love those cupcakes

Catch-up

So, here we are, chugging along towards the longest day of the year  Where does the time go?  What have I been up to?

I did something I've been toying with for a long time.  I joined a book club. Actually, it was more that a friend turned up at the door, handed me a book and told me I was now a member of one.   Although initially nervous about joining a group of strangers to talk about the book of the month (what could I say other than I liked it or I didn't like it?), it's proving to be highly enjoyable.  So far I've managed to finish all the books, with just one being a load of cheesy tripe.  Our next read, Service by Sarah Gilmartin, was chosen by yours truly.  It may well challenge the cheese lovers.

I picked tulips at the Priory over the road from the Boy's apartment.  It was surprisingly quiet with the only other pickers being a couple and their three little girls.  'Oh, look,' exclaimed one of the littles, picking up a soggy white petal.  'A feather!'.  The children were delightful.  The tulips were squeaky.

I've added to the book pile (and not just because of the afore mentioned book club membership). I can't stop myself. And Waterstones don't help with their double points weekends.

I spent a few days in a cottage in Hebden Bridge with the Boy.  There was good food, a day exploring Haworth and the home of the Brontes, sauntering, shopping and the Eurovision song contest. Perfect.

I practise Tai Chi and Qi Gong twice weekly in an attempt to bring some calm and flexibility into my life.  My teacher can see ghosts.  It makes for interesting classes.  

I've spent some time taking stock of the garden.  It's not big by any means but it's a tricky plot and, like my hair, many of the plants and shrubs are completely out of control. But there's some colour out there, the roses are flourishing and the bees are buzzing.  The weeping cherry tree at the front of the house died so had to be removed.  By professionals.  I know my limits, though I still think one good push would have done the job.  The dilapidated bird house had tenants for only the second time in all the years it's been in situ on the garage wall.  The first occupants were wasps.  This time a family of blue tits took up residence.  It was a nerve racking period but ended well.

I've been enjoying regular visits to various local coffee shops, so regular I'm greeted with 'Your usual?' in several.  The drink of choice doesn't vary (soya milk latte) and is always in a takeaway cup (the coffee stays hot).  Sometimes there's also a raspberry croissant or a granola flapjack or maybe a chocolate chip cookie (all vegan, of course).  I read. I pat dogs. I people watch. As my nearest and dearest have pointed out, I could have a worse habit.

 

2023 highlights

The second half of 2023 proved to be challenging and stressful for the most part but there were some highly enjoyable interludes and, if I don't record them here, I'll forget them.  So, here goes.

Please note:  Typepad continues to be problematic and there may be issues when viewing the photographs in this post.

There was a weekend staying in my favourite house in Hebden Bridge with the family.

There was an evening in Manchester with Jo Nesbo.

There was a birthday celebrated.  Just me, the boy and some alpacas.

 There was a winter light show in the local park.

There was a much anticipated trip to London which included the Chanel exhibition, a book tree at St Pancras, Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition, David Hockney, Antony Gormley, dinner at Marcus Wareing's restaurant in the Berkeley, the Tate Modern, panoramic views from a new viewing platform higher than the one at the Shard, champagne and nibbles at the Ritz, Borough Market, St Paul's, Fortnum and Mason, bookshops and so much more.

There was Christmas.

And that's a wrap.

 

 

Out with the old

Don't you love it when a plan comes to fruition? 

We'd hoped and prepared for a family gathering and, lo and behold, the six of us actually managed to join together for a few days to celebrate Christmas.

Despite the ongoing challenges here and, I'd have to admit, low expectations, the traditional schedule was smoothly (so smoothly I was convinced I'd forgotten to do something crucial) followed and it all proved to be highly enjoyable. 

And highly calorific.  I had to keep my apron on the whole of Christmas Day as, by the evening, I'd indulged so much (I ate most of the box of these and refilled my plate far too many times from the suppertime buffet) the zip on my trousers refused to fasten.

On Christmas Eve, with the youngest of the group finally fast asleep,  I reclaimed the Scrabble crown (it was actually a medal) after too many years of coming fourth (aka last).  I know it's wrong to blow your own trumpet but I was ON FIRE!

The now 6 year old littlest was his usual entertaining self throughout, keeping us on our toes, delivering his verdict on every aspect of the festivities ('Granny, that soup looks like sick'), challenging each of us to games of darts and table football and Silly Sausage.

