Category — walking
Hello February, you scoundrel of a month.
I remember my father trying to talk to me when I was a know it all teenager of about 15. He gently tried to explain that often life gets tough, and that sometimes beyond circumstances that you can control, it just is unexplainably hard, with pressure building and hopefulness fading. I thought then that most adults, particularly my parents were idiots. I couldn’t wait to be a grown up, and what really could be so very hard about it? Big bunch of whingers I remember thinking.
I’ve been a grown up for a few months now, and finally I am just getting it. I feel beyond sadness that he is no longer here for me to tell him he was right. But many of his words stay. Blue February days can be toughies. You know those days. Nothing is technically wrong. All the bills have just about been paid, the house insurance is up to date, you haven’t missed a meeting or dental appointment. You and your partner are speaking, and the children are sort of behaving. Yet its hard to make it through, and you astutely avoid all internet images of kittens lest you start weeping, and never stop. Oh dear.
So never mind what puts us there, what gets us through? The thought that winter is passing? A long hot bath? Brand new girl boxers ordered off the internet late at night? I really have no idea.
I do know that attempting to knit slinky jumpers on circular needles with under arm cast offs, when I can barely knit a straight scarf, is not the cleverest. I also know Netflix and 82% dark chocolate is a no-no after 10pm.
I want my dad. I want him to finish the other part of the conversation that he started 35 years ago. What is supposed to happen next? Do I just carry on? (keeping calm obviously NOT being an option; I have my Mars in Leo for goddsake).
My default setting is clearly a cross between Joyce Grenfell and Doris Day – bracing walks in the countryside are embarked on, and plenty of good, wholesome food (ignoring the bad influence of best friend eating family packs of chocolate bourbons, I shall not fall madam….).
I bury myself in work, and try to stick to the surprising and quirky. Like finding badgers painted on gateposts, stacks of old letters from the 1930′s in the community recycling, and a gorgeous ginger cake mix sent spontaneously in the post by a lovely woman I’ve never met.
And if it weren’t for the fact that I’m often held to ransom by a jack russel terrorist then its possible that February could be quite dandy after all……
February 21, 2014 3 Comments
I will not die an unlived life
I will not not live in fear of falling or catching fire
I choose to inhabit my days
To allow my living to open me,
To make me less afraid, more accessible,
To loosen my heart
Until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance;
To live so that which came to me as seed
Goes to the next as blossom
And that which came to me as blossom
Goes on as fruit.
October 25, 2013 No Comments
I’m home, I’m teenaged out…and I am due some normal time (please? someone point me in the right direction?). It feels good to be back in Stroud, and immersed in our green valleys again. It feels good to be doing what I usually do at home – knitting, working in the garden on my laptop, herding cats… you know, the sort of thing that I’ve come to expect in this circus we call everyday.
Over in these parts we even have our own facebook page called ‘Normal for Stroud’ and the disturbing thing is, it looks completely reasonable to my eyes. Sigh. It was no surprise to see that a photo of our pink scarf pitched up on it this week, randomly. O.K, in this last week of August, here is a little roundup of goings-on in my ‘Normal for Stroud’ life…..
First up, no sooner had I landed home, we were carted off to Treefest, sweet little local festival, with a healthy dose of axe and chainsaw tomfoolery for obsessive woody people. And why not. Whatever floats your boat. What was floating mine, big time, were the churros with cinnamon sugar and hot chocolate sauce. Here is concrete evidence that you can distract these woody people in a nano second with the right sort of carrot….ha ha ha…..
…not so focused on your woodturning now, are you, my little sawdusty friends…..
Back at the ranch there was plenty of time to dust down the old jazz classic ’78′s (and torment the dog with the promise of a biscuit on a turntable); mix up a jug of ‘Mushion Moules’ (a ridiculous and less sober interpretation of the better known Moscow Mule), and to round off the evening’s entertainment (after the fun of teasing the dog had waned) a little game of “tie a doughnut on a string and torment our blindfolded guests” – my how we laughed…..
Other noteworthy distractions have been: meeting a wizard with some rather interesting potions and resins; getting a little ‘makey’ with some blackberry and currant liqueur, stitching a couple of hops and lavender sleeping pillows; and rolling out an 80 meter piece of peace scarf down our road as you do, for a little pinky try out.
Is this normal for Stroud? I don’t know, all I am beginning to realise is that it is normal for me. As regular as these green wooded hills that we walk, and as fab as the people that pitch up at a moment’s notice – whether it is to hold up meters of knitting or to protest another awful war in our struggling world. Happy normal weekends to y’all…
August 29, 2013 No Comments
Martha Tilston – Simple
I remember how simple simplicity used to be, before I tried too hard and chased it away,
It would float in, flow through and out of me, complication – well I rue the day.
I’m gonna get right, right to the heart of it, I was bigger when I was nothing at all,
Just another pilgrim marching to the sunset, and it didn’t matter if I got there, it’s the journey of it all.
It didn’t matter if I got there, it didn’t matter if I got there, it never matters if you get there, it’s the journey of it all.
Well I’m gonna get back there, back to the heart of things, I knew everything when nothing at all,
Just another pilgrim marching to the sunset, and it didn’t matter if I got there, there’s power in being small.
Listen to Simple here
How much do I love this favourite song of mine, sang by the wonderful Martha Tilston. Why do I let simplicity float in and around me and then chase it away again? Here is my week of simple, or my attempt at a week of simple. Loving what is right around me, around my home, directly around my neighbourhood. I haven’t travelled more than a few hundred meters to find it.
The first flowers opening in my back garden.
A birthday present for my favourite wee boy three doors along
Linens drying gently in the breeze in my neighbour’s garden.
Lunch, eaten in the sunshine
Looking at treasure in Jilly’s cabin, and celebrating her latest find for Delight.
Showing Harry how to see if you like butter, just as my grandmother showed me when I was a little girl
A small crocheted distraction from the 7 mile long pink peace scarf
An early morning walk with Herb.
Learning to share, in the park
My daughter’s handwritten letters to each of her special friends, as they celebrated their last day of school
I’m not sure why I find ‘simple’ so very hard to find sometimes. Thank you Martha for the lovely reminder….
June 7, 2013 3 Comments
Am I meandering through these days, tumbling through them, or just standing still and staring at my feet?
A little bit of all three probably. February does that to you sometimes. So to begin with, a Fairy Mouse (that I promised to show a while back) – because knitting small creatures is really the only thing to do when waiting for the light to return. She has a naughty sister that she visits sometimes and together they eat chocolate and scamper around attics causing mayhem and badness.
So back to my February days. There are early mornings making bread.
….and crazy afternoons with my favourite small boy….
There are hills waiting to be walked
…and a Sunday morning escape to our local art gallery to see Simon Packard’s fantastically bold and inspiring work.
Anything can fill a February day, and very often does, such is their disorganisation. February sometimes doesn’t know what it is. Is it deep, dark winter, or is tipping into Spring? It waits and watches, or tiptoes hesitantly, less it shakes more snow and blueness on to us.
If you are lucky, it will give you days of sisterhood, sweet balm to the soul, even if not all your precious sisters can be there.
And if that is so, you will walk those hills, and watch together for that returning light…
….and it will come….
There may well be sunsets the colour of peardrops and happy hearts to match
…with hands held quietly, and strong arms around us. These are a few of my February days.
February 9, 2013 4 Comments