Care in the Community

When asked what period in time would I travel back to, mine would have to be the forties.  I suppose it stems from my nan's time when she was a young woman.  She would often recall tales of times gone by, but by no means with the rose-tinted glasses.  She would tell of the hardships endured during the first half of the decade of war torn Britain and how the phrases 'make do and mend' and 'dig for victory' were instilled into people's way of thinking.  Yet despite such atrocities happening worldwide, one thing she did remember with fondness was the sense of community there was among everyone. 

Now, I don't want to go as far as being called upon should someone die and be expected to lay out the dead (as neighbours often did with her) but the thought of helping one another in difficult times is something I wish was more noticable in our society.  That is why I have made a conscious effort to try and help somebody in my community at least once a week.  I'm not talking about rushing into a burning building to save someone's pet budgerigar (although you never can tell until faced with the situation).  No, I'm talking about the little things, perhaps even the un-noticable.  Recycling.  More to the point, recycling that benefits the community.  Everybody recycles newspapers.  We don't often give it a second thought to put it out on recycling day. It's become a way of life.  But then while out walking the other week I passed my local community centre.  This centre provides excellent facilities and affords opportunities and activities for everyone to participate in, myself included.  I still have a wooden spoon I engraved when I went to the summer playscheme 23 years ago not to mention the countless first aid, language and computer classes I have attended.  I noticed outside a big recycling green paperbank, the ones that are normally seen on supermarket carparks.  The money raised from would go directly to the centre.

So a couple of times of week I take whatever papers, junk mail and pizza delivery leaflets to this paperbank.  It's 2 minutes from where I live, gives me a chance to walk the dog and is a way to say thank you in my own way for the fantastic service the community centre has provided and continues to provide to everyone.

Jam Jars

As mentioned earlier I love recycling.  My husband, who is a very hands on practical person, suggested buying some electrical garden lights.  My poor little heart nearly stopped in it's tracks.  ELECTRICAL.  Are you serious? We already have two teenage daughters that use enough electricity in a week than a small town in Ireland (and no amount of lecturing is going to make them change their ways-hair needs washing, drying and straightening everyday don't you know). If I had my way we would be all be using wind-up appliances to generatre energy- keep fit not fat!  So I decided to come up with my own creation.  These are only two of the lights I have created tonight.  The other three will follow shortly.  The only thing I have had to buy is the garden wire £1.48.  The rest of  the materials have come from teenage daughter number two nail varnish collection, mother-in-law jam jars, tea-lights -Halloween three years ago, and beads from old bracelets.  My husband smiled (the way he does when not wanting confrontation) and said 'Ooh, aren't you the creative one'.  I don't profess to be creative but when it comes to saving a bit of money and preserving the Earth for that little bit longer, then yes, I will rack my brains for whatever is necessary!

I Blame Enid Blyton

I blame Enid Blyton for creating in my head a Utopian ideal of how life should be lived.  I also believe I am part of a generation of Enid Blyton readers who all share the same ideals.  I have friends on Facebook with whom I have not had contact with for over twenty years and are living their life how Enid would have wanted.  Self sufficient, living in the countryside, drinking lashings of Ginger Beer, helping Father dig up the potatoes before going up the Faraway Tree for an adventure with Moon-Face (and still chuckle at the names Dick and Fanny).  I take great delight in recycling everything possible, scouring car boot sales, blackberrying, and 'proper' home cooking. My elder children consider me slightly barmy and my husband smiles at me (the way one would at a small child) when I show him my latest homemade creation.  Yet, this is me and I want to share it with you -whoever will listen.