Thoughts on a Thursday...for the girls

Being a Nana seems to be fashionable now. I'm not afraid to admit that I'm one of them. I've talked before about domestic arts, and housework - and the difference. I subscribe to Wendyl Nissen's newsletter, and use her laundry liquid. (One day I might even make my own.)
Today I came over all Nana-ish and sent my mother - yes, my mother! - housework tips! Gosh... Anyway - for those interested:
Add one cup of white vinegar into your final clothes wash rinse to soften clothes and strip out any laundry powder residue (which can cause skin reactions).
Put a couple of drops of liquid soap onto a dry cloth and wipe over your bathroom window. It will stop fogging thanks to steam for a while. Once the fogging begins again, it's really easy to wipe clean and clears quickly when wiped.

On the subject of Nanas...
Yesterday, I spent the day at the Auckland West Federation of Women's Institutes AGM. I managed NOT to be nominated  - or nominate myself - onto the federation committee. (However, I did volunteer to be co-opted if needed.)  So, a day surrounded by wonderful women. Mostly older, it must be said. (And I felt like an idiot, putting out coffee cups & napkins, while the older folk put out the tables & chairs. Damn back injury.)

To all women out there - join them! If you can't make meetings, become an associate member, like me. Each institute and federation has a 'roll call' - things you can do to help out community groups. Simple things like boxes of tissues for a local special school. If you're crafty, you can make bibs for them. Or knit beanies / bootees / jumpers for hospitals, etc. Every institute and federation will have their own list. They're one of those organisations that work quietly in the background, doing little bits to help in their community. Unsung heroes.

Seriously, what's not to like about an organisation whose motto is: To encourage and inspire women within a dynamic, caring organisation.

They would welome you. I promise. My niece and her son have been welcomed by her local institute, although most of the other members are old enough to be her grandmother (one of them is, of course). If you think you're too young, take along a friend your own age. If you're an at-home mother, for whatever length of time, there's a built-in group of support / help / advice (good or otherwise) there.

If you don't have a nana of your own - there's a group there with a Nana for you.

If you don't have any craft-y skills now, you will have, if you're willing to learn.

So - whose up to the challenge? Join the nanas. Learn new skills. Meet new people. Find some adoptable nanas for yourself. Give to the community. Be a hero.

Thoughts for a Thursday... family at war

Anzac Day is always a time of reflection. Time to think about war and its impact.

I’d always thought that The War (in this case World War II) didn’t have much of an impact on my immediate family. My dad was too young, and my grandads had long-standing injuries that meant they were unfit. Today I realised that The War really did have a major influence on my life – let alone others in my immediate family.

My grandfather in uniform, at a
family wedding.
October 1944.

The War changed people. It sent my biological maternal grandfather off to the Pacific (Air Force ground crew). Like many men, he left behind his wife and children (my mother and aunt). While operating as a solo mother, my grandmother had an independent life. Something she’d never had before. Her husband returned, I’m sure with mental trauma from his experiences, and things didn’t work out. As my nana said ‘he hit me once, and I forgave him. He hit me again, and I went out the window’. And she did. Never to return. (Gosh, I don’t mean he hit her, and the impetus pushed her out the window. I mean, she ran away.)

How did you get a divorce in 1944? You had to prove adultery. And that is why my aunt was born in July 1945. And my grandparents married in October 1945.

So – what impact did the war have on my family? It split it. It gave my mother a new dad, and a new name. It meant we ended up with a really amazing grandad. Maybe my biological grandfather would have been nice, but we’ll never know. (That said, his grandchildren from his second marriage cried at his funeral, so maybe they did get a good grandad.)

Mum with Uncle Jim.

What else? That Nana had three brothers: Jim and Ernie were in the army (Middle East), and Al in the navy (on the Achilles during the Battle of the River Plate). Uncle Jim was seriously injured at some point – got to meet Rommel while in a German hospital. At least, that’s the story – hard to know really. As his sister (Nana) admitted once, ‘I don’t know how sane I’d be if I’d had his war experiences’. Well, he wasn’t really insane, as much as paranoid.

A completely different story for his wife. How sane would you be, if one of your first ever jobs was helping repatriate Holocaust victims to Palestine? As with many of Uncle Jim’s stories, we were sceptical – but no, she really did. Diagnosis: paranoid schizophrenia, with a side-order of violence. Army training really helped with that.

Dad's intake.

Nearer to home, Dad could tell fun stories about his time in CMT in 1952. Seemed to involve a lot of drinking. Oh, and fun with the Korean soldiers. As a kid, I always thought he meant Korean Koreans, rather than New Zealand soldiers heading to the Korean WAR .

When I met my half-brother, we found out that he was a navy boy. Ex, at that point. He was based in South-East Asia when I was born – and it wasn’t that quiet a place in 1971. (Funny thing is, although he never met Uncle Al – they look alike and had the same rolling walk.)



This weekend my nephew* heads off to Singapore for three months. He’s in the navy. Go well. And come home safe to your wife and baby. May your relationship only strengthen during this time of separation. May your love grow deeper.

Arohanui.

*this nephew is a result of war. His mother is first-generation New Zealander of Dutch descendent. His Oma wanted to move somewhere that couldn’t be invaded. And there was this guy with glasshouse pieces ready to move to New Zealand.

Thoughts for a Thursday: fashion

I know that seanfish would disagree that we're middle-aged... but when it comes to clothes shopping, I'm feeling decidely in-between.

I'm too old for some shops. Too young for other shops. Too dressy / business. Not funky enough. Too casual. Too poor. Too something.

Saw a fab pair of boots - the design is my name and all! - but $240... maybe not. Saw a great dress - $130. Hmmm... Also a no-go.

