Days out, Uncategorized

Do you pootle?

The dictionary defines pootling as ‘moving along in a leisurely way with no set agenda or aim’ and we have become expert pootlers since retiring. Last Friday we woke to a crisp winter’s day with clear blue skies and a touch of frost giving a sparkle to the world. As we sat drinking our morning cup of tea we pondered on a suitable destination for a day out? What to do? Where to go?Neither of us felt inclined to travel too far or to attempt anything too strenuous so we settled on a ‘pootling day’ and decided to head for Ludlow.

For my readers who do not know the UK well, Ludlow is a small market town on the Wales/England border and is steeped in history. The castle stands proudly at the centre of town and the narrow streets wind down from the market square enticing shoppers with their unique and special contents. Traditional crafts and family butchers rub shoulders with music shops and long standing hardware stores and each street is literally peppered with a wonderful assortment of eateries, their tempting aromas escaping out on the pavements. What better venue?

So we set off driving along quiet country roads enjoying the crisp morning, sighting pheasants and squirrels and delighting in a fox creeping along the hedgerow. After fifty minutes or so we decided to stop in Craven Arms, another small county town where the Shropshire Hills Discovery Centre sits, it’s sedum covered roof making it blend softly into the surrounding countryside. A great bonus of a day spent pootling is that you never quite know what you will come across; we stopped for a cup of coffee in the excellent cafe and we did indeed have this along with a sumptuous piece of spicy, gingery pear parkin, but after enjoying our elevenses we wandered in to the gallery to find an exhibition of wonderful photographs by Jean Macdonald,   http://www.behindmylens.co.uk/. This is a link to the artists website rather than just the display we saw but we thoroughly enjoyed her work.

Back in the car we drove the last ten miles in to Ludlow and parked the car where the man in the car next to us gave his ticket which allowed us to park free for the remainder of the day, a random act of kindness that helped the day along.

It was market day and we enjoyed browsing the stalls,buying locally made sausages to take home, a new oak side table from a flea market( we can only wonder whose elegant lounge it may have graced before ending up in our cosy Welsh home), and some small Christmas gifts. We then headed to the local hardware shop which proudly states above the door that the same family business has been in situ for over 150 years, and pushed open the door. Inside you are confronted by a vast array of items on shelves, protruding from old oak drawers, hanging from the ceiling and stacked on the floor. Not knowing where to begin to look for a poker for our wood burner we went in search of a staff member and were met by an impeccably dressed gentleman in full tweed suit, waistcoat and cravat with a handlebar moustache which would not have gone unremarked in Victorian days! Instantly answering our request he set off and reappeared with an array of fire irons from which we could make a selection. Our purchase was duly wrapped and kept behind the counter for later collection so that we would not be burdened with it on our tour of the town.

The day had remained cold and by now we were feeling ready for food again so made our way to a favourite pub, The Blue Boar where settled by a log fire to eat hot platefuls of cottage pie. As we wandered the smaller back streets on our way to the car I spied a Stationers and felt compelled to go in. I have always loved stationery items and this was a true treasure trove; not only pens, pencils and paper of every type but everything any artist could want or need, which  kept hubby very happy. At the rear of the shop, far away from the toys and jigsaw, models and board games was a stand containing exercise books and picking one up I was instantly transported back to my teaching days. As a child I had always loved the thrill of a new exercise book, it seemed to embody a fresh start, a new beginning without any errors, the clean white paper devoid of any ink blots or marks from the teacher’s red pen. As a Primary teacher I can still recall vividly those trips to the stationery cupboard early in September to collect armfuls of new books, green covers for maths, blue for English, red for Geography and so on. Seeing them lined up at the front of the class in readiness for a new group of children  was a sign of hope and possibilities and standing there in the shop, I was for a moment, back in school surrounded by the murmuring of children’s voices and the smells of chalk dust and school dinners.

I dragged myself away from the past and we headed more slowly now back towards the car when my eye was caught by the quiet street in the accompanying picture. These little alley ways are irresistible, they cry out to be explored and so we strolled the length of the quiet street marveling at the age of some of the cottages, intrigues to find a seamstress and wine merchant hiding in this out of the way spot.

It had been a good day, full of unexpected treats and pleasures and I am reminded of the quote from Robert Louis Stevenson, ” …to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.”

Philosophy, Uncategorized

Where did twenty years go?

the-eleventh-hour-disaster-alarm-clock-clock

I am not a huge participant on social media, finding it all a bit unnecessary and narcissistic but a few weeks ago on my Facebook page up popped a name from my past with a friend request. With only a slight hesitation I pressed the button and initiated the start to a sequence of messages, culminating in a plan to meet up last Sunday.

