Insurmountable Molehill/Making the World a Better Place

I suppose it's partly because I feel ill at the moment, but things do seem really difficult. This morning I looked at a small pile of ancient stuff by my bed, pointed at it decisively and said, "That." In that moment I was quite convinced that I had set myself a realistic target for the day, i.e. finding proper homes for or otherwise disposing of the components of that small molehill - dealing with it. I took it apart and found out what was there. I washed a few things, took their picture, put the molehill back together (minus the washed things) and took its picture, sent both pictures from the mobile to the computer and they have not arrived! Stuff it! Foiled again! One element is a wooden box. I used to have 2 pebbles in it from my dad's grave with a little label saying, "Stones from Dad's grave". I was encouraged to release these stones into my garden by a well-meaning but possibly misguided anti-stuff agent. Now there are some counters and screws and paperclips, bits of violin, a marble, a fuse, a little bell.... in there. I'm not sure that's any better. I sat down and had a cry.

One last check - no, they still haven't arrived - and I shall have to go and do my other errand of the day, visiting Barbara M in hospital. Last night I went over to her flat and rang all the bells. I found out that she had been taken to hospital about 2 weeks ago. This morning the neighbour who knows her best rang me (I'd left her a note) and told me her friend's number. The friend then told me which hospital she was in and I said I'd go today, so I better had......

(Next day...) It took 3 buses to get there and 3 back. I love the way the Oyster card says '0.00 taken off' (or whatever it says) when you've paid for a bus pass. By the time I got there it was 10 minutes past the end of evening visiting, but they let me in anyway and we had a good little talk. On the last bus on the way there (a 316) I was sitting next to a frighteningly rattly window. It was one of those little buses and I was sitting on the left-hand side just behind the central doors. I pressed on the window to stop it making such an alarming noise and the man behind me did the same. After a while I took out the wrapper of some chocolate I'd almost finished eating, tore some paper off it, folded it into a little wedge and pushed it into the crack at the top of the window. The man behind me indicated that another piece near his bit of the window would make it even better, so I folded up another bit and pushed it up further back. The bits of paper more-or-less divided the top of the window in 3 and the window stopped rattling. We smiled broadly at each other and I said wouldn't it be great if we could mend the whole city so easily with little bits of torn-up paper. I wasn't sure he'd understood, so I tried again, with gestures. "Yes!" He said gruffly. "I understand!"

The picture above is the molehill. The next one is of a keyring I'd forgotten I'd removed from the pile. I put some keys on it this morning that had been held together by a rubber band.

When I left Barbara (last night) after nearly an hour, I rang my friend Jack on his mobile. The bus came while we were still talking and I'm afraid I went on talking to him once I was on the bus. I sat on the left again but this time just in front of the central doors. While I was still on the phone with Jack, I turned round and looked at the window behind the doors and there were my 2 little bits of chocolate wrapper! I said to Jack, "It's the same bus!" and he started to say something like well of course it would be.... so I had to tell him about stopping the window rattling and get across to him (way up in Hebden Bridge) that it was the selfsame actual bus itself.....

I sat pondering the ineffability of being in the right place at the right time and savouring the feeling of being completely satisfied. A vivid internal image of Barbara's beautiful face kept me company and her pleasure at my having sought her out.

On the way home I had a text message from Ji who was coming to stay the night, so I met her and was then busy with all of that.

The molehill still looks exactly the same as it did when I went out yesterday. The things I found in it and washed are pictured here. They are tiny plastic magi with a cow and a donkey, part of a Christmas crib set, and a wooden wheelbarrow whose wheel turns. These objects always used to be on our Christmas cake when I was a child. They were a little bit caked with ancient icing, but seem to have recovered well. I was worried about the wheelbarrow, but I hadn't realised it's not held together with glue, but beautifully carpentered, with a cleverness for which I have no name.