After he and his parents returned home to Manchester on Boxing Day,  the Boy (he stayed here a week) and I played several rounds of Exploding Kittens (I was well and truly trounced) and managed to squeeze in a night walk along the beach and an afternoon stroll through the woods, both short but good for blowing away a cobweb or two.  We also managed a trip to the recycling centre, the first of many, hopefully, but that's part of another plan.

Many gifts were exchanged (mine included tickets to see this and enjoy a meal here) and all were seemingly well received.   Well, I haven't been asked for any receipts.  

Now, the cake, mince pies and Boy-made gingerbread house (those windows!) have all been demolished, decorations have been packed away, the tree is on the drive awaiting collection, the sizeable chocolate stack has been stored in the cupboard, there's a pile of new reads to dip into and Christmas 2021 has been locked in the memory bank alongside all the ones from preceding years.

I'm feeling surprisingly optimistic about the new year, determined to enjoy, to savour, to appreciate, to accept as I navigate a way through what I know will be an increasingly testing situation.   There'll be no making of resolutions or setting a guiding word for the year, more a sense of reassessing, I think.  For starters, yoga and meditation used to be such a big part of my life and now they're not.  I intend to change that.

And on that note I wish all of you lovely people in my laptop a happy and healthy 2022.  Your visits, comments and emails are so very much appreciated.

 

Where I ramble on about not much at all

Where does the time go?

No idea, is the short answer. 

It's not the case that my days are filled with excitement and fun activities, quite the opposite.  But I'm still here, still breathing, a year older (though sadly no wiser) and somewhat surprised that we're in the last quarter of the year.  Tempus certainly fugits.

Three of us celebrated my birthday (well, the mister wasn't in a particularly celebratory mood but freshly picked flowers, cards and gifts more than made up for all the truculence).  There was a picnic and meander round Mount Grace Priory, dinner in a new to us restaurant with a great vegan menu and the day ended with enormous slices of Boy-made chocolate cake.  

I developed a cough and lost my voice.  For almost a week.  Boo and the cats cheered.  When it returned,  I sounded like a pubescent boy, switching from bass to soprano like nobody's business.  Of course, I did the sensible thing and booked myself in for a covid test which happily proved negative. 

The test centre was just down the road.  Nevertheless, it was a little solo jaunt (which happen so infrequently these days) and I made the most of it.  Hair was washed and eye liner and lipstick applied.  Staff at the centre were so friendly and we had a good old chinwag.  I really enjoyed myself and wouldn't be at all surprised if I received an invitation to their Christmas night out. 

The eucalyptus tree in the back garden was finally chopped down.   It was an all day job which provided a bit of outdoor theatre for people round about and culminated with an eye watering invoice for us.  A big part of me was sorry to see it go but it had outgrown its space (a bit of an understatement) and the kitchen is now somewhat lighter (especially when the previously obscured security light on a neighbouring house wall flashes on and off continuously through the night).  

Then the fish died.  Turns out the sawdust from all of that chopping down, which floated into the pond, oozed eucalyptus oil which I (and the tree surgeon) only discovered afterwards is highly toxic to fish.  I tried my damnedest throughout that night to save them as they gasped their last.  It was truly harrowing.  I couldn't stop crying and I still feel guilty. 

A couple of neighbours, who I didn't know, stepped in and spent two days emptying and cleaning the pond and disposing of the bodies (the fish were koi carp so rather large).  Amazing.   

I've since tinkered with the idea of turning it into a wildlife pond but recognise it's one responsibility I can probably well do without given the situation here.  So, next year (the landscapers are fully booked until spring) it's going to be filled in and the area paved.  Or something.

I had a go at making granola, though rather wish I hadn't.  It tastes so much better than the shop bought stuff and I can't seem to resist grabbing a handful from the jar whenever I pass it. 

The granola making is part of the challenge I've set myself to eat 30 different plants a week, which apparently is good for gut health and a lot easier to achieve than you might think as herbs, grains, seeds, nuts and beans all count.  Suppers of late have become rather green.  And crunchy.

A much needed haircut was made possible by the Boy working from our dining table for a day.   I was on the verge of hacking away with the dressmaking shears but common sense prevailed (actually, it was more a case of misplacing the shears).   Roots have now been attended to and about 4 inches chopped off the back (for some strange reason my hair grows in a V shape).  Interestingly, I go to the same hairdresser as a Dragon from the Den who is now a competitor on Strictly.  We haven't rubbed shoulders yet but I did get to meet her best friend.