This lady, I shall call her Jill, to respect her privacy, and I had been colleagues and friends  for many years until a series of life events had slowly separated us both emotionally and geographically. We had both been through the brutal time of separation and divorce before finally emerging as a more knowing person, more self reliant person and willing to take a gamble on a new relationship. When we had last seen each other we had been in our mid forties, now we are middle aged women in our sixties. As I dressed for the meeting on Sunday morning I felt unsure, nervous, apprehensive. Would we recognise one another? How would time have treated us?We had been at the peak of our teaching careers, well groomed and smartly dressed, part of the have it all generation running full time careers and families, successfully juggling all the balls in the air before everything started to tumble down.

I arrived first at the small tea shop we had chosen for this momentous meeting and sat for five minutes with butterflies churning in my stomach. Then the door opened and without thinking I stepped forward and was engulfed in a hug of such strength and warmth there was no denying the warmth of Jill’s greeting. Settling ourselves with hot drinks the conversation jumped and skipped throughout the years and ranged from topic to topic: children, work, men and relationships, redundancy and illness, surgery and house moves, retirement and lifestyles. Some two hours later we drew breath and realised that although life had taken us down very different paths we still had much in common. As with everyone we had both suffered losses, gone through periods of illness and recovery, had more wrinkles and a few more curves to show for all those years but inside we hadn’t changed very much at all and the years fell away as we talked.

We failed to pinpoint the exact year when we had last been together but it must be heading for twenty years ago and yet within a matter of hours I felt a deep connection that would have taken months if not years to build with a ‘new’ friend. This was the first meeting, there will be more I’m certain as we both felt really pleased to have come together again and hopefully this time life won’t conspire to keep us apart for so long. An old friend is irreplaceable because the ground work was done a long time ago; we already know so much about each other that it seems we can just jump back on the track and set off again. What a gift! Thank you Facebook!

mental health, Moving home, Philosophy, Uncategorized

Homecoming

Berwyn mountains

There is a Welsh word, Hiraeth, for which there is no direct translation in to English. It conveys a mix of homesickness, a longing to be back in Wales and a love for all things Welsh. After just a few months of being back in my home country I have begun to realise that I may have been suffering from Hiraeth without even knowing it.

Before our move we lived in  a beautiful part of Cornwall, close to Dartmoor and the wild and spectacular North Cornish coast; we were spoilt with choice whenever we fancied taking a walk or wanted to show off to visitors the beautiful part of the world in which we lived but somehow I always felt disconnected, a little out of joint with my surroundings, as if I was on a long holiday.

I left mid Wales when I was eighteen to begin the journey of my adult life by living in Chester and training to be a Primary teacher; from here I moved to Bristol in the South West, married and then spent two years in South Africa before returning to the UK and settling in Gloucestershire, later moving north to Lancashire and finally down to Cornwall. Throughout this meandering part of my life I have always returned to mid Wales regularly to visit family and maintain a connection and whether arriving from the North or the South I always felt a sagging in my shoulders and a soft sigh escape me as I crossed the border and felt myself wrapped around again in the soft hills and muted shades of the countryside. Apart from my two years in South Africa I had never been away for longer than three months without paying a visit, however short, and never failed to leave feeling a sense of renewal and with something deep and inexplicable having shifted within me.

Our decision to move back to this corner of Wales, unheard of by most people, was prompted by a wish to be closer to my elderly father, still in mid Wales and my children and grandchildren living in the North of England. The decision was confirmed by the low cost of property and the peaceful existence and stunning scenery. As is the norm the move was tiring and stressful, there were unforeseen complications and difficulties but now some 4 months down the line we are able to enjoy the new house and area. We can leave our house and immediately take one of four paths and soon find ourselves on the hillsides where the scenery is simply breathtaking and the air is filled with tranquility. Never before have I appreciated the amazing trees in Wales, oak, ash, beech and birch, chestnut and horse chestnut, willow and cherry abound throughout the valley and many of them have such an air of permanence and longevity that just to walk among them is balm to the mind and soul.

We Celtic races have a deep connection to our homeland but this move has brought home to me the intensity of that link as never before. Finally I feel at home, I fit in here, I connect easily with the people around me and my husband has been amazed and astounded at the friendliness and kindness of people and their lack of wanting to make money from every situation. Tradespeople know that their next job is worth more than the £10 they could charge for a call out fee and would rather have your good will and word of mouth recommendation. There is a true spirit of community and people are valued for who and what they are and not what they do and what they own.

