Vegetable | I choose how I will spend the rest of my life

Well once again WordPress is playing with my mind. I published the post but now I have only half of it. Where did the rest go?

So here it is again –

It’s Saturday again so here we go. If you would like to participate please either click on the picture above or click this link.

Today I went to the Market.

It was still raining this morning what a surprise! I had arranged to meet a friend for coffee and afterwards I decided to check out the Saturday market in the area. I have seen the notices for the market many times, as it is held in the grounds of the school in the same street as Mary Potter Hospice.

The market was full of stalls selling fresh produce, mostly vegetables and fruit but one had freshly baked bread and bakery items, another was selling gourmet salamis – but the choice of vegetables was outstanding.

I was told that all vegetables were grown organically and had been picked either in the early hours of this morning or else late yesterday. They certainly looked fresher and were somewhat cheaper than those sold in the local supermarket.

I bought far too many vegetables but as winter is almost upon us, what I don’t use this week can be made into soup and frozen. I like making soup so this isn’t a drag for me.

And then of course, I started thinking about markets when I was growing up in London. I have written about street markets before. If you are interested in the ramblings of this ancient mind, click here.

As young girls we accompanied our Mother to the market every Saturday afternoon. It didn’t come with a choice, and until such time as she determined that we were old enough to act responsibly on our own, we had to go with her.

Road sign

The market was about a 30-minutes walk from where we lived and this time was used to talk about all those things that a mother and her three daughters talked about. We each carried a shopping bag mostly containing fruit and vegetables as this was all we ever seemed to buy at the market.

It was our special time together. I clearly remember when I was about 15 and beginning to go out with boys, my Mother ribbing me about my beau. She was ably assisted in this by my elder sister.

I wonder if the memories of those time are sweetened as we grow older. Could our lives have been so special then. As Barbra Streisand sings:

“Can it be that it was all so simple then or has time rewritten every line?
If we had the chance to do it all again tell me would we? Could we?
Memories, may be beautiful and yet what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget
So it’s the laughter we will remember whenever we remember the way we were.”

Mother has now been dead for some 16 years and so I can’t discuss those far off days with her. But I do have two sisters who were there at the time. I wonder if their memories of those times are as vivid as mine.

Mother with her three daughters

So what is the lesson learned? To write my blogs in Word before copying it into WordPress. That way I won’t have to rewrite it. And no doubt if you read the original version of The Market (and I know that some of you did as you have already commented on it) you may see the changes. Obviously, this mind cannot retain what was written just a few hours ago. Oh dear.

As a dear departed friend once told me “Growing old aint for the fainthearted”.

And now I have restored the original so you will be able to read the same post twice. 🙂 🙂 – sorry about that.