Books have been read.  Standouts were The Kingdom,  Plainsong, Tall Bones, Unsettled Ground (links in the sidebar).  In preparation for Hallowe'en reading, I've ordered this which sounds promisingly chilling.  I might also add this to the pile.

Autumn arrived, a significant marker as we head towards my favourite season, winter.  Nights are drawing in (or as my dad used to say, it's getting late early) and candles are being lit. I'm enjoying the changing colour palette and the slightly cooler temperatures, though grateful that laundry can still be dried on the washing line.

The garden is crying out for a big tidy up but the plan is to chip away at the various tasks rather than tackling everything in one go. 

Let's just see how that goes.

 

Filling in the gaps

I've had to look through the pictures in the camera to recall what I've been up to since the last blog post.

Not a lot, it turns out.

Unsurprisingly, the mister's dementia has been steadily progressing and we've had a couple of hairy/scary incidents, since when there has been a raft of professionals through the door.  I've never done so much cleaning and tidying away.  And talking.  Well, you've got to get conversation where you can.

The still five year old and oh so much taller littlest came up for the day which meant a wander round the Priory followed by drinks and cakes in an actual coffee shop (I was wearing my big girl pants and sat inside amongst, wait for it, Other People) before coming back here to play the poo game.  I'm still finding little plastic turds under the furniture.

In the car on his way home, littlest remarked to his mum,  'I love going to Granny's.  I like the people there.'   Hopefully he was referring to us.

As we're so homebound I've been trying to use the time to crack on with some boring but necessary house jobs. 

The garage doors have been replaced.  No bells, no whistles,  but they look smart and actually open and close without posing serious threat to life and limb.  Now to tackle what's behind the garage doors.

The back garden has had a bit of makeover.  The ivy that was suffocating the garage has been removed, the grassed area re-turfed, shrubs cut back and the slate chippings replaced with gravel.  It's not award winning but it is an improvement. 

We're still waiting for the pond to be deep cleaned.  There are four remaining fish in there though I was convinced I'd accidentally killed them off after feeding them in very low temperatures earlier in the year.   I did order some medicine for them once I realised so maybe it did the trick.  Who knew fish get tummy ache?

The ginormous eucalyptus is being chopped down in a couple of weeks.  That's going to be an all-day job involving some serious kit.  The tree is a huge garden feature (it's probably also a local landmark) but I won't be sorry to see the last of the dead leaves which, at this time of year, it sheds in wagonloads.  Our neighbours are delighted.  I have yet to break the news to the pigeons.

The garden borders and pots have been springing to life, which is always a surprise to me as this isn't the easiest of plots in terms of shape, light levels and quality of soil.  And, of course, there's my hit and miss garden care. 

The tulips and narcissi have just finished.  Predictably, I planted them extremely late and wasn't at all hopeful.  And now it's the turn of the roses, my summer favourites.  I've added another one, Emily Bronte, because there's no such thing as too many roses.  The greenfly agree.

Lunches out with friends aren't possible at the moment (the mister is on the waiting list for a place at a day centre so, at some point, I'll have some free time to get out and about).  But, accompanied by the Boy, we decided to try a recently renovated eating venue, lured (well, I was) by the vegan menu.  Unfortunately, it  was closed that day but we admired the fountain and then stopped off for compensatory takeaway coffee and crisps on the way home.

When I was a little girl, my parents used to close their shop for a couple of hours on Monday afternoons during the warmer months and my dad would drive my mum round the countryside whilst she caught up on her Woman and Woman's Own reading, with a bag of Callard and Bowser toffees on the side. 

Seems I've turned into my dad, though our occasional little jaunts are sans the magazines and confectionery.  On one such outing the other day, I'd planned to park up by the river so we could have a saunter but then realised the mister was still wearing his slippers.  Next time.

Books are still a big part of life though reading them is a slow process.  It's just so hard to stay focused.  Consequently, the TBR piles are multiplying.  I dust them occasionally.  And take pictures.

A recent purchase was a copy of Hold Still (plus a copy for the littlest) as a memento (is that the right word?) of these strange pandemic times.  Some of the photographs say so much and made me blub (to be honest, there's not much that doesn't).

I'm still hacking away at my fringe with the dressmaking shears.  No idea why it grows faster than the rest of the hair on my head.  My hairdresser has offered to come to the house but I can't quite visualise him in our bathroom.

