"Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat"

... was all he had to offer to the citizens of his country when he became Prime Minister in 1940.  But he and his country found the resolve, inspiration, confidence and endurance  to see Britain through its darkest hour.  He refused to give in when others said there was no hope.  And for that the world owes him an immense debt since the fate of England was essentially seen to be the fate of the world.

He served in the House of Commons for over 60 years, first as a Tory, then as a Liberal and finally as a Conservative.  His voice was one of the very few that opposed appeasement and warned about the need for Britain to rearm so as to be able to defend itself. He pushed for new ships and the development of new warfare systems such as tanks, radar and military aircraft.

He was to serve as Prime Minister twice, first from 1940-1945 and then again from 1951-1955, retiring when he was 80 years old.

He was there when citizens, using their private boats, helped to evacuate over 340,000 troops from Dunkirk over the English Chanel to safety so that they could fight again in defense of their island.

He, with all Londoners, endured the nightly bombing raids that made up the Battle of Britain and destroyed entire sections of the city .  He was later to say of the brave young pilots, so many of whom were to give their lives, and who fought night after night to keep the enemy at bay, that never in the course of history had "so much been owed by so many to so few."

As a young man he had trained as a soldier and was to always maintain the ability to think as one and the courage to respond to situations as one.  He toured the front lines, assessed situations, listened to the military leaders and the soldiers on the ground and worked indefatigably to maintain morale and preserve hope in a brighter tomorrow.

It has been 50 years since the country mourned his death in January 1955.  His was the only state funeral of a commoner in all of the 20th century.  As his funeral barge passed down the Thames the huge dock cranes lowered to half mast in his honor.

He was buried beside his parents in a church yard in sight of Blenheim Palace where he had been born 90 years before.  His grave is marked by a simple gravestone engraved only with the names and dates for his wife Clementine and himself:

                                                Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill
                                                                 1874-1965

A great man who believed that the British nation had the heart of a lion and it was his job to give the roar.

Shrove Tuesday

The expression "Shrove Tuesday" comes from the word shrive, meaning "confess".
It is the day before Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent. 
 
Shrove Tuesday, as with many holidays, was pagan in origin.  It marked the transition between the cold and darkness of winter and the fertility of spring. The most important part of Shrovetide week (the whole celebration of the arrival of spring lasted one week) was making and eating pancakes. The hot, round pancakes symbolized the sun and by eating pancakes the individual received the power, light and warmth of the sun.

Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day is exactly 47 days before Easter and is the last day Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent. 

Pancakes are associated with the day preceding Lent because they were a way to use up rich foods such as eggs, milk, and sugar, before the fasting season of the 40 days of Lent.
 
On Pancake Day, "pancake races" are held in villages and towns across the United Kingdom.

The tradition is said to have originated in 1445 when a housewife, busy making pancakes, forgot the time until she heard the church bells ringing for a service. She raced out of the house to church while still carrying her frying pan and pancake, tossing it to prevent it from burning. 

The pancake race remains a relatively common festive tradition in the UK, especially England, even today. Participants with frying pans race through the streets tossing pancakes into the air and catching them in the pan while running.

The traditional pancakes are thin and crepe-like. Below is a common recipe for British Shrove Tuesday pancakes.  Give them a try topped with the English accompaniment of lemon and sugar.

Ingredients

• 225g / 8 oz plain or all-purpose flour
• Pinch salt
• 2 large, fresh eggs
• 600ml / 2½ cups milk
• 2 tsp melted butter plus extra melted butter for cooking

• Makes 12 pancakes

• Sieve the flour into a large baking bowl, add the salt. Make a well in the center of the flour and add the eggs. Beat well until smooth and lump free.
• Add half the milk and the 2 tsp of butter, beat well. Add the remaining milk and stir.
• Leave the batter to rest for 15 minutes.
• Lightly grease a pancake pan or frying pan with a little melted butter. Heat until very hot and add a ladleful of batter so it evenly and thinly coats the base of the pan. Cook until set and lightly golden.
• Using a spatula or if you are really brave try tossing the pancake in the air,  and cook on the other side for approx 30 seconds.
• Slip the pancake from the pan onto a warm plate. Cover the plate with a tea cloth and keep warm.. Continue as above until all the batter is used up.