I have been a nomad for over fifty years and although I have made many friends and enjoyed much of my travelling it is truly special to finally have come home.

Uncategorized

Gratitude 2

In my last blog post I wrote about the worry of my daughter facing the unknown with a breast lump. We have a strong family history of breast cancer so staying positive was not easy for either her or me, so the relief on hearing that she has a harmless hormonal cyst was huge. I lost my grandmother and mother to this disease and underwent preventative surgery in my 40s as I had by then had over a dozen cysts removed, a decision I have never regretted. It now looks as though my daughter may be following the family pattern of throwing up cysts as she matures but the treatments have improved so much that she was able to receive diagnosis within two weeks of first finding the lump and will now be monitored on a yearly basis. The C word is still scary but not in the way that it was for my Mother back in the 1980s, today there is far greater knowledge, a wider range of treatment options and an amazingly supportive breast care service run by the NHS in UK.

 

There is much to be grateful for and Breast Cancer Care will continue to be my number one charity to receive support

breastcancer care

https://www.breastcancercare.org.uk/

mental health, Philosophy, Uncategorized, Walking

Gratitude

waterfall

This is Llanrhaedr Waterfall, the highest in Wales and this afternoon we took a walk through the hills to reach the top of the waterfall. At the base of the falls there is a small car park and tea shop at the end of a four mile long narrow country lane The road stops here and you can go no further. There is no mobile signal or internet, and the silence is broken only by the sounds of red kites wheeling in the skies or sheep bleating as they make their way down the hillside with the barks of the collie dogs at their heels.

The autumn colours are deepening, the reds and oranges changing the countryside with each passing day as the shades intensify. There were a few other hardy walkers out this afternoon but not enough to spoil our pleasure in a glorious afternoon, a testing walk and a cup of tea in a delightfully quirky tea room whose decor cannot have changed in the last 50 years.

There is something very calming and reassuring about being in such a remote and beautiful place; it is more than just appreciating the natural beauty of the scenery; there is something grounding about being in a place which has changed so little for many hundreds of years. The buildings we passed were farm houses and barns, both fields and hillsides were covered in sheep and bracken and for just a few hours it was so easy to leave behind the 21st century. So much of today’s technology is amazing and helps us to connect with friends and family from all over the world – this blog is just one example- but it also a millstone weighing us all down with the need to keep up, to show that we are connected and in tune, we are having a busy and interesting life….and so on. But just for a few hours to know that no one could reach me was bliss. I had no need to be a supportive parent, a dutiful daughter, a caring friend but could truly look after myself, could relish the opportunity to replenish my inner being without feeling in the least bit guilty.

Tomorrow will bring a busy day where I shall be Mum to a frightened daughter as she heads to the breast clinic to have a lump investigated, and Granny to a little boy who can’t quite understand why Mummy is not quite herself so my gratitude for today is huge. Having topped up my reserves I shall be better placed to cope with whatever  tomorrow may throw at us.

It has taken me a very long time to learn the value of self care but I would urge anyone who is in a caring role to find time for themselves on a regular basis to do whatever makes you feel whole.

mental health, Philosophy, Uncategorized

A brush with mortality

The picture above is one painted by my husband and it reminds me so often of the importance to share our feelings, make that phone call, pay that visit now before it is too late. 

Last week’s hospital visit with my much loved Father brought home to me yet again the inevitability of losing him. My Mother died when I was just 36, breast cancer treated her with cold indifference, resisting treatment and ravaging her body within a few short years. Although she was only 58 at the time she seemed to be to be slipping into old age but now I understand that that was the effects of the illness, all energy and vitality was drained from her at far too young an age. For her final year she had little interest in anyone or anything, just getting through each day was battle enough until she simply gave up and slipped into a semi coma, neither alive nor dead for many weeks before she died. My predominant emotion at the time was anger, rage at the illness that had so cruelly changed her and fury at her for giving up and losing the fight. I felt cheated that we had missed out on so many years of shared time, that my children had lost their Grandma and would never have the bond that I had been blessed to have with my Grandmother. So, between anger and fury I look back now and realise that I was too busy to grieve. I had a full time teaching job, two children to raise, a home to care for and I filled every hour with busyness. I thought of her often, brushed away the tears and hurried to another task until the memories became less difficult but I never really grieved.

