Reasons To Be Cheerful

It's been another good week here at The Syders and I made a shocking discovery...Angelina Jolie's Dad is The Champ! I don't know how I never knew that. On more of a serious note though, what an inspiration Angelina is to have made the decision to be tested for the faulty cancer gene, and then to have a double mastectomy, such a brave woman. I've never been much of a fan of Jolie, but the awareness she has raised recently is fantastic, especially for ladies like me who should go and get tested. Because of her, I have been prompted to make some enquires with my doctor, about having the test too, as I lost my Mum to one of the cancers that carry the faulty gene. I'm sure Jolie's publicity will save some lives.

1. My first reason to be cheerful this week is that I have been selected to write for BritMums and the Positively Inspirational round up for June and July. I am so honoured and thrilled, and I can not wait to be involved.

2. My lounge is very nearly finished, I just have the seats of my eating area left to recover then I'll be done, for this room anyway as I'll be starting on our 13 year olds bedroom next, which will be next week.

3. I have ordered over 100 plant plugs for my summer hanging baskets and pots. I'm so excited to get planting and just hope the weather isn't too wet when they turn up. Also my seedlings are all sprouting and my spuds have gone crazy.

How's your week been?

How Does Your Garden Grow.

Dad, at the front door of the first garden I remember.

My very first memory of a garden was when I was five years old. It was the mid 1970's and we were living in East London. Mum and Dad had bought their first place together which was an old Victorian semi, it cost them a whopping £7,000. It was two flats when they bought it and Dad renovated it, turning it into a lovely family home. 

 

The garden was quite a mess to start with, but Dad soon put down a nice patio and Mum planted some colourful flowers, turning it into a tidy place for me and my baby Brother to play. As my memory drifts back to that garden I picture myself in small red shorts, pink t-shirt, red wellies and a cowboy hat, pushing my pink plastic pram around the huge tree at the bottom of the garden. I suddenly spot two big brown eyes peering at me through the fence. It is my best friend Shareefa, she is five too and I think she has the prettiest name in the whole world. I quickly squeeze myself through the gap in the fence and follow my friend to the back door of her house, where I edge my bottom onto a wooden stall. 

The pleasant sound of Bengla music drifts from the kitchen radio and a strong spicy aroma tickles my nose and makes me sneeze. Shareefa's Mum looks like a goddess, dressed in her vibrant, colourful sari, her jet black hair scraped back, she kneads and rolls the dough of chapatti's with fast, expert hands into perfect circle's. It looks as though she might drop one as her hands slap together so fast, before she throws it onto hot flat pan to cook. I sit and watch in awe, while Shareefa pulls at her Mothers sari, talking to her in a funny language that I don't understand. Her Mum sighs and passes her Daughter a freshly cooked chapati and we run, excitedly back out into the garden where we share the delicious, soft bread.

I suddenly hear my Mum's voice as she calls my name. I jump up and wave goodbye to Shareefa, as I squeeze back through the gap in the fence. I spot my young, pretty Mum standing at the opposite end of our large garden, where she is happily chatting to a neighbour. I run over to her and wrap one arm around her legs as I look up at these two women who are deep in conversation about the price of washing powder.

Renee is much older than my Mum, in fact to my young years, she is the oldest lady that I had ever seen. Her pure white hair is tied loosely in a bun with wispy strands framing her soft wrinkled face, her smell is a combination of lavender and moth balls, her smile is wide and warm as she reaches her arms out to lift me up and over the low fence into her garden. 

I hold Renee's fragile hand tightly, noticing that her skin looks almost transparent as I peer curiously at the deep blue of her veins. I walk with her along the black and white tiles of her chequered garden path, and I feel a connection to her. Renee points out all the different flowers, fruits, vegetables and herbs that abundantly fill her garden, as she encourages me to stop and take in the scent of each and every one. I instantly feel an inner calm as birds sing, a bumble bee busily hums and a gentle breeze is rustling the leaves of an old apple tree, sending a sweet, soothing aroma of Chrysanthemum's through the air and into my nostrils. I knew at that exact moment that Renee was my Friend, and I decided that when I grew up, I would have a garden just like hers. And so began my love of gardening.