I can’t remember how I acquired the name Granny Busy Bee some thirty years ago. I started off as Granny America, had a short period as Fairy Bluebell and since then I have been Busy Bee, stuck in my honeyed chaos of busy-ness.
How fortunate I am to have granddaughters who celebrate my birthday with gifts to commemorate this useful little pollinator. My beautiful long silk scarf today shows two giant bees on a pale grey honeycomb background with Gucci style dark green and red stripes. I like the idea she bought it on line from a site encouraging artists and craftsmen who would otherwise have difficulty in selling their products. I don’t like to advertise but let’s just say the name sounds like a translation of ‘and yes’ in Italian or ‘and if’ in Latin. I think I prefer the more positive Italian. Let’s take the ‘ifs’ out of life when possible.
My tea towel gift from another granddaughter also shows bees. This came from Arthouse Unlimited, a charity encouraging the work of artists suffering neuro divergence and physical adversity. Too nice to dry my dishes! And speaking of crockery, yet another granddaughter with the help of my two year old great grandson chose a jug for me, again decorated with a bee. I have now acquired QUEEN bee status with brooches, pins, earrings, a finely drawn picture by my art director and even a glass ornament for the Christmas tree showing a bee hive!
This takes me to my journey today. I looked at my pot of Wiltshire wild flower honey from the Salisbury plain, but reckoned the magic carpet needed a longer flight in search of this golden wonder. Where did I remember incredible wild flowers? High in the Pyrenees. Yes, let’s go to Andorra. I will have to choose market day in neighbouring La Seu d’Urgell in Spain. When we lived in Andorra, a weekly trip over the border for a morning coffee and market visit was a simple treat. There was the tedious task at the border when the car boot had to be opened for smuggled duty free booze and ciggies. I struggled with inadequate Catalan to say we were visiting the weekday market in Seu. Of course, we were not smugglers and our car boot empty, but I still dislike the feeling of going through Customs and Immigration. Safely through, downhill now to Seu to our favourite coffee/tea house for a welcome cuppa with a slice of caco……no, that’s nothing to do with getting high….it’s an innocent Catalan pastry brushed with a syrup and topped with pine nuts, ‘Coques amb Pinyons’. If one eats the savoury version, it could be likened to pizza. Now for the street market. What would our dear old lady on the plaza corner have from her garden today? No stall, as such, for her….just a box and a few baskets. Sometimes the vegetables were misshapen and the lettuce showed no signs of pest control. We always bought our eggs, different sizes, from her and of course, when lucky, her wild flower honey. It was a long way to buy such simple things. We were never searched on the return journey!
The carpet is happy to be flying again but thinks I should change my name. Perhaps my readers will suggest some other creature. I’ve thought about Freda the Frog as I do jump around a bit but the idea of a kiss landing a Prince is no longer appealing! This little fellow in daughter’s garden took one look at me and departed before I could get my face mask off.
Something more cuddly maybe?
Busy Bee, Scarf Face!
Series 2, Blog 68.