The years have changed me though and I became aware a couple of years ago that I was already grieving in a sense as I accepted that I would have to say Goodbye to my father one day in the not too distant future but so often I would banish such thoughts with affirmations of his good health, lively mind, willing him to go on for ever. My second book, a short novella, was written to somehow deal with these thoughts, to help prepare myself for the inevitable and to some extent it worked. It was cathartic to write and many people have told me how much it helped them when facing the death of a parent. Should you be going through such a time do follow the link to ‘A Fearful, frightening Happening’; I would love to know your thoughts after reading it.

Dad has made a remarkable recovery from his surgery and for the moment his life goes on but the brush with mortality has reminded me yet again that none of us lives for ever and what is important is how we live and not for how long. There are no guarantees that I will outlive him, we simply don’t know but one thing I have learned from him is how much what we think, believe and do can affect not only our life but the lives of those around us. There is a responsibility that comes with maturity as we each become a role model for ageing. We can’t avoid the inevitable aches and pains , the need for spectacles or hearing aids, the joy of an afternoon nap, but we can hold on to our joy in life, a sense of fun and laughter, a curiosity in all things new and willingness to learn from our children and grandchildren. I have now become the conduit between the generations, making sure that my busy adult children find time to connect with their Grandad, that the great grandchildren spend time with this very special man so that they too will have memories of him, and equally sharing film clips and photos with Dad so that he sees the latest antics of the little ones, shares in their school plays and sports days and is able to take pleasure in knowing that they are happy and well even if it is at a distance.

Life today is so hectic and full, so busy and driven that a month, even a year can flash past in a blink and good intentions to spend time together have dropped to the bottom of the priority list. Sometimes we need a brush with mortality to help us focus again on what is truly important.

 

mental health, Moving home, Philosophy, Uncategorized

Life’s little surprises

It has been over two months since I last wrote anything on my Blog and now it feels as though so much has happened that I don’t really know where to begin. I expected a break due to moving house, what I hadn’t bargained for was over 6 weeks with out phone line or internet due to the incompetence of BT; an on running saga that I wouldn’t bore my worst enemy with.

Just as I was recovering from the stress of the move, the inevitable legal issues, lack of fuel delivery, newly ordered furniture going astray….and so on…it was time to be ‘Granny’ for a week and care for my 3 year old grandson which was a joy but brought a different kind of exhaustion by day 7. Now I was no longer just mentally tired but every bone ached from endless visits to the park, long walks, train rides and sitting on the floor to make the Pirate puzzle for the twentieth time in a day!

One young man headed for home with his parents and I collapsed in to an armchair for a snooze before clearing up the house, removing Lego bricks from the fridge, finding a stray sock under the bed, sorting out the pieces of at least five Thomas the Tank Engine jigsaws and slowly feeling the house settle back in the rhythm of two middle aged people. The peace was balm but I missed the cuddles and the bedtime stories, the endless questions and the sheer delight when he came across anything new.

Within a couple of day I felt a spring in my step again, only to be floored by  the news that my 93 year old father had been given a diagnosis of bladder cancer and was due to go in to hospital on Aug 24th. Thankfully he is otherwise very well, has now had his surgery which successfully removed all signs of the early stage tumour and he will need no further treatment. So after a few days he is now back at home, and having stayed with him to make sure he was coping, I am now back in my own home. I am in awe of his resilience, positivity and gratitude for his treatment; as I left him today he had his diary out making plans for seeing his friends within the week.

I have had a sign in my home for many years which reads :This too shall pass and whilst visiting Dad in hospital he told me that he always looks at it when he visits and how much it had helped him through the last few weeks. We talked about the simple truth of it, both good and bad times always pass, nothing lasts for ever and it is worth remembering to treasure the good moments because we know they will pass and not be worn down by the hard times because they too will come to an end.

Many years ago when running a workshop on lie skills I met an amazing American lady who encapsulated this thought neatly by likening life to a ride on the Big Wheel. In her words,

” Honey when you’re at the bottom and your feet are in the sh.. the only place you’re going is up to the blue skies but do remember as you sit at the top looking out at the wonderful view, the only place you’re going is back to the bottom !”

What a metaphor for life and one that has certainly been apparent in my life over the last few weeks and months. And right now, I feel that I’m starting to move slowly to the top of the Big Wheel again, the skies are blue and the sun is shining so I shall do my best to treasure it all.

Moving home, Uncategorized

Britain wasn’t programmed for heat like this

Heat_Wave

For most of the time we bask in a temperate climate, hovering between 14 and 24 degrees and we are attuned to this; this is what we expect in Britain and today as I continue to pack boxes and delve deep in to the recesses of dusty cupboards it is 31 degrees here in Cornwall. It is just too hot!!

