We do talk about our ancestors
Or, This May Answer Some of Your Questions About Me
Spending a day with my grandparents is always a fascinating experience. I don't need to do anything except sit, listen and enjoy the spectacle.
Today, they spent some time discussing their trip to a lavender farm and, in particular, the lavender scones that they ate in the cafe, which did not taste at all like lavender. The cafe is called, of course, Purple Haze. Unsurprisingly, there's a bit of a colour theme going on, which was described like this:
Mum: They had purple table cloths, purple curtains...
Grandma: But I didn't see a purple cat go past
Mum: Um, were you expecting to see a purple cat?
Grandma: Well, not at the time. I've only just thought of it.
INC: [tries not to damage internal organs from laughing]
This was followed by a lengthy discussion of purpleness. My mother informed us that too much purple was not a good thing. In fact, in Russia, they used to paint the cells of political prisoners entirely purple because that was the colour that would drive them mad the fastest.
This is the sort of stuff my mother knows.*
My grandparents, perhaps surprised at how fast we had moved from scones to psychological torture of political prisoners, asked a couple more questions, which led to this:
Grandpa: So, having the colour purple around makes you go mad?
Mum: Well, yes.
Grandpa: [taps the sprig of lavender in his buttonhole] Well, watch this space.
Later on , my grandmother showed me some of the original documents from when the family moved to Australia inthe 19th century.** Particularly entertaining was the story of my grandmother's great grandfather. After half a page or so of general historical stuff, it suddenly took a sharp left turn into amusing anecdote territory with the story of two of his daughters. I didn't write it down but it said something like this:
"Lydia and Cynthia worked for Mrs Aldergate, performing tasks including ironing the clothes. Being rather young, they folishly reasoned that they only needed to iron the front panels of each shirt, as that was all that could be seen under a gentleman's waistcoat. This practice came to an abrupt halt when they received a curt note from Mrs Aldergate saying "The whole of the shirt is to be ironed."
When reading this to my lovely wife, I prefaced it by saying "See, it's genetic".
She agreed wholeheartedly. And laughed for quite some time.
* or, just possibly, makes up. I can't tell.
**We enjoyed this so much that my particular branch of the family did it again in 1977.
Spending a day with my grandparents is always a fascinating experience. I don't need to do anything except sit, listen and enjoy the spectacle.
Today, they spent some time discussing their trip to a lavender farm and, in particular, the lavender scones that they ate in the cafe, which did not taste at all like lavender. The cafe is called, of course, Purple Haze. Unsurprisingly, there's a bit of a colour theme going on, which was described like this:
Mum: They had purple table cloths, purple curtains...
Grandma: But I didn't see a purple cat go past
Mum: Um, were you expecting to see a purple cat?
Grandma: Well, not at the time. I've only just thought of it.
INC: [tries not to damage internal organs from laughing]
This was followed by a lengthy discussion of purpleness. My mother informed us that too much purple was not a good thing. In fact, in Russia, they used to paint the cells of political prisoners entirely purple because that was the colour that would drive them mad the fastest.
This is the sort of stuff my mother knows.*
My grandparents, perhaps surprised at how fast we had moved from scones to psychological torture of political prisoners, asked a couple more questions, which led to this:
Grandpa: So, having the colour purple around makes you go mad?
Mum: Well, yes.
Grandpa: [taps the sprig of lavender in his buttonhole] Well, watch this space.
Later on , my grandmother showed me some of the original documents from when the family moved to Australia inthe 19th century.** Particularly entertaining was the story of my grandmother's great grandfather. After half a page or so of general historical stuff, it suddenly took a sharp left turn into amusing anecdote territory with the story of two of his daughters. I didn't write it down but it said something like this:
"Lydia and Cynthia worked for Mrs Aldergate, performing tasks including ironing the clothes. Being rather young, they folishly reasoned that they only needed to iron the front panels of each shirt, as that was all that could be seen under a gentleman's waistcoat. This practice came to an abrupt halt when they received a curt note from Mrs Aldergate saying "The whole of the shirt is to be ironed."
When reading this to my lovely wife, I prefaced it by saying "See, it's genetic".
She agreed wholeheartedly. And laughed for quite some time.
* or, just possibly, makes up. I can't tell.
**We enjoyed this so much that my particular branch of the family did it again in 1977.
posted by I'm not Craig at 8:14 PM
8 Comments:
i read somewhere that purple is the only colour, or shade, that suits all skin tones: all colours, all ages. it is the most flattering.
which is kind of unfortunate because it's not really a colour you can wear all the time. if at all.
i think though when i am in my 60s or older, i will become a lady in purple, maybe with wild purple hair too.
Where was this lavender farm??? Did they have lavender ice-cream?
I'm rather partial to the idea of a purple cat, just quietly.
The "paint a room purple and drive some one mad" sounds like a misogynist disinformation campaign to me....although I'm sure your mother is not a misogynist.....
Also, sorry to do this INC, but...
AB,
Do you need me to send you more of that lavender chocolate?
It was very tasty.
MG
That's it, I absolutely have to meet you by the time you're in your 60s.
Plenty of time available, clearly.
Actonb
Somewhere in the Dandenongs (that not too far east of Melbourne, for our interstate friends) I'm not sure on the lavender icecream, but I do know where you can get lavender cupcakes with surprisingly strong lavender icing.
I think we're all rather partial to the idea of a purple cat, it's just that none of us knew it until now.
My grandmother is wise.
Giggles
Thank you for clarifying that my mother is not a misogynist. I'm fairly sure that she would only have a passing familiarity with the existence of such a word.
Also, I'm currently struggling to summon up any moral outrage about the hijacking of my comments to send messages to the lovely MsB. I am too busy being impressed that you actually have a stash of topically flavoured chocolate.
I was accused of wearing 'menopausal mauve' a few years ago. I'm keeping that particular jacket in the wardrobe for another 20 years before it sees the light of day again.
Gw - I would adore some more lavender chocolate. It was very fine indeed and will play a starring role when I finally write Day 4 of the damn Road Trip...
Again, apologies INC...
There are lavendar farms?!
Meva
I don't even know what mauve is. The news that there may be more than one kind is even more baffling.
actonb
I'm looking forward to day 4 of the Road Trip. And enjoy the chocolate.
Femikneesm
Yes, but we only go to the free range ones.
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