While I was tooting off today for my third singles
convention, somebody very special was having a birthday: Happy birthday, dear Erin. May the year ahead
be a splendid one indeed! I sure do love you – I am so glad you are in my life.
On this
day I was to meet the group of single sisters over in Harborne next to the
church. Naturally running late (Myfanwy needed to ‘point’ out a few things to
me just as I was trying to get out the door), I tore up Bristol Road (causing a
setback to my already chronically-injured right heel), had to wait for the bus
(not any old, ordinary bus, but the number 11 bus, touted as Europe's longest
urban bus artery, no kidding! – aka,
West Midlands bus route 11, which takes you around the Birmingham outer circle – a roughly circular, 27 mile journey from
start to finish. ‘Buses on the ring
route are numbered 11C on the clockwise journey and 11A for the anticlockwise,
opposite direction.’ My friendly advisor, Leah, suggests that some day when I
have nothing better to do, I should cough up my ‘one pound ninety’ and go and
go and go, while I look and look and look. I’ll have to do just that – if EVER
I find myself in that inadvertent situation!) and then fork over my £1.90 (same
price no matter where you’re headed, to anywhere in all of Birmingham – for
either a short, OR a long distance), then speed to Harborne upon the said
number 11 bus (the shortest part of all the above steps), where the others were
waiting, as patiently as they could. (After all that, the irony was that later,
when we ladies finally got oriented one to another and learned where we’d all
come from, our route leading away from town towards Preston ended up bringing
us within blocks of where I’d started from my own home 45 minutes previously. Could
have saved myself the £1.90, aggravating my foot in the rush to catch the bus,
and them waiting for me out in Harborne. But at that point, who knew – not them,
and certainly not me! )
Riding along in our car (more sentimental LDS
schlock oozing from the CD player, just as there had been on the day I rode
with Beate to the temple) were Julie, the owner and driver from Moseley, me and
Beate, and lastly, Paula (pronounced like Polla), from Billesley – all from different
areas within the greater metropolis of Birmingham. Paula has a really fun sense
of humor. (For instance, ever after I and a man I had met and spent some time
with at my first singles convention in Manchester bumped into each other at the
beginning of the third hour of the workshops, he ended up shadowing our group
for the remainder of the day. Paula, who had known him from singles’ functions years
before, teasingly referred to him as her former husband, and made all kinds of
witty jokes associated with that connection. See photo below where she is
feigning a one-two knockout punch to Jim’s kisser. Since he is a total jokester
himself, it made for some really entertaining moments.)
[Incidentally, the next day, Sunday, Paula
attended our Harborne Ward where she’d been a member of the congregation
several years before. This gave us the chance to further our friendship, as we
sat together during fast and testimony meeting. Afterwards, I was able to meet
the ‘real’ former husband, as he and their daughter were picking Paula up for a
birthday dinner. Interesting that he, having lived in America for a time, loved
all things related to Uncle Sam (kind of the opposite of me) as he drives a
couple of different American models – an old Pontiac Trans Am and a newer model
Rav4.]
Our drive north this morning took us around two
hours. (As you all know, driving in England is on the opposite side of the road,
so the fast lane is the further right side of the motorway. Signage is
different, of course: one read ‘Keep Apart Two Chevrons,’ painted in the middle
of the lane like this, > >, meaning keep this much distance between
vehicles while driving – a good way to demonstrate that concept. With SO many
differences, I often wonder if I EVER will be able to drive in England!) With a
little bit of a late start, a stop to wee and stretch at Welcome Break*, then
further slowed down by a couple of heavy fog patches, following the wandering
path of our Google maps printout to Ashton-under-Lyne** (the signs on the
motorway as we got closer listed our destination as Ashton-u-Lyne), we arrived
at the Ashton church building to find that the first of the day’s agenda – workshop
presentations – had already begun.