Dressed only in shorts and vest top my body swiftly disposes of each glass of water that I drink by sweating profusely. I know in the annals of English literature that horses sweat, men perspire and ladies glow but here and now in June 2017 this lady is sweating and it isn’t pretty or comfortable. To add to the situation the pollen count is through the roof and I am suffering with hay fever so both sweaty and sneezy. I can see that I am painting a good picture here and whilst my husband can’t understand why I have taken time out to sit and type this but in some weird way having a rant has helped!!

Now that my frustrations have been expressed I shall go and make a cool refreshing salad and wash it down with a cold glass of wine. Thanks for being there fellow bloggers.

Politics

Another election has been and gone…

I am not a highly political animal by nature; I tend to value an ethos of effort, hard work and reward; a belief in kindness, consideration and in having a sense of responsibility to those less fortunate than myself and for this reason I am usually swayed by personality rather than party, by character and stature  rather than Conservative or Socialist. I began this election campaign by feeling that Theresa May was the one to vote for, the person to take us through the difficult Brexit months ahead but it soon became clear that the woman I had imagined to be clear thinking, compassionate and lucid had been reduced to an empty vessel spouting platitudes and slogans. She was reluctant to answer questions clearly, scared to enter in to televised debates and each day saw an increased automaton like performance which switched off me and many others in the UK.

I was left wondering where to place my cross as I didn’t totally agree with Jeremy Corbyn’s vision of life after June 8th. Much of his thinking was positive, his wish to attend to our failing NHS, our education system, our emergency services was commendable but there was always a lingering doubt in my mind as to the specifics of how all these measures would be funded.

As it happens where I put that cross is now not so important. We have a hung parliament, a coalition of sorts and we wonder how long Mrs May will remain in Number 10. Personally I feel very happy with the result; with no majority our Prime Minister will have to consult with and listen to others and maybe finally we will get to hear words such as moderation, agreement, co-operation and compromise being bandied around in Westminster. The divide between rich and poor must be halted and where possible reversed, those who are successful and earn high salaries must pay their fare share of taxes, as must the large corporations. In all of this I back Jeremy Corbyn. However it is also important not to wipe out all aspects of conservative values : rewarding those who strive to succeed, helping students by providing grammar school educations ( I was a pupil at such a school and would never have achieved as much as I have without that excellent grounding), encouraging people in to jobs and restoring a sense of self respect.

As in most arguments, there is good and bad spoken on both sides and what is needed now is for both parties to begin to listen to what each other has to say rather than to talk over their opponent. When working with young children I often used the ‘talking stone’ ( who ever held the stone, had the floor and no one else was allowed to speak until they had finished when the stone was passed to another child) and this solved many an argument or division of opinion and more importantly allowed even the quietest child their turn to be heard. Perhaps someone should take the PM a stone?talking stone

Moving home, Uncategorized

The Last Lap

snail-after-the-rain

The race has been a long one, much more of a marathon than a cross country, not the sprint for which I had hoped. We seem to have been training for ever (in reality 18 months), regular work outs on line to sift through the hundreds of available properties, intense sessions of pounding pavements as we walked the streets of towns large and small in search of that special place which would call to us and feel like home. Moments when the end seemed to be in sight but at the last minute the tape was moved and yet another 1,000 metres was added to our race.

Now we feel sure that that tape is back in view; our running shoes are wearing thin along with our energy and patience. We have trawled through our cupboards discarding the memorabilia of past races to move house, sifted through the debris from our early years keeping only those things which delight and hold true sentimental value and memories to pass on to the children and grandchildren and the packing boxes now stand empty waiting for us to begin the last lap of this race.

Although we have loved living in our present home I can feel myself slowly disconnecting and letting it go; I feel ready to hand it over to the delightful couple who want to make their home here and with each day that passes my focus turns evermore to the new house, the excitement of new beginnings and life across the finishing line.

I have moved home many times during my life but I can honestly say that I have never experienced such a tough and trying challenge as this one. Emotionally there was much bound up in this move as the reason was to be closer to the rest of our family, both young and old and I was stupidly optimistic at the start, imagining that all would be straight forward. How wrong I was this time as we were plagued by the aftermath of Brexit, a slump in the housing market and the fact that our house was a ‘ one off’ and needed just the right buyers. Our moods have risen and dipped, soared and slumped in tune with our energy levels but finally the end is in sight and like the snail we have just a short crawl until we make it to the finish.

So forgive me if I am rather quiet for the next few weeks as physically I shall be tired but also elated, mentally exhausted but also energised with the thought of creating a new home and practically I shall be waiting for British Telecom to connect me to the internet again and guess what?….. they move at snail’s pace!