Nothing much

Tuesday.

Work is a little too busy for my liking at the moment, but it is the way with working outdoors. Gardens have awoken and are shaking off their wintery slumber. Shoots and seedlings, weeds and herbaceous perennials are appearing at a prolific rate and I am running just to catch up. 

Am I the only one that struggles with the changing of the clocks? Actually no, I know the cat gets befuddled too. It can take up to a week for me to adjust to the present time, which annoys me as I've lived here long enough to have got used it - but no. I do think that it is a very odd thing to do - altering the time twice a year. It has a bit of a nod to King Cnut and the tides........

We've had some gently good and soul affirming walks recently. Nothing new or outstanding however the power of repeating a lovely trail when just being there is enough.

The van is getting a bit of a make-over. Himself has been inspired and the present layout - although workable, could be better. I am quietly getting excited at the thought of 'playing out' especially now the days are longer and although still chilly, they are beautiful and the light glorious.

Wednesday.

Just got home after a morning's workshop teaching. Eight lovely ladies who delighted in the mindfulness of making of wreaths adorned with mini nests and eggs, feathers, ribbons. Teeny tiny ladybirds and strands of ivy.  Leading up to any of these workshops, I get myself wound up but by the end and everyone leaves happy and I wonder why I worry!

Wool-gathering on a Tuesday

 The house at the moment is revelling in the warm scent of freshly made marmalade. The jars have been filled and the lids are beginning to click down with the most satisfactory snap. Although still a little too warm to cradle a jar in my fingers, I have already sampled some for my lunch and it was heavenly.

I am making the most of today, it will be the last Tuesday I will be at home as now the seasons are turning and the earth awakens, the gardens I tend during the warmer months are calling me back. It is always bitter sweet at this time of the year, I am just beginning to enjoy the longer daylight and the gently warming air when I return, at least I am out and in the weather - more or less whatever she throws at me!

At work we have been preparing for our bees to return from their 'holidays'. I am looking forward to their reappearance with both anticipation and trepidation. They left us in autumn under a cloud and it was a relief to have the walled garden back from their tyrannical rule. The bees, as the season progressed, became increasingly defensive then aggressive and we had to keep the visitors and volunteers alike well away. The background hum of busy bees which is usually comforting, now made us all very wary. The bees had been gentle during the previous three seasons then with the passing of the old queen and a new and tetchy replacement whipping up the hive to an angry mob - working near the enclosure was nigh on impossible especially for me as I am allergic to their stings.

Our beeks (bee keepers) have been on a fact finding tour and peace keeping mission to see how our girls are fairing in their winter holiday location and to try to ascertain their present mood. 

Contrite I hope.

Following our favourite footpaths

Sleeping in the van is like crawling into a cosy cocoon, dark and warm and deep. I seem to fall into the pillow and sink through the mattress and vanish. 

And sleep.

When I awoke on the Sunday Himself was already awake, the kettle on and he'd opened the window covering revealing the tide was in and the River Lune looked like a sinuous silvery snake languidly wandering across the Glasson marshes. The briny water twinkled in the early morning light - the palest of blues flickering on cobalt and teal bands. 

After a breakfast where our eyes filled our souls and our mouths filled our bellies, we stepped out of the van and walked a familiar and favourite walk. Down the lane into the village, around the pub and it's many friendly felines however we only stumbled across one who hurtled across the lane squeaking and yowling at us until we stopped for the demanded tickle. 

On to the marina to find a large herd of vintage motorbikes and their equally vintage pilots. Aged blokes in aged leathers, their faces creased by time and weather, gathered around eating bacon rolls and slurping coffee out of paper takeaway cups. Himself immersed himself in their oily scent and rattled under his breath the name of each bike with an added nod of approval or surprise depending on the vintage or model of the shiny black or green or red or blue two wheeled beast.

I eventually managed to pull him from the captivating metal gaggle, we crossed the road, around the old bowling green, down the steps on to the marshy foreshore away from the increasing numbers of dog walkers, bike riders, talkers and walkers and cyclists along the old railway track. 

Birds and marshes were our company now. Old boats, the scent of decomposing bladderwrack, the trill of sky larks, the rustle of the reeds and slurpy-sclutch of the silty path beneath our boots. 

That path moved upward and returned to the railway track, we crossed the bridge and turned right following a small rough lane with a reputation of drowning during high tide. All the houses along that route either high up at the back of the garden or with flood gates and walls to keep out the waves. Plenty of drift wood and litter confirming how high the water can reach.

A bit of zig zagging through muddy paths, country lanes and a brief moment of busy road before we leave all that behind and wander up the long tree lined drive of a converted mill now noisy and popular wedding venue. One that usually has folk in various stages of drunkenness and dress howling with laughter as they celebrate raucously in the gardens of the venue however this time - utter silence. We were confused - as were a number of other walkers who seemed, like us, a mixture of relief and confusion. It was once we'd returned home we discovered that despite it's apparent popularity that it closed due to bankruptcy.