So - turning to the left or the right isn't really working at the moment. I'm in the middle, spinning around.

Such a whiney girl at the moment. But, there must be others out there who understand. Surely.

Thoughts for a Thursday: Grandparents

Recently I've had a few conversations about grandparents, and their importance in people's lives. I think it's sad that most of my nieces and nephews only have one grandparent. Admittedly, she's a pretty cool grandmother to have. (Love you Mum!). I also feel sorry for those of my friends who didn't have close relationships with their grandparents.

Until I was about 3, I had one great-grandfather, three grandads, and two nanas. I don't remember my great-grandad. And I had very little to do with one of my grandads (actually my clearest memory related to him is of his funeral). And, one of my grandads died when I was nine. However, my memories of that time are pretty hazy, so I don't remember much of him, unfortunately.

What I do remember of that house was the freedom. This was the house where kids - in my case, kid, singular - were expected to entertain themselves while the adults caught up and talked about adult things. I was brought in for food and drink (the biscuit tin was always full - sultana pasties, hundreds & thousand biscuits, in particular, where much prized. And, somehow, the sachet drink at Nana's always tasted different from anywhere else. This Nana became the Biscuit Nana). This house had a magic table (my older siblings called it Aslan's Table). It had a garden that was free range. I could pick and eat pretty much anything. The rules were unspoken, but clear. It was magic. (These are my Dad's parents.)

The other Nana and Grandad lived in two different houses in my memory, and I don't remember much of the first one. Well, snippets. The second one was a unit in a set of pensioner units. That would be why there were toys to play with inside. (This Nana became known as the Toy Nana).

Although this set of grandparents were around longer, and I built stronger, more adult, relationships with them, as a child their house didn't have the same sense of freedom as the other. And, somehow, wasn't quite as child-friendly and welcoming - although to all appearances, it should have been.

The Biscuit Nana was a product of her time. She grew up before she should have, with adult responsibilities at a too young age, supporting her family. They were a non-demonstrative couple, but hugs and kisses were received and given when we visited. Nana worked most of her life. Unusually for her time, she learnt to drive, mostly because Grandad couldn't, as he had lost his eye in a workplace accident. She was strongly independent, in a quiet way. They struggled in the Depression, but held it together. She was only able to have two children, but accepted their in-laws, and had strong bonds with Nana's family. Nana was always a snazzy dresser, with great shoes. If only any of us had inherited her colouring: blue-black hair, with violet-blue eyes. Aunty Gwen got the eyes, and they are stunning.
[Every morning, Dad would ring his mum and they would talk and talk and talk. When Nana moved in with us (just for a short while before she died) every morning he'd put on his dressing gown, and sit at the end of his Mum's bed and they'd talk and talk and talk. The first morning after Nana's death, Dad rang his sister - at the same time he used to ring his mum - and said 'we're orphans'. It hit me then that, no matter how old you are, whether you were a grandparent or whatever, you will always be a child. And you will always need your Mum and Dad.]
Grandad was bedridden for most of my life, but he relished and cherished his grandchildren - we could do no wrong in his eyes. If you've ever wondered why I have two teaspoons of sugar in my drinks, you can blame him. I can remember staying with them, and Grandad bringing in my breakfast on a tray in the morning - breakfast in bed! He spoiled us - and part of it would be a glass of milk with two sugars. He also gave us money when we visited, for treats (I got 50 cents, my older siblings got less. Inflation guys!).

The Toy Nana and Grandad. It is hard to compare of course! And the fact they died when I was an adult changes your perspective. But, my Little Miss Matchy-Matchy traits come from this Nana, I'm sure of it. (Shoes, I can blame on both of them - and my mum). Again, independent woman. Oh, and she passed her organisation / volunteering / crafting propensity to her daughter, and hence to me.
Grandad was a gentle soul, giving and accepting. He had six children. It didn't matter to him who was the biological father - they were all his. To his dying day, he wished he knew who his biological father was. How does a man cope when he comes home from work one day, having left behind that morning his wife and infant daughter, and is greeted by two older daughters calling him dad? He adopts them legally but, more importantly, takes them as his - in his heart. The joy when he was reunited with his first daughter (from his first marriage) - after 58 years! - was just beautiful.

Do I miss them? Damn straight.
If the Biscuit Nana was alive, I could show her that the $400 she gave me to help buy textbooks in my first year at university (and that my inheritance from her paid my uni fees for the next two years of my BA) was worth it. That I didn't cost my dad a lot of money. That I used my degree to good effect. That I did it. (Until fairly recently, I'm the only one of my family - pretty sure both sides - with a degree.) We could talk cricket. And rugby. And league.
If Grandad C was alive (always Grandad Cxxxxxx - and Dad was just Grandad. No surname. That was his dad) I could ask for help with my garden. I could make him a cuppa.
If the Toy Nana was alive, I could show off my craft skills, and talk about our cats. I could ring up for cooking advice. And we could chat.
If Grandad F was alive we could talk about books. I could introduce him to some fabulous new children's books that have been published. He would have LOVED Harry Potter! We could complain about the fact that there's very few fantasy books published in large print.
If they were alive I would cherish them, as I might not have done while they were alive. I was too young, in some instances, to do so. I would love them. I would show them that the lessons they passed on - intentionally or not - have been heeded.

At nearly 40 I have learned that you always need your grandparents. That they are some of the most valuable people in your lives. If yours are still alive - and, if you really love them - tell them. Now.
If you are grandparentless - think about what they mean to you. And think it into the universe.
We know they're listening. Why should death stop them from keeping an eye on us?
Nothing will stop that love.