My other half has to put up with a lot: working for me which means basically being bossed around, and living in a home that would never be described as masculine. This means that, in the name of compromise and keeping him happy, I have to occasionally do something he really loves.
This entails me attending a vintage car rally held in our local town, and showing some enthusiasm. Now this can be quite difficult as there are only so many ways you can ooooh and aaaaah over old vehicles and although I do appreciate their age, the rest of it doesn’t really thrill me. As long as I get from A to B, warm and without mishap, I’m happy. Luckily there are like minded people he can talk to and I usually sit in the sunshine with a drink and let him get on with it. This year was slightly different as some friends visited and they were surprisingly keen.
There are races around a small track through the streets, lined with straw bales to protect the public. Between each race all the vehicles are parked in a large square and you are able to wander around and inspect them. It probably helped that there was someone else for him to discuss the cars with, but in the end it was a lovely way to spend an afternoon. Unfortunately he always gets serious and starts googling vintage cars. If it gets more serious and he starts looking to buy one, then of course I may have to put my foot down and say NON.
My youngest girl will not mind me saying that she was a tomboy as a child, often found up trees and usually muddy with scraped knees. She had a tendency to fall into lakes, rivers and even large puddles, and was always upbeat about any mischief she got herself into. Throughout all that she loved pink: pink dresses, dungarees and assorted other flimsy items that never lasted long due to tomboy activities. She also had a lot of pink dressed barbies and a pink bedroom together with flouncy everything. Luckily, she outgrew the pink phase although the tomboy mischief remains. Pink was not a colour I loved at all.
Now it is a colour I adore. Not the bright fuchsia pink, but the delicate pink of roses, peonies and other flowers that I persuade my other half into buying. Sometimes a small morceau of fabric with blues and greys will have a tiny hint of pink, and it seems to bring the whole piece alive. My collection of quilts also has some pink ones, with roses being a favourite.
My other half knows me so well and for big occasions, and small ones too or just occasionally just because he knows I will love them, pink flowers, especially roses, hit the spot. He says matrimonial harmony is easy when pink roses are available. I’m not so sure that I like him thinking he can buy me flowers and all problems will be fixed, but I do love receiving them.
In our part of France winters can be lovely, crisp and cold with sunny days. Not so this winter, which has been wet wet wet. All our local waterways are swollen and at the bottom of a neighbour’s garden, a small trickle has become a stream that rushes through into 2 large lakes which seem very full. The miserable rainy days are hard for me to get through, as I long to be outside in the garden, or out brocanting. We went to a local event, much loved and always well attended, but instead of 100 dealers there were only 4 and 2 of them didn’t want to stall out due to the adverse weather conditions.
I am waiting for spring with eagerness and already can see the first signs. There is blossom on some of the trees and the magnolias are starting to bloom. Our garden is a little waterlogged but starting to show signs of growth.
So after a soggy start to the year, last week we attended a big event with big hopes. The sun was out, it was crisp and cold, and I bought some lovely things, not least a fabulous mannequin with a tiny waist, and some lovely antique pieces of Toile in a pretty pale lavender colour and in very good condition. Spring has sprung, thank goodness.