I've also given the dog a shampoo and cut which was later improved on when he was spending time with the vet under general anaesthetic ('We've also trimmed his ears and his trousers'). 

Poor lad (the dog, not the vet) has been having problems with his knees which we were hopeful could be fixed with surgery.  But that's out of the question now as he's been diagnosed with kidney disease.   

Cue the buying of various supplements.  Because I have to feel I'm doing something to help.  Cue Boo spitting out various capsules.  Because he has to have the last word.  Dogs, eh?

Like I said, not much has been happening here, certainly nothing exciting.  So, what next?   

Well, I'm gearing up to a visit to the car wash, the first in over 12 months. 

It'll be quite the occasion.

The big question is, what shall I wear?

 

Filling in the gaps

Three, two, one, and you're back in the room.

Time flies, even during a pandemic.

Unbelievably, September segued into December and thoughts have now turned to Christmas.

Daily life in the gap has been.... what?  Unremarkable?  Mundane?  Predictable?  Confined?   Stressful?  All of that. 

I haven't ventured far, just to the shops for essentials (including highly essential takeaway pizza and rosemary fries), evening walks round the neighbourhood and the occasional foray into the woods or park during daylight hours (thus avoiding an encounter with Shovelly Joe in the dark). 

Halloween came and went.  The huge uncarved pumpkin languished in the garage until I eventually chopped about half of it into chunks which were popped into the freezer and will be added to to soups and other veg for roasting.  If I  remember they're there. 

Bonfire Night was louder than ever and the dog, who celebrated his 10th birthday a few days later, went into panic stricken meltdown despite sedation.  When it was all over,  I needed sedation.

Some of the traditional pre-festive period activities have happened as usual.  With only a fleeting thought about who will eat it, a  Christmas cake using my dad's recipe and tin has been made, the pud has been steamed (though I forgot to make a wish as I was stirring the mixture), Nigella's chutney decanted into jars (just the two, one for me, one for a friend) and the ingredients for mince pies are ready and waiting (if I make them too far in advance, I scoff the lot). 

The tree was chosen and has been delivered (it's currently sitting in a tub of water in the garage) and a wreath ('Christmas Carol') collected from the loveliest of florists. 

Having confirmed the five year old littlest is still a fan of knitted animals ('Granny teddies'), I've made another, a dog (with a hint of lamb) to add to his much cuddled (their poor little lolling necks suffer most; I empathise - see below) collection.  

Of course, books and reading have featured, though it's still a struggle to maintain focus.  A new-to-me author I discovered was Chris Whitaker, a British crime fiction writer whose novels are based in very convincing small town America.  His diverse characters are beautifully crafted, staying with you long after you've finished reading,  and there's such a strong sense of time and place.  Highly recommended.  

Currently on the bedside table is a collection of festive reads, a mix of old favourites and new titles.  Not usually a fan of the short story, I'm rather enjoying making my way through several Christmas themed anthologies, one story a night along with the appropriate diary entry from Nigel's Chronicles.

I've also done something I swore I'd never do again.  I wielded an assortment of brushes and rollers, wobbled on the ladder and painted.  The dining room.  As soon as I started to paint the ceiling, my rickety neck protested.  Loudly.  Honestly, it sounded like someone was scrunching half a dozen packets of crisps. 

The chosen colour scheme was far from ambitious, just white on somewhat dingy white, but there are no drips and it does look fresher.  I'm chuffed, actually.  More pictures have been added to one of the walls, including one which will serve as a memento (just in case I need to be reminded) of these weird times, and I bought a new floor lamp, which I love as it's big, bold, lights up the table area and means we won't need to use the ceiling light.  

As the virus continues to rage around the globe, Christmas 2020 is likely to be very different for most if not all of us. (One of my friends and her husband, celebrating as a twosome,  will be tucking into pies and peas, something they love but rarely eat, for Christmas lunch).   

Being sensibly cautious in the spirit of we've come this far, let's not blow it, we won't be hosting a family celebration and littlest and his parents will be staying in Manchester.  But in the run up to the Big Day, we'll meet at some midway point along the motorway to hand over gifts (no doubt with accompanying tears, I've won awards for producing those) and homemade nut roast.

Then, my Boy will be here in the bubble of three to join in all the festive overindulging (I've been dreaming of making my way through a box of chocolate liqueurs which I never buy, so what's that all about?), trounce me at Scrabble, entertain the feline troops, generally lighten the atmosphere (which, believe me, sometimes warrants some input from Butlin Redcoats).   

