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.

A chill wind blows through

We drove a little way up into the hills, parked the car and set off - with one eye on the heavy clouds on the horizon. They seemed to tumble and darken as they drifted alongside our walk.

We'd found parking which we shared with drifts of nodding snowdrops. They were protected by a small rocky bank and deep leaf litter from the steel cold cutting breeze which seemed to find every gap it could around my neck, up my sleeves and under my hat. We both pulled our coats tightly and set off across the fields, following an old pack horse track which trailed between farms.

We walked between forgotten barns and derelict buildings and tumbled down stone walls. All gently being consumed by nature. One barn made me pause so I could squint through a gap in the door. It was filled with cars from the 1970s, scavenged vehicles, cement mixers and piles of unused car tyres. All thickly coated in in generations of bird poop....

Another little stone building gently leaning over a river called me across to it. Himself bounded over with a grin and exclaimed it was a rather old (and well worn) "privy" and promptly sat down on the wooden boards .... Blokey lavatorial humour is alive and well! 

The little track turned upwards on to the hills lifting us into the chill wind. Our faces burned with the cold and my eyes watered fiercely. We leaned into the breeze and trudged our way along the now narrow muddy track through reeds and the limestone. Eventually I had to call time and we found a sheltered cove which was still in the sun but just out of the wind enough to recover. 

As the sun gently slid down the icy sky and the temperatures began to fall, we stumbled off the moors and back down on to farm land and towards the car. But before we'd finished our walk - we stopped to appreciate the sunset. 

It was good to be out, and despite that breeze being as brittlely cold as it was, felt clean and clearing and rather cathartic.

Cross eyed and derpy

Saturday was one of those gentle early spring days when the sky is a thin almost translucent blue. The kind of sky that fills your eyes with light right to your very soul. It was still crisp and the breeze cutting but with coats, hats and gloves we were warm enough as we walked into town from our little weekend hideaway. 

Walking over the dark green arched bridge we met a border collie and his lovely owner. They were off for a walk she told us and that he'd (the dog) had just come back from the dog parlour and his fur was soft and clean. I buried my hands and face into his luxuriant coat and he smelt rather good. Apparently he was prone to rolling in things rather less that sweet smelling and had to have a 'shampoo and set' at least weekly. He was ever so slightly cross eyed with a derpy pink tongue hanging out of his mouth - he was wonderful.

Bumbling around the town while we re-discovered it, we noticed that over the years how it had altered from a town which seemed to be just a cluster of odd houses and even odder shops along a main route - to one that was filled with micro-pubs, bijou restaurants and trendy gift shops. 

Even the once rough and ready bakery which served really good (but huge) home bakes had scrubbed up and was more 'rustic' in a hipster sort of way. Fortunately the baking was still delicious and super sized. Seemed churlish not to order chunky mugs of tea and something to eat, so we did...... (no lunch was needed!)

Walking back to the cottage we reminisced how we'd looked into possibly buying a house here but were concerned at how out on a limb this town felt, now a decade later,  it feels vibrant and positive and even if we did want to move - we could no longer afford it. 

It was now time to walk off those calories we'd picked up in the bakery .... more to follow ...

Ey-up

 Well, that was January done and dusted. Strangely enough, as 'January' as January was, it did not drag anything like previous years - not sure why but am very grateful. 

I also managed to write 22 posts, only one less than the whole of 2024 - that was something which gently pleased me too.  We've just returned from a weekend away where we escaped to the Dales for a couple of nights. I feel refreshed and ready to tackle February.

After work on Friday, we trundled up in my car, following roads we have used and loved for years, through towns and villages, dales and fields which we have walked through with small boys, with dogs, with just each other. 

We arrived in the dark, having detoured through the nearest little town whilst we looked for the fish and chip shop we knew was tucked away in a twisty narrow back street.

 Once we'd tracked it down, we bought a 'chip butty' (roll/barm/bap/bread bun) for me and fish and chips for Himself. A few minutes later we had arrived at our home for the weekend, opened up, put on the kettle and were eating steaming hot freshly cooked chips smothered in salt and vinegar. 

I can't think of a better way to start a weekend than by licking salty fingers and drinking tea from a 'made in Yorkshire' mug.