learn to eat, sleep, grieve, talk and interact normally with people again. It was a slow process. Three weeks and the general phone calls stopped. It was not that people stopped caring, oh no, they were over the shock and getting on with their lives. My journey was only beginning….

I realised at noon one day that I was sitting tearful still in my Pj’s, I gave myself a severe lecture, weeping was doing me no good, it was wallowing and I was insulting Jack’s memory. Behaviour like this was not his way. No matter what life threw at him, he picked himself up, dusted himself down, and got on with life! I would learn to do the same. I had a shower, did the hair and put on a face. I set a goal to walk up the town and back. Alas, the first person I met was a vestry member of the church! “Look at you all dressed up!” she said. She made me feel like a painted Tart! Inside I was screaming – ‘Jack died not me’ – I ended the conversation as quickly and politely as I could and moved on.

You think that was bad! Within the first five weeks of widowhood I was asked or told:

“I suppose you will be going home now”? Yes in these parts that is a question! The questioner was not referring to the home I lived in with Jack for all our married life, No the ‘home’ referred to was DUBLIN!

“Will you get married again”? Come on! Jack’s ashes were hardly cooled.

You will need to go out to work now? I did go back to work, but that was for my sanity, to fill in hours and to have the opportunity to interact with people.

“I know exactly how you feel!” This came from a lady who while standing in front of me had her arm linked through her husbands!!!

“I know exactly how you feel, my dog died last week!” OK I understand that people become attached to their pets, but Jack was no dog, he was a wonderful caring and loving soul mate!

I slowly picked up the pieces and went back to work. Over time I became a charity volunteer, joined a rambling club, travelled and made new friends. I went to the theatre and Concerts I entertained and went out for meals, it was not the life I chose but I always wore a smile. Going home to an empty house is difficult, no welcoming voice or smile and no hug of welcome. I find it most difficult when I have happy news to share and nobody to share it with.

Alas the hand of fate struck once more, and my health problems prevent me from working. I am out of the flow so can easily be bypassed. My friends do still fit me in every couple of months, pity they all want to do something in the same week! I make the best of my lot because all around me are people with a bigger cross to bear.

1924 John Parker

Today on the tenth anniversary of Jacks death, I will raise a glass to his memory and count all the blessings that knowing and loving him brought to my life.

My Son-in-Law

I think you are all aware by now that I have a Son-in-Law.

He came to see me yesterday.

He had a little something for me…

He put it on my fridge and..

Then he did what it asked.  I had a very nice day!

You can blame JD

Jefferson Davis is a naughty boy ‘cause he tagged me. 😉

This time his idea for the meme came from a book. “The Three Bears“, by Derec Jones.

“Bring to your consciousness those memories of the things you’ve seen and the places you’ve been over the last twenty-four hours. Now select a one-minute sequence of events and try to replay it over and over again in your mind.”

Here’s one minute in the life of Grannymar

Brrring, Brrring! Brrring, Brrring!

Off come the rubber gloves as I reach for the phone. It is twenty past one in the afternoon and my face is bursting into life as a smile stretches from ear to ear even before I say hello.

“Hi mum! The flight was on time and we have just landed at Heathrow.”

“Elly! It is wonderful to hear you and know you are back this side of the world” I say. “Did you have a good week?”

Elly goes on to give me details about her week in Arizona, in 30 seconds flat. I hear about work, her colleagues, friends and the good people I refer to as her American Family. She passes on their good wishes and tells me their news. She needs to change terminals so I let her go as she promises to call me later when she reaches home.

Elly is as effervescent as she always was, and I hope she never changes.

It is no different now to those far off days at the school gate, when my five year old little bundle of energy put her hot little hand into my frozen one, and told me at breakneck speed, all the stories and secrets of the day as she skipped along by my side on our journey home from school.

So thanks to Jeff I have had double pleasure, re-living the phone call and the sound of Elly’s voice, while remembering that hot little hand encased in mine and the close bond we have between us.

I’m worried!

Last night I spoke to my one and only offspring. Did you know I had an offspring? Elly is not a bad little girl really. The fact that she is now taller than me, is by the way. I suppose I am now on the way down.

Well we had a good mother/ daughter chat. Sorry I am not going to tell you what we bitched talked about. We have our secrets!

She did tell me she got a letter yesterday. Now getting the odd letter is not unusual for me. My Elly however, lives in the modern world. The world of ether – no I don’t mean a funny substance, I mean the world of the airwaves, I mean the internet thingy stuff! Letters are a little ‘olde-worldly’ to her! The bills come in letters, but cute egg that she is; they all come addressed to George! I wonder at times how he got mixed up with her.

Well back to the letter. It came from the wee North. Yes, this part of the world where I live. It had a Royal Mail post mark (that’s twice in two days they got a mention here, but I am still better value)! The letter was addressed to herself and George.

St James’s Street tonight! Will you pick me up off the floor! It was a wedding invitation acceptance. “What is going on here”? You might ask. No wonder they have not come to see me so far this year. Is there something I am missing here? I thought that they were already well and truly married. I made the outfit. I gave her away. I made the speech. They must be married!

It was a wedding acceptance for the wedding that happened on 23 June 2007. Now I would like to know where the letter was all this time. Did it arrive in your post box? Did you have it sitting behind the clock on the mantelpiece?

Will we have to hold the wedding all over again?

Will I need a new hat?