And, you never know, maybe Different Christmas will generate some new traditions. 

Chocolate liqueur, anyone?

 

Summer's end in verbs

Taking stock in the garden.  I was surprised to see a second flush of what are possibly my favourite roses out there, Abraham Darby, and equally surprised by the strong vanilla scent from the white nemesia, which is just glorious.  The yellow flowers growing in two parts of the garden were another surprise.  I have no memory of buying the plants (no surprise there) and not a clue what they are.  

Adding to the book pile.  Always.  The weaving book is a new publication from blogger, Mary Maddocks, with a number of projects to tempt and attempt.  No prizes for guessing what I'm adding to my Christmas list.

Finishing a couple of books at bedtime, bringing the total to 38 so far this year, not that anyone's counting. Lazarus is the seventh title in the Joona Linna series and not one for the faint hearted or weak stomached.  But if, like me, you like your crime fiction Scandi and noir, you might want to give it a try.  Although it would work as a stand alone story, I'd suggest reading The Sandman first. Fifty-Fifty is a cracking legal thriller and highly recommended.

Chucking a recently completed sweater in the bin.  I wasn't at all happy with this make (it was far too short and the neck opening was for someone with a head the size of a ping pong ball).  In an attempt to make it wearable by re-knitting bits, I tried to take it apart but that ended in unmitigated disaster.  Currently on the needles is a long-ish, olive green cardigan and much more likely to be worn.  I do love a cardi.  I've turned into my mum.

Watching the final episode of this and bawling my eyes out (I'm so predictable).  Jennifer Aniston is unexpectedly good (though the same can't be said of Reese).

Stocking the cupboard with jars of jam. I'm not sure why I bother as I'm the only one who eats the stuff and I really don't need more sugar in my life. The fruits (plums and strawberries) were nothing special,  just supermarket and veg shop purchases, but is there a more satisfying sight than a pan of sugar laden preserve in the making, bubbling and spitting away on the hob?  Feeling a tad reckless, I strayed off piste this year and added cinnamon to the plums and rose geranium leaves to the strawberries.  Get me.

Celebrating the tail end of summer with a pie, using good old Bramleys and freshly picked brambles from the hedgerow round the corner.   I'd intended to cover the top entirely with pastry stars but got bored.  Happens quite a lot here.  It weighed a ton, it was so packed with fruit.  Unsurprisingly, I ate most of it.  With custard and Rennie chasers.   Nope, not even a little bit sorry.

Harvesting wild strawberries growing in a pot in the garden.  The plant was in the supermarket reduced trolley with a 59p price tag earlier in the year and home it came with me.  The flavour of these teeny weeny berries was intensely, well,  strawberry-y.  I also managed to grow two tomatoes (yes, just the two) which turned out to be inedible. Luckily, my next-door neighbour has an allotment and she knocked on the door the other day with a present of a bag of cherry tomatoes she'd grown.

Including a bunch of sunflowers in the shopping order because I do like a vase of seasonal flowers.  Sainsburys did not disappoint.

Relishing the rumblings of change, as one season begins to segue into the next.  It's no secret I'm the biggest fan of autumn and, my absolute favourite,  winter. Already my mood is lifting.

With a nod to cooler temperatures, porridge oats have reappeared on the menu, in baked form (yes, embracing all the comfort food here).  I use this favourite recipe but have tinkered with it and ditched the carrots, subbing a layer of sliced fruit on the bottom of the dish (pears, apples, peaches and plums work well) and a scattering of blueberries or raspberries on top. 

It's delicious, with its soft, fruity base, autumnal flavours of cinnamon, ginger and maple syrup and the addition of crunchy nuts and dried fruit (you could easily leave out these last two but I'm a throw everything at it kind of cook).  Once cut into portions, it can be frozen so there's always a little stash.  Serve with a dollop of coconut yoghurt and Bob's your mum's brother.

Feeling thoroughly fed up with continuing hamstring pain, it was time to consult with the physiotherapist. After a lengthy assessment (this particular physio was recommended by my yoga teacher as he takes a whole body approach), it turns out the problem is most likely my shoulder.  Who'da thought?   I've been given various exercises (talk about snap, crackle and pop, other people can actually hear the noises my shoulder makes as I practice them) and follow up appointments, so no doubt time will tell.