*Rest stops along the roadway in England – to
refuel your car and body, while you unfuel your bladder – are almost little
destination sites. They look the size of a truck stop, always with shops and a
restaurant, besides the usual gas station aspects, all on a fairly good-sized
piece of ground. There is never more than one establishment at any given site;
and you take an exit off the motorway that goes directly to it. These break
stops are found along the road, not on the outskirts of a city as we are used
to. In one hallway I saw a boy {not a toddler} with a binky hanging out of his
chops that looked for all like those wax lips and teeth you can get around
Halloween. For gross!
**Historically
the original township had centered on Ashton Old Hall
which was held by the de Asshetons, the Lords of the Manor. Granted a Royal Charter in 1414, the manor spanned a broad rural area consisting of marshland,
moorland, and a number of villages and hamlets. The root of the
"under-Lyne" suffix is less clear, but probably derives from Ashton's
proximity to the Pennines (a low-rising mountain range, separating the North
West of England from Yorkshire and the North East – an area of outstanding
natural beauty). Ashton’s claim to fame is that in 2006 IKEA opened what was then the tallest store in the country. Situated in the
area of northwest England where the first LDS missionaries were inspired to proselyted,
there is presently enough of an LDS population in Ashton’s boundaries to support
two wards.
Becoming G.R.E.A.T
was the title of the third workshop. The sister who made the
presentation, a motivational speaker as well as one of the convention
organizers, had recently started a company with the idea of helping people
improve their lives and shared some of the principles with us. (In relation to
which, among all the talks, Stephen R. Covey was mentioned a number of times before
it was time for the midday meal.) We started by going through all the letters
of the word ‘great,’ telling what they meant to us. I put forward ‘T’ for TERRIFIC!
Good job, honey! It was upon entering this classroom and looking for a seat
that I had come upon my male friend from the Manchester convention, Jim. (Gillian,
my friend of Solihull and Coventry fame, was dead set that this was a match
made in heaven – at first I didn’t know how I felt about it, but soon did: mmm,
no. Great guy, and lots of fun, but not my preferred soul mate. He is one half
of a set of twins, both of whom are public education teachers. When I had asked
if he’d mind if I called him Jimmy, he had educated me in the eccentricities of
the Scottish language. ‘Jimmy’ in his country
is like saying ‘Hey, Joe’ or ‘Buddy’ in ours, so he consequently had NEVER been
known as Jimmy. Who would have known?!) From this point on, until he said
farewell to us at Julie’s car later in the evening, he became a part of our
group of sisters.
Following the workshops it was time for lunch:
composed of ham, turkey or cheese on a bap (aka a bun – more particularly a
hamburger-bun sort of bun) with chips, soft drinks, and an apple. To go on top we
were offered stuffing (yes, like you have with turkey at Thanksgiving dinner)
and applesauce (interesting!), and sliced onion and tomatoes. Sadly, however,
no mustard, I was sorry to learn. (How can you have a decent meat sandwich
without some good ol’ German mustard sauce?!)
Then time to roll out the choice of afternoon
activities – a walk around the local garden centre and parkland (followed by some
lovely hot chocolate to warm us up on this nippy autumn day), a movie in the
chapel, or bowling – take your pick! Bet you can guess which one I chose!
However, I will be the first to admit that I had not dressed appropriately for
the occasion: I had worn a skirt and it was a bit nippy on the legs. (The
flyers we are given never quite list as many details as one would like.) Thank
goodness I had my walking shoes, scarf and gloves that I‘d brought along to get
me from my house to Harborne earlier that morning.
Leah had told me in the past that garden
centers are very popular with Brits. (You may recall that some of my very first
moments with Byron were spent parked next to a garden centre.) Seen as somewhat
of a destination to go and visit (along the lines of Thanksgiving Point or
Wheeler Farm), they are often associated with a park or woodland. Just a short distance away from the Ashton
Stake Centre, was the Daisy Nook Country Park and Garden Centre, located in the Medlock Valley, the area originally called
Waterhouses - one of three 'houses,’ the other
two being Millhouses and Woodhouses. The name changed when a local
writer and poet, Ben Brierley, wrote about the area in a short story entitled
"A Day Out, or a Summer Ramble to Daisy Nook" published in the 1850s.
Brierley asked his friend Charles Potter, an
artist, to draw an imaginary place called Daisy Nook. Potter came to nearby
Waterhouses to complete his drawing, the title caught on and from then on the area was known as Daisy Nook.
