(no subject)

Had an early night last night and a nice lie-in this morning. I've been pottering around the house, tidying stuff away, enjoying the glorious sunshine streaming through my windows. I haven't even had to put my heating on! Spring is definitely on the way even though there's still a nip in the air.

Sainsbury's delivery guy (cute!) appeared about an hour and a half ago. I like having groceries delivered. It feels like a present to myself and one that doesn't come with the pang of 'do you really need that?' I get from buying a book or a DVD. Having them delivered by a cute guy is a bonus, really. We had a bit of a natter while I tidied my things away (I was the last call of his Sunday shift). He was very curious when I went 'ooooh, that's a lot of ginger' on opening the bag which held about a kilogram of it and we enthused over the virtues of ginger, cooking and the beautiful weather.

Tangent ahoy: Eventually I let him get on his way again, but I had to resist the urge to offer him a cup of tea, because I'm not sure how that would've been received. This is a bit of a shame, because I like doing that. When I grew up, offering delivery people or builders or whatever a cup of tea/coffee/lunch was completely normal. Oma would talk with any and all who delivered anything to her door. The milkman would always stop at her house for a cup of coffee and a natter. When we'd moved to Nieuw Scheemda, we invited the waterbed man to join us for lunch. He looked a bit bemused and was about to sit quietly at a corner seat with his sandwiches when he was presented with a bowl of soup and pointed at the stack of fresh bread. He took his sandwiches home that day. When the guys building mum's conservatory were around, I'd nip in to have dinner with mum occasionally. They'd always be invited and nine times out of ten, they'd stay.^*

This is what we've always done. This is what I grew up with. You cook for people. You feed them. You talk with them and get to know them. You may never see each other again, but for the short while they're there, they're part of the family. It's not an obligation or social graces (in fact, to most people I've known it's waaay too familiar. Letting strangers eat at your table?! That's just not done. Especially not builders), but just something we've always done. You meet people, you feed them. You pay attention to them. Yet again, not because it's The Done Thing, but...well, it's what you do. They're a fellow human being and they have stories to tell and things to say and do and as you share something of yours, they share something of theirs.

After food/coffee/tea, you can go back to the previous roles, but while you're sat down over lunch/dinner/cup of coffee, you're all human and equal. It's worked out quite well over the years. It doesn't happen all the time, naturally. It does depend on if there is a click from both sides. Both inviter and invitee need to be comfortable with this for this to work. It's not like we dragged reluctant people down to the table and go 'Sit! Eat!' (That's reserved for family members and close friends ;)).

Er...where was I? Oh yes. Ginger.

I've just peeled and cut about two-thirds of the ginger and it's happily simmering away on the stove. My house smells of ginger, sugar and vanilla (I didn't have plain sugar and didn't want to go out to get some, so I used the sugar that's had a vanilla pod stuck in it for the last...month or so. Yum.). It will smell like this for most of the afternoon. And tonight, I will have more home-made crystallised ginger. Double yum.

All in all, I'm enjoying this Sunday immensely. The only thing that could make it better is real-life Hunter-snuggles. Alas, breakage happened so we're making do with remote snuggles.

^* Mind you, that's a bit of a special one anyway. The guy in charge of the project just got what my mum and dad had wanted and got on with it. It was the summer after dad died, so it was intensely emotional for all of us. I think over the eight weeks he and his coworker were there, he's had one of the three of us break down and cry on him at least once. His response? 'I need [convoluted, requiring both brain and exertion, task] done. Care to help?' Of all people, I think he helped save our sanity.

He and mum are now vast friends and if he wasn't happily married (and we didn't know mum'd kill us), we'd gently nudge him towards her. Good man.

(no subject)

Had an early night last night and a nice lie-in this morning. I've been pottering around the house, tidying stuff away, enjoying the glorious sunshine streaming through my windows. I haven't even had to put my heating on! Spring is definitely on the way even though there's still a nip in the air.

Sainsbury's delivery guy (cute!) appeared about an hour and a half ago. I like having groceries delivered. It feels like a present to myself and one that doesn't come with the pang of 'do you really need that?' I get from buying a book or a DVD. Having them delivered by a cute guy is a bonus, really. We had a bit of a natter while I tidied my things away (I was the last call of his Sunday shift). He was very curious when I went 'ooooh, that's a lot of ginger' on opening the bag which held about a kilogram of it and we enthused over the virtues of ginger, cooking and the beautiful weather.

Tangent ahoy: Eventually I let him get on his way again, but I had to resist the urge to offer him a cup of tea, because I'm not sure how that would've been received. This is a bit of a shame, because I like doing that. When I grew up, offering delivery people or builders or whatever a cup of tea/coffee/lunch was completely normal. Oma would talk with any and all who delivered anything to her door. The milkman would always stop at her house for a cup of coffee and a natter. When we'd moved to Nieuw Scheemda, we invited the waterbed man to join us for lunch. He looked a bit bemused and was about to sit quietly at a corner seat with his sandwiches when he was presented with a bowl of soup and pointed at the stack of fresh bread. He took his sandwiches home that day. When the guys building mum's conservatory were around, I'd nip in to have dinner with mum occasionally. They'd always be invited and nine times out of ten, they'd stay.^*

This is what we've always done. This is what I grew up with. You cook for people. You feed them. You talk with them and get to know them. You may never see each other again, but for the short while they're there, they're part of the family. It's not an obligation or social graces (in fact, to most people I've known it's waaay too familiar. Letting strangers eat at your table?! That's just not done. Especially not builders), but just something we've always done. You meet people, you feed them. You pay attention to them. Yet again, not because it's The Done Thing, but...well, it's what you do. They're a fellow human being and they have stories to tell and things to say and do and as you share something of yours, they share something of theirs.

After food/coffee/tea, you can go back to the previous roles, but while you're sat down over lunch/dinner/cup of coffee, you're all human and equal. It's worked out quite well over the years. It doesn't happen all the time, naturally. It does depend on if there is a click from both sides. Both inviter and invitee need to be comfortable with this for this to work. It's not like we dragged reluctant people down to the table and go 'Sit! Eat!' (That's reserved for family members and close friends ;)).

Er...where was I? Oh yes. Ginger.

I've just peeled and cut about two-thirds of the ginger and it's happily simmering away on the stove. My house smells of ginger, sugar and vanilla (I didn't have plain sugar and didn't want to go out to get some, so I used the sugar that's had a vanilla pod stuck in it for the last...month or so. Yum.). It will smell like this for most of the afternoon. And tonight, I will have more home-made crystallised ginger. Double yum.

All in all, I'm enjoying this Sunday immensely. The only thing that could make it better is real-life Hunter-snuggles. Alas, breakage happened so we're making do with remote snuggles.

^* Mind you, that's a bit of a special one anyway. The guy in charge of the project just got what my mum and dad had wanted and got on with it. It was the summer after dad died, so it was intensely emotional for all of us. I think over the eight weeks he and his coworker were there, he's had one of the three of us break down and cry on him at least once. His response? 'I need [convoluted, requiring both brain and exertion, task] done. Care to help?' Of all people, I think he helped save our sanity.

He and mum are now vast friends and if he wasn't happily married (and we didn't know mum'd kill us), we'd gently nudge him towards her. Good man.