Spending an hour or so in the company of Monty Don.  I really enjoy these In Conversation With ...  events which, because of covid restrictions,  are currently taking place online (I've previously seen Margaret Atwood in Birmingham and Nigella in Gateshead).  The ticket for this one included a copy of Monty's latest book which looks most promising. 

I learned quite a lot in that 60 minutes, about nature and the man himself.  Who knew no-one is sure where house martins spend their winters?  Yes, they head for Africa but where exactly?  And I now know the difference between mouse and bat poo (bat poo is crumbly, mouse poo is squidgy).  And did you know Monty is scared of bats? 

Next month it's Nigella again (you can never have too much of Nigella in my opinion), with her latest book also part of the deal I opted for.  I'm really looking forward to it.  Especially as I can watch wearing my pyjamas.

Wondering what lies in store for us all over the next few months and beyond in this strangest of years.  It struck me that we've seen the littlest and his parents just the once since early March.  

Hoping we recognise each other the next time we meet.  

 

Filling in the gaps

August already.

My birthday month (I'm Liz and I'm a Leo, grrr).

Time marches on. 

Although it feels like it stopped at the beginning of the year.

The days are by no means dragging but it's like I'm treading water (not that I've ever tread actual water).

Despite some easing of restrictions nationally, I seem to be still mostly living life to the lockdown beat. 

There's food shopping once a week, dog walking every night, and whatever I feel like the rest of the time.

The garden's had more attention than it would usually and stuff is actually growing.  The rose display was the best yet and now the hydrangeas are putting on a good show.  The pond is still problematic. There was an emergency when the water stopped flowing, which had implications for the remaining fish, and I didn't have a clue what to do.  Cue much Googling and Youtube video watching and hey presto, pond pump located, cleaned and up and running once again.  I've found a local company who can undertake a proper maintenance and cleaning job on it and just need to persuade the now far from rational/ reasonable mister that this would be the best option (for me and the fish).  

Two conifers in the front garden had outgrown their space (I was forever reversing into one of them) and it was time to have them removed.  The resulting space has been strewn with grass seed and watered religiously.  At the moment it's looking a tad, erm, tufty but hopefully will fill out over time.  

Talking of filling out, if the size of my backside is anything to go by, there's been far too much baking going on.  Cakes, biscuits, flapjacks, buns, crumbles (using redcurrants gifted from my neighbour), bread.  You name it, my oven has delivered it.  I've called a halt for the time being and am trying to cook and eat sensibly  (definitely not on a diet, a less cereal, more fruit kind of thing, but I would like to become reacquainted with my jeans).

Sometimes there's a bit of knitting (I've been buying kits from here, three so far) and, despite an ongoing issue with maintaining focus, there's always a book on the go (I've just finished what is undoubtedly the best book I've read so far this year and which may even be one of my best reads ever) and I'm currently loving this.

Unfortunately, yoga hasn't been happening much at all after I injured a hamstring, probably as a result of stupidly over stretching (at my age, you'd think I'd know better). 

I've (somewhat nervously) left the house for reasons other than buying food.  There's been an appointment with my GP ('Wear a face mask'.  'I haven't got one yet'.  'Well, just cover your face with something'. The buff I found in a drawer seemed a better option than a tea towel) and then one with the oncologist ('I like your face mask.'  'Thanks. I've just bought it.  Cost me 45 quid.'  'Someone saw you coming.') at the hospital in another town (don't worry, I'm fine). 

I've been to the dental surgery three times after the crown (neither my dentist nor I will ever forget that particular day) from my tooth fell out (I'm never chewing gum again).  More recently, I've had my hair cut and coloured and I've braved the local park for socially distanced catch ups with a couple of lovely friends.  Yesterday, after a highly stressful start to the day, I got in the car, parked by the river, sat and read my book, people and dog watched.   It helped.  

Deprived of conversation most days, I'm probably still talking far too much to supermarket staff (and to the poor bloke who came to fix the washing machine) but, thankfully, since we've been part of his 'support bubble', the Boy has been able to pop over at weekends, providing some much appreciated company and chat (and help with the removal of bags and bags of garden rubbish).

Then, last Sunday, the littlest and his parents drove up from Manchester to join in the Boy's birthday celebrations (a picnic in the Priory followed by mint choc chip ice cream cake and champagne back here), the first time we've seen them since February. 

The soon to be 5 littlest has grown.  A lot.  And currently speaks with an American accent ( 'Hey, Mom!').