• To Serve

  On Pancake Day, pancakes are traditionally eaten sprinkled with sugar and a squeeze of lemon.

Enjoy!

A Special Valentine's Gift

Almost five years ago, for my birthday, I received a priceless gift from my DD2 and SIL, a picture of my soon to be born grandchild.

I immediately went into grandma mode and every little thing I found that I thought might be useful or cute or cuddly went onto my charge card.  Why?  Because you are filled with love of the child to be and of your child who is going to be a parent and you want to help.  And also, to be honest, because I  could not afford to do so when we were starting out and having our own children.  (A lot of those things ended up at thrift stores but hopefully other young mothers and their children benefited and that is a good thing. :-)

That Valentine's Day I received my second present when DD2 gave birth to our beloved grandson.  What an appropriate gift for that holiday of love. 

Since the birth of that wonderful baby I have had so much fun and felt so much joy just watching him grow and learn and become his own little person.  His voice inflections, his smile, his energy, his excitement are all so wonderful to see.

And, even better, I do not have to worry about making sure he learns this, or doesn't learn that; I don't have to worry and second guess if I am making the right decisions; I don't have to say No when I would rather say Yes; I don't have to be "The World's Meanest Mother" in the struggle to raise a child to become a successful, contributing and content member of society. The decisions of parenting, with all of the accompanying doubts, second guessing and worries, are no longer mine.  My job is to love, to enjoy, to share time and attention and to watch this little man turn into just that, a man.

And if how he is now is any indication, he will be a wonderful man.  One his parents can be proud of and his grandmother can brag about. :-)

So, Happy Birthday JHC !  You really have been a gift from God for this grandma.

Something Lost or Gained in Translation

A Britisher might say:  "There were 3 sleeping policeman in the road into town, a lollipop man stationed at the private school gate and a zebra crossing at the public school gate."
Translation into American:    There were 3 speed bumps, one crossing guard at the public school and a pedestrian crosswalk at the private school gate. (Yep, public schools here are actually what we think of as private schools.)

They might say: "In the children's on the first floor, left behind in the cot, was a dummy."
Translation:  The room is upstairs on our second floor, the cot is a crib and the dummy is a pacifier. (England has a ground floor, then a first floor, etc.)

They might say:  In the dark the goods train did not see the man struck, who has been identified by police only as Joe Bloggs.
Translation:  A freight train hit the unfortunate man and he is still a John Doe with no formal identification yet made.

We might say:  She wore pants and a vest to work.
They hear:  All she wore to work were her panties and an undershirt.  Now that is a casual Friday!

They might say:  He had on braces, a waistcoat, and trousers when he was out working in his garden.
Translation:  He had suspenders, a suit's vest and what we call pants on and he was working in his yard.

They might say:  The bank holiday was the day chosen for the draughts championship.
Translation:  It is a national holiday and a checkers championship.

They might say:  You are invited to a fancy dress ball.
Translation:  This is a costume ball.  Don't show up in a tux or tails unless it is part of your costume or your face will be red.

They might say:  Before the 1960's almost all women wore suspenders.  Now almost no one does.
Translation:  They wore garter belts to hold up their hose.

They might say:  He dropped his torch and fell and they had to take him to surgery and a plaster was applied to his injury.
Translation:  He dropped his flashlight, went to the doctor's office and they put on a band aid.

They might say:  We used up the rashers in a butty for lunch and with it we had jelly and fairy cakes as pudding.
Translation:  They had a bacon sandwich and jello followed by cupcakes for dessert.

They might say:  Make sure you skip that before having a kip.
Translation:  Throw it in the dumpster before going to sleep.

Now, isn't that all much clearer?

Sawdust, Ice and Egg cartons

While we were away in Scotland some locals did some cutting and scavenging of fire wood on the same tree we had been working on.  They took the humongous pieces that never would have fit into our stove and they left behind the smaller branches that were just too small to be practical for them.  So yesterday Mike and I worked on cutting up those branches into appropriately sized "logs" for our little stove.