We sat alongside the canal, watching coots, moorhens and listening to gulls, sky larks, curlews as we drank tea and felt the sun on our faces. 

Eventually we tore ourselves off the bench and walked along a gently rewilded canal, where swans silently glide alongside walkers. The sky and the water were the blue which almost breaks my heart.

The towpath took us back through farmland to the marina. Most of the motorbikes had now gone, we walked through the village back to the van, choosing the quieter backwater paths where, once we returned, the van door was flung open, the kettle put back on and we sat feeling the breeze, listening to the birds and watching the tide retreat.

Sunday - you have been a gift. Thank you.

Saturday

For the first, in what seems an age, Himself and I managed an escape in the van for the weekend. We did not stray far, the van had been dismantled over winter to act as a workhorse and Himself had only recently returned all the interior to some semblance of order and he wanted to test it in case of any issues.

So we meandered our way over to Heysham - in particular - Half Moon Bay. A romantic sounding name for what is a rather edge-lands coast line wedged up against a ferry terminal and a power station - yes, I know, sounds 'very glamorous'. 

However, if you do the 'instagram thang' where you cut out the grot and only show the glory - it is a lovely little place. Surprisingly so. We followed the coast line discovering sculptures and ruined chapels, ancient churches and cute cottages. 

Our first 'wow moment' was the Anna Gillespie sculpture 'Ship' - it was amazing, the detail or rather the lack of it with its implied meanings were so poignant - the gashed chests hinting at the piece of you left behind when you leave your homelands - that struck home.

The church grounds were awash with glorious purple crocus, we walked up the pathway where several other visitors shared similar sentiments and their memories - it felt like a privilege.

In the church - we had hoped and then were delighted by, to find it was open so we could see the Viking hogback stone. We sat on one of the pews and in hushed tones were just astounded at the visual story telling.

We were joined by another admirer and the three of us just marvelled at the ancient monument. Apparently this type of stone carving is peculiar to the British Isles, appearing nowhere else.

The neighbouring chapel ruins had what must rate as one of my all time favourite views and I think I must have photographed the door arch a gazillion times before Himself was able to drag me away.

The small village of Heysham must be very loved by its residents, every corner, space ground or garden seemed to be filled with flowers and sculptures or signs or coast findings - drift wood, boats, shells and fishing buoys. It was so cheerful and uplifting.  I'll have to share Sunday's stories - they were just as uplifting - it is amazing what a little bit of sunshine and a lot of blue skies can do for the soul x

Today I did a quick water colour of the 'Ship' sculpture - it made me appreciate it all the more.

Three

 Three good things on a Thursday 

Glorious spring-like weather with gentle blue skies and a warming sun,

Spending the morning and lunching with Youngest in his new home

and the snowdrops in my garden are the best they've ever been,

Where does the time go?

Twenty seven years ago give or take a day or two, Himself and I were in a worn around the edges suburban park in Johannesburg. It was uncomfortably hot and sweat was running down my spine and plastering my fringe to my forehead.

We were on a bit of a mission and despite the midday heat, were out walking. I can clearly remember the decommissioned old steam train with countless layers of thick shiny black paint covering every last inch. In spite of the metal being hot to the touch, kids happily played in and on the old monster. Strangely Himself has no recollection of the engine despite him loving trains.

I felt listless and, although normally not supressed by heat, I felt heavy and drained and very uncomfortable.

There'd been very little rain and the grass, though watered by the municipality, had a crunch to it as we walked towards some trees with benches in their shade.  We sat a while, which although being out of the direct sun was no cooler. The stilled air clung around and stuck to our skin, at least whilst we'd been walking, we'd caused a small draft which our sweat drenched bodies were grateful for.

Eventually we turned back towards the car.  Which had the glorious promise of aircon. Himself was careful and concerned and took me back home. I was what felt like 12 months pregnant with our first born son and he was two weeks over due. The ruddy faced midwife had cheerfully told us that walking would shift 'the little lodger' and so we walked, or rather Himself did while I waddled feeling the size of a house.

Sunday was his 27th birthday and we celebrated the best way we knew how - family, food, stories, candles, cake, films, pancakes, cats, gardening and fun.  Happy birthday Eldest !

The only time his feet were small........

Bird brain

I lifted my head when a bird song which had been going round my head suddenly made itself heard. Flipping back my fringe - it is getting too long, I listened again. I was on all fours laying a pathway through the dahlia bed - as you do....

I'd been so engrossed with my fingers in the soil, placing slabs in a winding path when I heard, but not listened to the twittering.

With my  neck twisted up, craning it to see if I could track who was singing in the bare sycamore trees behind the glasshouse. I knew the song - the churr and chirrup belonged to one of my favourite birds. The Long Tailed Tit - the 'flying teaspoon'. My eyes flitted across the branches and suddenly I caught their movement. A family cluster of may be eight or ten birds tripping through the twigs hunting for insects.