So, that's what I've been up to since I last posted.  Nothing wildly exciting.  Not all bad.  Ticking over. 

But I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a permanent knot in my stomach, that living with someone with dementia isn't testing me to my limits, that I wasn't missing my old life, that I wasn't wishing for the old rhythm.  

I know there'll be no neat and tidy finale to this seemingly interminable pandemic and that the way ahead is paved with oh so much uncertainty (difficult for those of us who like to plan and have adventures of one sort or another in the pipeline, to have something to look forward to).

Heeding the advice of the wellbeing gurus, I'm trying to focus less on what isn't possible and can't be planned for and more on what I have and can still do.  Being more comfortable with the uncomfortable.

It ain't easy.

Baby steps, baby steps.

 

Weekending

The littlest and his mother visited for a belated celebration of the mister's birthday and we spent Saturday afternoon mooching around the market town up the road, intending to make the most of the pre-Ciara weather. 

We kicked off with a tasty lunch in a newish Italian cafe, showing remarkable restraint in the presence of an array of cakes and bakes (honestly, they were on every surface), walked along the riverside, popped into the churchyard to examine the snowdrops, stocked up the larder and bathroom from another recent addition to the high street and made a few purchases in the charity shop. 

I chose three books (I want to make just about everything from the preserves book, I recently watched the film of the Rhidian Brook novel and fancied extending my limited knowledge of Buddhism), a print (which reminded me of the little wood near our house but was greeted with a says-it-all stony silence by the others, huh, philistines) and a wonderfully soft shirt (which looks unworn).  All for the unprincely sum of £3.98.   

Back at home, we voted on dinner options.

'Let's celebrate with a sausage', suggested littlest.  After some lengthy deliberation, we eventually went down the takeaway pizza/curry route.  The mister preferred fruit from the fridge.  

The day finished with candles, an enthusiastic rendition of the birthday song and generous slices of cake (plus a side of extra Smarties for some) with a couple of episodes of this (gravity defying, body torturing, relentless hard graft with some very sad back stories).

Sunday continued in much the same vein, if a tad gustier and wetter, with a leisurely breakfast, a meet-up with the Boy, lunch in a coffee shop, food shopping, the usual stuff. 

All too soon we were waving the visitors off but there was an evening on the sofa in the company of the latest knitting project (a bag, this one, knitted in one piece, lining, handles, the lot, and which currently looks like a scarf with holes) and Agatha Christie on the telly to look forward to.  

I love weekends, me.

 

Lately in verbs

Galloping through book number three of the year.  Exquisitely detailed descriptions of place (the marshlands of North Carolina), of nature, of clothes worn, of food prepared, meals eaten.  Set in the 50s and 60s, it's a story of abandonment and survival, difference and intolerance, rejection and loneliness.  And maybe a murder.    Not quite perfect but very readable and **** .

Finishing the littlest's stripey jumper, which should fit. Well, it will if his arms hang past his knees. 

Watching Season 1 of Anne with an E on Netflix.  Based on the book, Anne of Green Gables, the familiar storylines are there but this version is darker, presenting a much more miserable picture, mostly via flasbacks, of an orphan's life.  So, Anne's vivid imagination seems to be more a way of dealing with the abuse she has suffered prior to being taken in by the Cuthberts.  Although it's a period piece, it's modern, if that makes sense.  The Prince Edward Island setting (and the Cuthberts' house) is stunning and, so, whilst it's not what I was expecting (I love the book),  I'm sticking with it.  For now.

Wondering what on earth has happened to the hyacinths I planted.  They seemed to be doing well, but the flower spikes (blue, huzzah!) are stunted, poor wee things.  They still have that glorious hyacinth fragrance, though you have to stick your neb right in to get a whiff. 

Making marmalade. It was a messy business, not helped by one of the glass jars in the motley collection shattering whilst being filled.  But it tastes so good. Too good, maybe.

Consuming far too much sugar.  See above.

Missing the coffee machine which has been spending time in coffee machine hospital.  I tried coffee bags and a cafetiere in the meantime but it just wasn't the same.  Cue lots (the bank account confirms) of visits to cafes where sweet vegan treats have also been consumed (resistance, I find, is futile).  Costa's rocky road, Nero's raspberry croissant and a cherry and almond scone at a newish vegan eatery up the road were memorable.

Sweeping up white feathers which were scattered along the length of the drive and in piles by the dustbin and on our neighbours' front garden.  From the amount I had to dispose of, they'd once kept an albatross warm and dry.