During the Victorian period, Daisy Nook became a spot for afternoons out. Families
would picnic by the River Medlock, walk by Bardsley canal, take a boat ride at Crime Lake and visit one of the
refreshment facilities. Today you can do all of the aforementioned, plus explore
Boodie Wood, walking trails, bridle paths (I guess it’s in America that we say
‘equestrian trails’), angling areas (Sammy’s Basin and the lake), and an
adventure play area for the kids.
Though we had been allotted two
and half lovely hours for our afternoon outing, when all was said and done, we
ended up with only 30 minutes to enjoy some out-of-door recreation. First of
all Julie had agreed to use her car to transport a sister’s wheelchair to the
park. No one thought of following the other car in which this sister was riding,
or vice versa, so after we’d driven the couple miles to the adjoining car park
and sat waiting – with no results – Julie walked over to the garden center and
discovered they had long ago arrived in the lot closest to the centre and been
lent a wheel chair. At that point we were free to go, but needing to meet up with
the rest of the group for that promised cup’o hot chocolate sooner than later. Jim, the life of the party, kept us all in stitches through the extent of our wanderings.
So after too much little time spent in the dales of Daisy Nook, we had to cut short our nature walk and made our way to the Daisy Nook Garden Center - typically containing some sort of place to eat, things to see and explore (even real live plants to have for your own, if you can imagine!) and curious stuff to admire or purchase and bring home with you. We ladies especially enjoyed browsing through the aisles of unique items of clothing, home decor, collectibles and gifts. In particular I found a pair of boots I REALLY liked . . . and wanted, as did Beate, room for which we both conceded we did not have in our budgets at the present time to have, though I did find a couple fanciful things I was willing to squeeze the last of my piggy bag to have (see below). This was the first time since being in England, AND first time this season (it may be the first, but it surely would NOT be the last!), that I came upon such well-presented Christmas displays that I must admit, before I realized what was happening to me, caught me up in the moment and I began to experience that nostalgic, sentimental feeling we all associate with the holidays. (Boohoo! Oh, boy, steel thy heart, grandma honey bee!!)
So after too much little time spent in the dales of Daisy Nook, we had to cut short our nature walk and made our way to the Daisy Nook Garden Center - typically containing some sort of place to eat, things to see and explore (even real live plants to have for your own, if you can imagine!) and curious stuff to admire or purchase and bring home with you. We ladies especially enjoyed browsing through the aisles of unique items of clothing, home decor, collectibles and gifts. In particular I found a pair of boots I REALLY liked . . . and wanted, as did Beate, room for which we both conceded we did not have in our budgets at the present time to have, though I did find a couple fanciful things I was willing to squeeze the last of my piggy bag to have (see below). This was the first time since being in England, AND first time this season (it may be the first, but it surely would NOT be the last!), that I came upon such well-presented Christmas displays that I must admit, before I realized what was happening to me, caught me up in the moment and I began to experience that nostalgic, sentimental feeling we all associate with the holidays. (Boohoo! Oh, boy, steel thy heart, grandma honey bee!!)
Not a moment too soon we were rounded up and invited
to join the group in the tea room where we became privy to the promised liquid
chocolate. I used every bit of self-control I could muster and turned down the
whipped cream-ladened version that everybody else was getting [gotta watch that
girlish figure, you know} and had the ordinary, straight-up kind – which, to
give you an idea, is definitely watery compared to what we are used to. (As
Leah explained to me, in England it’s all about the measure of the chocolatiness,
not the thickness or creaminess.)
For dinner, our meal consisted of meat and potato
pie (too gamely beefy for my tastes – as I child I didn’t like eating beef at
all), though the crust was very noice – served from large aluminum pans, that
undoubtedly had been purchased premade. (Sister Cosco?) I don’t get it – heavy
on the chunks of white potato, lots of lovely gravy with just a touch of meat, then
to be encased in a flaky, irresistible pastry crust. To accompany this main
dish were pickled sliced beets as well as strips of pickled cabbage, with
plenty of bread rolls to fill up the hearty eater – me! I took a large, quick
bite of the cabbage, having no idea of its potency, and got that immediate effect
to the epiglottis, like when you swallow something intensely sweet, too quickly
– choke, cough and then can’t talk for a minute or so. Pretty dumb – and
embarrassing.