Like a cat I watched their every move until they came to the edge of the trees and swooped off in a twittery churring wave - gone.

Back to work.

Oh, and the painting I did the other day? Another of my favourites - the Curlew.

Observations

Most of the droplets glisten when they capture the meagre early morning sunlight, others appear opaque. The window pane is littered with static rain beads giving the appearance of pockmarked glass. Then when the fast moving grey clouds curtain the sun, the droplets become almost invisible allowing my eye through the distraction. I now watch the trees in the garden are dancing in the brisk breeze, it fluctuates from a gentle flip of the lighter branches to whole tree contortions. 

We have a stained glass plaque in the window and at the moment, brief flashes of sun sing through the colours scattering speckles of colour on the glass.

Himself left for work while it was still the last drifts of darkness leaving the cat and me in bed, his parting shot - I'd stay there if I were you. So we have. Although I suspect I will be up long before the cat.

The hyacinths in the lounge have both decorated the room and the air with their delicious scent and blue flowers however they are beginning to fade and I am sorry to see them go. It will be another ten months before we have them up on the mantel and in the window again.  Primula have been brought in to fill that hole.

The cat is rhythmically snoring beneath Himself's aged lumberjack shirt - one reserved specifically for gardening and tucking around a cold sleeping cat.

I can see, but not hear, the wind chime in the garden twirling around in the wind. It is an elegant spiral of tubes which normally share a gentle chime as they tink against each other. Today I suspect it is more of an angry clash than a melodic background sound. The blackbirds do not seem to care. They are busily foraging around the plants and bird feeder breaking off only to chase each other around and across the garage roof.

I plan to paint once I have posted this. I  can feel the compulsion to sketch and run a watercolour filled brush across paper. It sometimes feels like a rising tide which I used to suppress - somehow 'adulting' seemed more important - but now I heed that urge.

Life is for living.

Marzipan loaf cake recipe

 A quick post to share the cake recipe from my last post. Every one who has had a piece has commented how lovely it is. It make a 'close' but very light cake with a delicious lingering flavour of almond and vanilla. 

I didn't add the cardamon as I personally dislike it. The crust is delicious and I will certainly try the 'toasted' version - hope you enjoy it as much as we have ... Nigella Lawson (BBC Good Food) Marzipan Loaf Cake

I only have the 'before' photos, before Himself spotted it and despite being restrained .... ate most of it....

snapshots and scents

The plan was - get up, shower, strip the bedding then stick on the washing machine, finally sitting down with a mug of peppermint tea and toast..... The first two happened fairly smoothly, that is until it came to pulling back the duvet only to find the cat firmly burrowed beneath Himself's warm padded shirt. I hesitated. Her eyes were so firmly shut it felt quite disrespectful to disturb her. Instead I worked my way through the wash basket hoping that by the time I was ready to pull the bed apart, Pan would have decided to get up and leave me to my chores..... not a chance.

So I carefully untucked the corners of the sheets, gently pulling them to the centre. This produced the 'ears of annoyance' and the 'frown of disapproval'. I stopped. This time, I slowly pulled the duvet to the now bared mattress - this was considered inappropriate behaviour and I was given the sharpest of glares. 

How is it I have been reduced to a timid char lady to an elderly cantankerous cat?! 

I tried again, this time she poured herself out of the nest she had created and slipped off the bed and away with a rather cross flick flick of her tail.

Later.....

Chores done, breakfast eaten, carpets briefly tickled with the vacuum cleaner I reached for my knitting to do whilst I finished my tea. For what felt like the longest time, I have not had the need or the urge to knit or crochet however that seems to have returned and in the last few days I have knitted a pseudo-Sophie scarf and a warm scrappy hat for work. 

The weather has vanished again, leaving a sepia-grey sky heavy with damp and cold air. It took quite a bit of an effort on my part to go out, so I rewarded myself with the snowdrops in the garden. 

The kitchen at the moment, smells rather warm and inviting - I have a marzipan and vanilla loaf cake cooking in the oven and the fragrance is filling downstairs with a mouth watering aroma.

I hope that it tastes as good as it smells😊

Postscript..... Himself declares the cake delicious and has scoffed two chunky slices, suspect it will be a 'make it again' 🍰

A space to breathe

Thursdays are for me. 

Although not always possible, I do try and keep them quiet. It gives me time to quietly bumble around the house or garden to see to things that require more than passing attention and if I have the luxury of time - to paint.

Today I dabbled (both literally and figuratively) with acrylics on blocks of wood to see if I could make 'giftable' planters for the Mother's Day stall we will be holding in March at work. It has to be simple enough to make several and affordable enough for our visitors - not always easy. 

And I painted a barn owl feather for my perpetual  journal - something I look forward adding to each week.