As usual, Mike used the chain saw.  As anyone who has known me for any length of time will tell you, my vision is "quirky".  It results in my trying to walk through doorways that are not where I think they are, light candles that are not  exactly where I am trying to light them, and other similar occurrences.  (And yes, I did drive for years but I am no longer driving so you can rest easy. :-) 

Since I like having all my fingers and toes and my oh so useful opposable thumbs it just seems prudent to stay away from a fast cutting chain saw.  The hand saw and I get along better.  And no, I have not yet cut myself but then there is always tomorrow. :-)  Thanks for asking.

The ice on the canal has had a few days to thicken since even during the recent days it was too cold for it to melt.  If you look out our kitchen area window you can see a dog's tennis ball and several pieces of wood laying on top of the ice.  Our guess is that the local lads like to "borrow" a log or two and give them a toss just to see if they will break through the ice.

It is not advisable to use your boat as an icebreaker unless there is no other choice.  It does a number on the paint and blacking.  But, we are on one side of the canal and the water point is on the other side.  Usually we would just move across the canal and fill our water tank but Mike did not want to do that if it could be avoided.

So, thinking back to his navy days and the process of replenishment at sea, he rigged a system of ropes that allowed him to get the hose from the water point to our boat.  Thank heavens we have a long hose!  And now we also have a full water tank available for laundry, showers and such.  My hero!

While he was busy rigging his ropes and hoses I was busy with sawdust, cardboard egg cartons and melted wax from thrift store candles.  By filling the egg compartments with sawdust, pouring melted wax on top of same, and letting it all harden we have created fire starters.  They are wonderful for in the morning when you want a fire and you want it NOW!  No muss, no fuss.

Don't we live such fascinating lives?

Some of the Little Things

The older I become (and I have decided it is OK to get older but I do not want to get old) the more I realize it is the little things that are important  to a good and rewarding life.  Little things such as:

• the wonderful smell of wood smoke that has the ability to make you feel warmer just by smelling it
• the little green spikes breaking the soil that let you know the spring flowers are on their way
• the first little yellow forsythia flowers that tell you spring is surely just around the corner
• the mornings that are getting lighter earlier and darker later, at last
•  a day of sunshine after so many of rain and gloom
• the friendly people who stop to talk and ask about our trip to Scotland and make suggestions for future trips
• the dogs and kitty cats who may not know you but take the time to introduce themselves and become friends, if only for a little while

For these and other small gifts from God we must remember to always give thanks.  Without them life would be stark indeed.

Catapult

It is 12:30 am and I am peacefully sleeping until suddenly catapulted out of bed by the smoke detector.  As I propel myself through the dark boat towards the wood stove I am mentally taking stock of the whereabouts of our fire extinguisher, fire blanket and my large boxes of baking soda.

But once at the front of the boat, no emergency.  Flames are not licking out around the stove door.  Smoke is not spewing forth.  The logs are slowly burning down emitting what warmth remains in them to try and keep the boat from being too freezing when we get up.

False alarm.  But just to be sure, I open a window to make certain we have fresh air circulating through the boat.  Then back to bed.

.....1:15 and I am once again hurled out of bed by the call of the smoke alarm.  This time I am muttering as I move to the front of the boat where all is again serene.  What the heck?  I can't smell any more smoke than one usually smells when you have to open the door of a wood burner.  The fire looks more restful than I am at this moment.  So again, I open another window and go back to bed.

...1:45 and you guessed it.  The siren sound of the alarm blasts me out of bed once again.  This time I am not just muttering.  I am loudly telling the smoke alarm what I feel like doing to it and in no uncertain terms.  The fire in the stove is now just a bed of smoldering embers.  No threat here.  But, just to be sure I open what is probably our last closed window.  The boat is now as cold as the outside and the wind moves through it unobstructed.

I stagger back to my bed and, may God be praised, that is our last false alarm of the night.  Now, it might have something to do with the fact that I took the smoke detector and put it in the cockpit but whatever.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

It was only much later that morning after a few cups of liquid caffeine that Mike and I decided what we think was actually happening.  Remember all those open windows and all that wind?  We think the wind was blowing the smoke from the chimney back into the boat and setting off the alarm.  Don't tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor.  We could almost hear him chuckling.