Grow A Spine

Dear Diary, May 19

I swear every year that I will never, ever volunteer again to help at the church fete, and every year I get suckered into it. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just say no? I managed to avoid Mrs. Hornsby and her sign-up sheet at church, but she cornered us in the pet food aisle of the supermarket. Jim vanished, of course. For a big man, he’s remarkably good at making himself scarce at the most inconvenient moments. Before I knew it, I was signed up to make cookies and do the morning shift at the bake stall. Jim caught up with me as soon as the coast was clear. Typical. I let him load and unload all the groceries by himself and did not offer to make him a cup of tea. He had the nerve to ask me what was wrong.

Dear Diary, May 20

Carlie came home from university. I told her about the church fete, and she said I’m a people-pleaser and need to grow a spine. My mother would have clouted my ear if I’d spoken that way, even if it was well meant. I’m all tongue-tied and flustered around Carlie these days. She’s too smart for her dad and me. Jim and I look at each other when she goes on about the evils of the system, the oppression of women, climate change and I don’t know what all else. We love her dearly, but we never know what to say, not that we could get a word in edgewise anyway. She gave me a pamphlet about a fitness class for women and said it would boost my self-esteem. I read it when Jim wasn’t around. He’d have started on about his glory days as a soccer player if he’d seen it, even though he’s a big couch potato nowadays. Why do men always have to know best about everything? Mind you, it does say the class is for women of all ages. I might, just might, give it a try. Mrs. Hornsby called to vent. Annoying as she is, I feel for her because she’s been running the fete forever and now some of the younger members of the congregation are getting restless. They're suggesting we should offer vegan and gluten free versions of everything. No way I’m doing that. Grandma would spin in her grave if I changed her chocolate chip cookie recipe. I suggested that Mrs. H. tell the young whippersnappers to bake vegan and gluten free themselves if it mattered that much to them. She appreciated the suggestion.

Dear Diary, May 24

Jim’s on a golfing trip, so I had some peace and quiet. I hate baking when he’s around because he gets under my feet and on my nerves in the kitchen. Beryl came to help me make the cookies. The baking seemed to take no time because we blasted music and had a good laugh while we were working. She had brought a bottle of wine. I asked her how it needed to be stored and she said it needed to be drunk, so we opened it. After a glass, I got brave enough to show her the gym pamphlet. I thought she’d laugh, but she liked the idea and even helped me order some gym clothes online. We’re going to take a class together. She’s been recruited for face painting at the fete by Mrs. H. It’s so nice to talk to someone who understands.

Dear Diary, May 30

Survived another fete. My cookies sold out. I was worried about them being next to the healthy options, but Carlie suggested I label them as Grandma’s Nostalgic cookies which went over very well. The vegan and gluten free cookies were a success too. Just shows there’s room for all sorts in the business. I enjoyed chatting with some of the youngsters. They’re very nice and explained the vegan stuff to me. Don’t think I could do without butter and eggs myself, but it was interesting. Beryl’s nerves were shot after three hours of face painting. It was hot, so the kids were sweaty and squirmy, and the face paint kept running into their eyes. Carlie ended up taking over. She’s been very helpful during this visit and hardly lectured about politics at all. She must be getting older and wiser, or perhaps we’re learning to tune her out if she gets on her high horse. Beryl and I retreated to the refreshment tent and were enjoying a cold beer when Jim staggered in all hot and bothered. For once, he’d been too slow to avoid Mrs. H. and was volunteered to help at the grill before he knew what was happening. Beryl and I tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t help laughing. He was quite miffed but calmed down after a pint. He says they should recruit Mrs. H. to run the army. That’s a good point.

Dear Diary, June 5.

The fete was officially declared a success. We have money to fix the church roof and some for missions, though I wonder if those poor people in Africa and wherever don't have enough problems without us bothering them. But that’s a subject for another day. Jim had a great time telling people how satisfying it had been to volunteer. Mrs. H. rolled her eyes at that one and Beryl and I avoided looking at each other.

Dear Diary, June 7.

Beryl and I went to our first fitness class and enjoyed it. There are all sizes and shapes of women attending and all ages too. I was going to smuggle my gym clothes out and change there, but then I remembered what Carlie said about growing a spine. Jim did a double take when he saw me leaving dressed in my exercise clothes and started to make some smart aleck comment. He was taken aback when I told him that he couldn’t say anything until he got up off the couch himself, and that riding around the course in a golf cart didn’t count as exercise. Carlie stopped in her tracks and gave me a thumbs up. I winked back at her and left with a skip in my step.