The Stone Polishing Machine part II

When my Aunty Marjie (1906-99) went back to New Zealand in the '80s, she had to clear out her flat. One of the things she came across was a box labelled "Bits of String Too Small to Use". As you can imagine, quite a bit of 'Aunt Loot' came my way. Why don't I know anyone I can pass mine on to?! Part of this bounty was a stone polishing machine, complete with instructions in her own fair hand and a supply of the necessary powders. A stone polishing machine is not very big. It's smaller than a toaster but quite heavy. All it is is a little motor with a rotating drum attached. You fill the drum with stones and abrasive powder and set it to tumble for a while. There are different grades of powder. You start rough (like sandpaper) and get finer and finer to produce a more and more lustrous shine.

The machine itself was in a beige envelope. The packets of powder and the instructions were in an old shortbread tin. They came with me everywhere, but I never looked at them or even thought about them until one day on Freecycle there was a request for - a stone polishing machine!!

Yay!! It was worth moving it with me through all those house moves! I answered the Freecycle post and arranged for this chap to come round. His 13 year-old daughter was paralysed in her legs, but loved sitting on a beach and looking at the pebbles. He thought that on days when she couldn't sit on a beach she still might enjoy playing with pebbles, polishing them and so forth.

I don't know if he was early or I was just being hopeless but I hadn't actually dug out the machine by the time he arrived. It was a very distinctive package and there was only one area of the cellar where it could be so I wasn't worried about finding it. When he came, the big beige envelope came to light pretty fast, but by then I'd actually forgotten what the other bits were in, so it was a slightly worrying hunt with him saying, "Don't worry, I'm sure I can track some down...." and helpful things like that every 2 minutes.....

When I opened the shortbread tin, I had no idea what was in it. I wasn't even sure it went with the stone polishing machine. At that point I didn't know what I was looking for at all! Finding the powders and the pencilled sheet in my aunt's writing was a wonderful moment. I was utterly perplexed though as to how come I'd never opened the box before.

I hadn't seen that bit of my aunt's writing and, as with every little memory of the dead, it seemed infinitely precious to me in that moment, just when I was on the point of giving it away. I was tempted to photocopy it, but that would've meant a trip to the shops and the man was in a hurry. I'd already held him up enough with what must've seemed to him like a hopeless rummage amongst my junk. So it's gone! I don't need a picture!

Maybe this process will be possible.......

The Porridge Pot

My Aunty Kitty (1902-95) had porridge for breakfast every morning. Once when I was visiting her and washing up after breakfast, I noticed that her little old porridge pot (heavy-duty aluminium with straight sides and a red handle) had some deep pits in its bottom. I couldn't get the porridge out of these pits except by using a pin and that imperfectly. I pointed this out to my aunt and suggested it maybe wasn't very good always to be cooking her porridge on top of old porridge that couldn't be cleaned out properly. She said she'd been using that pot for many years and didn't seem to be coming to any harm. I could see the logic of this too and didn't press my point. Next time I went, however, she had a new pot. I'm sure you can picture what the one above looked like when it was new. What a treat new non-stick is! Kitty was pleased with it. So was I when it came to washing-up after breakfast. I remarked, "Oh! You've got a new pot!" She said, "Yes. I thought about what you said and asked Nicky to buy me one when she was in Crewkerne."

I loved the way we hadn't tried to bulldoze each other the first time. I'd told her what I thought and she'd told me, but there'd been no big effort put into convincing the other of the rightness of one's point of view. Of course I was delighted that she'd thought further, but I didn't crow and say, "I told you so!"

After she died, I'm not sure how it was that I got to keep the pot, but it reminded me of the gentle firmness and firm gentleness of our relationship. It's very hard to throw it away though as you can see (below), I really should! I think I will chuck the handle. The pan can go into the garden and the little bits of metal into the recycling now. I wasn't sure how to move the picture. By accident I squashed it, then stretched it out again, so I hope it's back to its correct size. I'm a bit nervous about apostrophes this morning because I've visited 2 websites and written to the contact people to complain about misplaced apostrophes. I'm almost bound to trip up myself after that..........