Calendar Girls

I read today that the original Calendar Girls are coming back for another! For those who mightn't remember, these gals were from a Women's Institute branch somewhere in the hills of Yorkshire who, upon the leukaemia death of a member's husband, decided to pose tastefully naked in a calendar to raise money for a new couch for the cancer ward's lounge area at the local hospital. These cool gals, all 50 or above, went on to raise more cashola than they could ever have imagined, to gain notoriety all over the world, and have their story inspire the film starring Helen Mirren and a stage adaptation of said movie.

Well, they are at it again!! 10 years after the sepia coloured original calendar, replete with strategically placed embroidery frames, iced buns and cider presses, they are doing another calendar, this time in colour, with different sorts of WI type props to shield the rude bits. I just think this is so awesome. These dignified English small town wives and mothers, stalwart WI members who faithfully sing "Jerusalem" at every meeting, and enter their Victoria sponges and cucumbers and needlepoint in the town fetes, throw caution to the wind, and get their collective kit off for the world to see, all in the interests of a charity near and dear to their hearts... Wow.

I only hope that, when I reach more advanced years, that I can be as cool as the Calendar Girls...not that there will likely be any exuse for me to don my birthday suit in the public eye, but just to have that kind of brio! You go, girls!!

The Unbearable Shortness of Weekends

Seriously. Why is it that weekdays can drag and drag and draaaaaaaaaaag painfully on for about 35 years, and weekends...well, see, it's gone already! Cleo even noticed this this week. She pointed out that it didn't seem fair that one had to spend all these hours at school, and so few hours in the company of one's family. Smart kid.

Who do we have to talk to to get this rectified? My dear friend Barry & I have long harboured plans for a secret world takeover, and a systematic elimination of inferior members of the human race. I'm thinking that, as an adjunct to the wipe-out plans, we need to incorporate some sort of ruling regarding weekends and weekdays. The work week could be shortened to about 2 or 3 days, and the remainder is BLISSFUL, BLISSFUL weekend. What say?

Sunday, bloody Sunday.

It Could Only Happen to Fiona...

So, my much loved Aunt Carmen stayed overnight with me last night. We had a simply lovely night; she is truly one of my favorite people in the whole world. We always laugh about how alike we are , and how these absurd things always seem to happen to us.

Aunt C was on her way to bed last night, as was I. She returned upstairs to tell me that, as she gave a mighty yank to pull off her beautiful old cameo ring, it flew from her grasp, hit the wall, and slipped under the bed. She could see it, especially with her little flashlight, but wasn't quite able to reach it. "Oh goody", say I, eager to show off all the uses for my long, floppy arms & legs. "I bet I can reach it." So down I go, peek under the bed, and there, indeed, is the lovely ring, in a huge dust bunny at the far back of the bed next to the wall. I lie down, and stretch my prodigious arm to its outside limit, but still fell short of the ring. Crestfalllen, I got up off the floor, and Aunt Carmen suggested that I grab a stick or a broom or something. Not to be defeated, I flop back onto the floor, and decide that if I lie on my back, and use my legs, I'd be sure to flick the ring into arm's reach. I shimmy on my back as far as I can go under the bed, and no dice. Like Pooh Bear in Rabbit's hole, I did not heed the obvious, which was that I DID NOT FIT. I shove a little further, and I am momentarity completely stuck. On my back. Half under the bed. Pinned like a bug on a board. Great. Aunt Carmen looks down at me with a bemused expression, and points out the only she and I could find ourselves in this predicament!

With a great deal of wiggling, I extract myself from the underside of the bed frame, resorted to the broom that Aunt C. suggested in the first place, and swiped the ring out and onto a safe place on the dresser.....Episode gives a whole new meaning to the term "bed-ridden", no? I then spent the next 10 minutes pulling massive amounts of fluff and under-bed detritus from my hair, prior to heading off to bed.

Under a bed. Off to bed.

Death

A beloved friend has just today lost a beloved friend. My heart is breaking for him, because I suffered a similar blow at the beginning of last month. Nothing can ease the shattering sense of loss, but I have always loved this poem, and sometimes it eases the pain a little.

I love you, B.

All Is Well

Death is nothing at all

I have only slipped away into the next room

I am I and you are you

Whatever we were to each other

That we are still

Call me by my old familiar name

Speak to me in the easy way you always used

Put no difference into your tone

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow

Laugh as we always laughed

At the little jokes we always enjoyed together

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was

Let it be spoken without effort

Without the ghost of a shadow in it

Life means all that it ever meant

It is the same as it ever was

There is absolute unbroken continuity

What is death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind

Because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you for an interval

Somewhere very near

Just around the corner

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost

One brief moment and all will be as it was before

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

'The King of Terrors', a sermon on death delivered in St Paul's Cathedral on Whitsunday 1910, while the body of King Edward VII was lying in state at Westminster:

I'M BACK!!!!

....after a lengthy hiatus, Queen Fee returns to the world of the blog!!!!! ...Just sitting, watching it get dark, snow swirling like a Narnia night, little brown dog curled up beside me... Nothing much tonight, but stay tuned, dear readers, stay tuned...minutiae of my crackly little life to follow!