Sending Buzz cat to Coventry.  See above.

Filling the vase with tulips, my absolute favourites.

Learning the basics of modern calligraphy.   This was a hugely enjoyable workshop, held one evening in an upstairs room in a bistro, and had nine of us getting to grips with securing the nib in its holder, loading it with just the right amount of ink to avoid blobs and positioning the hand properly to ensure a scratch-free flow across the paper.  Honestly, we were all so focused on forming the letters (thin upward, thick downward strokes), time sped by (I only remembered to eat my slice of vegan chocolate cake just before everything was cleared away).   Now for some home practice.  Without spilling the ink.

Meeting up with my girl in London, to celebrate her birthday.

Demolishing a very delicious  afternoon tea.

Lurking long after the table had been cleared after discovering the presence of a TV film crew.  I've always felt I'd make an excellent extra.  After all, I do have stage experience and yes, yes, I know I was only three at the time but it all counts.  However, I suspect this might be as close as I get to a BAFTA.

Returning home after a fab day out.  With the wrong box of afternoon tea leftovers.

 

So far, so good

Just a week into the new year but for some strange reason it feels much longer.  I've always loved January, I think because it was a big birthday month in my family, kicking off with my dad's on the 12th, shortly followed by my brother's.  But now we just have the one, my girl's, towards the end.  

Yoga and tai chi classes re-started this week and I was so ready for them, not just for the practice itself but for re-establishing a little routine into my week and reconnecting with friends.  The theme for our Wednesday yoga sessions is 'Empowerment'.  I foresee a lot of challenging poses in my near future (not that they're not usually challenging).

The first daffodils of the year appeared in the supermarket so, of course, I popped a couple of bunches into the basket, and the hyacinth bulbs (blue, with a bit of luck) I planted before Christmas appear to be faring well in one of the bedrooms.

Typepad informs me that I read 61 books in 2019, which surprises me somewhat (I know it isn't a competition but that's the most I've read in a 12 month period since starting this blog).  Some were memorable, others I couldn't begin to tell you what they were about (though that probably says more about my memory than about the books).  Christina asked about favourites from 2019 and I struggled to recall the titles I'd enjoyed most.  So I'm now trialling a simple (1-5) star rating system for each book I read this year so that the standout ones really do, well, stand out.  The current book at bedtime is White, a shortish novel set in my absolute favourite part of the world, Antarctica. Just needs a foot of snow outside to add to the reading experience.

Eating chez nous is still on the indulgent side of healthy, and there are far too many sugary snacks being consumed, but the addition of two new recipe books to the collection should help to shake up the menus. Soonish.

In the absence of mince pies and Christmas cake (we still have non vegan ones), I baked a batch of fudgy, nut laden brownies using this recipe.  I didn't dust them with icing sugar.  Well, no point in over-egging the pudding (or whatever the equivalent is in veganese).

Although sea glass is to be found on the beach just a bit further up the north east coast from here, I've never collected it.  Actually, I'd never handled it at all until I participated in a mosaic workshop last weekend.  It was highly enjoyable.   A group of seven of us got stuck into embellishing wooden coasters and picture frames with beautifully hued pieces chosen from a huge pile of sea glass (plus bits of driftwood in my case) using tubes of grout (I really shouldn't have worn black) after hearing lots of interesting stuff about the glass itself.  The end results were, oh, how shall I put it, rustic?  Primitive?  Artisan?  Rough and ready?  I'll maybe use the coaster as a plant pot stand and I think I know just the place for the frame (hint:  it's a short word, beginning with 'b' and ending with 'n').

The venue for the workshop was a lovely yarn shop in a neighbouring town and, surprise surprise, I took the opportunity to stock up on materials for a new project.  I chose a straightforward pattern to knit a sweater (and maybe the matching hat) for the littlest which just might keep the fingers too busy to dip into the treats cupboard.  And pigs might fly.

I'm continuing with writing a diary after using a five year line a day one since 2015.  My new one is a much prettier version, a Christmas gift, and, over time, I'll enjoy reading the entries from previous years on any given date.  

Something of a tradition now, I haven't made any New Year's resolutions, preferring instead to choose a guiding word for the year which, once again,  I've also expanded into a sankalpa.  After much pondering, I've decided to go with compassion.  Compassion for others, for animals, for planet earth, for myself.  

I'll give it my best shot.