Our dining complete, while some ladies spruced up their
loveliness (I was who I was in the same old clothes – no one really I felt I
needed to impress), and the dinner cultural hall was transformed into the dance
floor, Jim and I retired to the chapel for some ‘getting to know you better’
talk. Nothing to report there. As I told Gillian (who was rife to practically
marry us off following the first singles conference where we originally met),
he’s a very nice man, just not the man of my dreams. (We will stay in touch. He
has invited me to come and visit him in Scotland, but I don’t know - I don’t
want to mislead him by alluding to an interest that does not exist.) Soon
everyone congregated to the chapel where a wrap-up was given. The sister who
spoke said they had chosen the theme, ‘Truth Will Prevail’ (the very theme the
early British missionaries had taken as their motto when they had first arrived
on these shores those many years past.) in memory of the early saints, of which
we are the living remnant; in celebration, as well, of who we were, as
committed members of the church, as single members of the church – to signify
that as such (one third of the church population) we are valued and worth
recognizing and honoring. Very nice.
The dance was decorated like a wedding reception
or something – with coverings and ties over the backs of the chairs, attractive
centerpieces on the table. Wow, the Ashton Stake really went out of their way
to make this a very special occasion for those of us who were able to attend.
And I especially appreciated their efforts, having been for many years in a
similar calling. I began by dancing along with whoever happened to be on the
dance floor, male or female, and eventually with Jim alone – especially when he
discovered we were leaving at the early hour of 9pm
. He could trip the light fantastic better than
most, so that proved to be a rousing good time. I kind of hated hearing, ‘oh,
the two of you look so GOOD together!’ knowing that that was where the magic
ended. Soon Jim walked the group of us to the car (such a gentleman!), and we
were off (the dance was still going when we left but we all needed and wanted to get started,
with a bit of a drive still to go). Returned home by eleven – not so much
meandering or daytime traffic this time around. Delivered straight to my door, I
didn't have to ride the bus and worry about ‘now where am I?’ or anything –
just sit back, relax and leave the driving to Julie.
Photos_
Just for me wee Erin:
1- Erin as
represented by fire safety badge, with Oliver (a la tomato sauce)
2- fire engine red
3- firemen in the stew for my siren
2- fire engine red
3- firemen in the stew for my siren
4- bee in britain
(I was just kneeling down by my bed to pray when I glanced up and spied my
little Erinbee poking out from where he was suspended beneath my desk lamp,
reminding me of the love Erin has for her old mom, that she is always thinking
of me – just as I am always thinking of her
5- cartoon
for EBob (RPSC, taking place in London,
this very day – wonder who won? and how?!)
6- discovered
at the Pennell’s Garden Centre Car Boot Sale (a site that will always remind me
of
Byron)
7-
mismatched and loving it!
8- pets of the day
9- for all those Becks out there
8- pets of the day
9- for all those Becks out there
Ashton-under-Lyne:
10- suspended
chapel lighting in Ashton Ward – ahead of their time? (Compare to the ceiling
fixtures in the Great Hall, University of Birmingham – Day 93)
11- astonishing
hair of youngish sister (revealed she lives with her mum) I had first met at
the
Manchester convention
12- inside Daisy Nook Country Park
13- property
for sale – the little griffin on the edge of the roof says it all – happened upon during our Daisy Nook walk: Boodle Fold Farm (a rivulet running past a long
flight of descending steps from the main house to the stream-side deck, several acres of wilderness all around; oh, man, a
dream location!)
14- my friends, Paula - standing next, and
delivering a right jab, to her ‘ex,’ Jim, then Julie, and lastly, Beate, in
front of you can see where
15- whimsical gotta-haves for a price (kitty toy 'with natural wild catnip' and
bedazzling mushroom tree ornament)
16- dinner fare
* * * * *
