*8things

I was inspired by Magpie Girl's *8things where she 'practice's gratitude' and is thankful for things in her life. As I read it, I realised that I am too very lucky and have a lot to be thankful for. So, here goes:

*1thing- I have a wonderful husband who is my best friend, my confident, my strength, a brilliant Dad to our children, expert sawyer of wood and lighter of fires, teller of corny jokes, leader of expedition length walks, instigator of 'naughtiness',  my love and my life.


*2things - my two boys -  my angels, my beasties, my monkeys, my delight and my despair, my mess-monsters, givers of hugs and kisses and sticky fingers.

*3things - our home - shared with thing one and things two! A warm and loving home filled with clutter and affection.

*4things - my family - both near and far. A text or phone call away. A hug or word shared. A grumble or groan too, but that is the reality of life and family. Without them I would be lost.

*5things - my friends - close or occasional, laughter and gossip, some not seen for ages but when together the length of time just melts away. Support and advice, debate or disagree, days out or days in, friends are precious and I am grateful.

*6things - my job - despite days where I find I have ground my teeth flat, I still bounce back and see something positive in it. The people I work with can make me laugh, give me support, make me mad, irritate the hell out of me, cheer me up and put up with me being - well - being me - that's just got to be good.


*7things - my life - the life I live, where I live. The hills, the village life, the characters and eccentrics that surround me. The access to the countryside so close to where I live. The ability to breathe and hug the sky.

*8things -  today - just to be here, right now, to live, to be alive. 'Life is for living' and each day is a new beginning to enjoy, to share and to love, to craft and create, to laugh and to live - to make it count.

Life in snow-motion

I am awake before my eyes open. Animated whispers slip through my dreams.
Snow...Snow! 
I mumble an incoherent reply of suitably sounding encouragement to my two very delighted boys. Himself turns from inert to alert in a moment and is at the window confirming the boys declaration of the winter wonderland. Make that three delighted boys........

I just pull the covers up over my ears in symbolic hibernation.....

snow = cold. 

Brrrrrr. 

But.... with my three, 

snow = fun. 

Double brrrr.

So, I reach for my camera and my thermals as they reach for their sledges.  I also reach for my scarf, hat, mittens, over-gloves, over-trousers, coat, body-warmer and some crochet - well you never know! C'mon... I mean, while they are whizzing up and down in the cold, I shall stay firmly put in the warm car and continue with my WIPs.

And whizzzz they did!

All three of them hurtle down the hillside with fearsome speeds, sporting such glee on their faces that I could not help but tog up and leave the relative warmth of the car to shiver and take pictures.

As they fly down the slope, giddy dog sprints alongside at full stretch, racing each one with such obvious doggy delight.

The boys, all three of them,  slice down the cold hillside until it is almost too dark.

We pack up and head off to our favourite town in the Dales, where we sit on an icy cold bench in the square, eating finger-burning piping-hot fish and chips and listen to a jazz band playing festive melodies. A couple of warmly dressed revellers dance next to the town's Christmas tree, lost to the music and to us, their audience.

I surprise myself that despite my numbingly cold cold feet and frozen bottom, I am actually enjoying this but am equally ready to go back home, light the fire and settle down for the evening where I will gently defrost.

Put t' kettle on

As I wrap my cold fingers around another mug of tea, I wince at the sharp shot of warmth it gives my icy hands. Clasping it tighter, I find that I have brought the mug up to my face, and without thinking, I half close my eyes and breathe in the gently curling scented steam.
I know that the tea is warm, my fingers are tingling proof, but I still give a tentative sip and am rewarded with a stingingly hot drop of liquid. I swallow instantly. Having got beyond that first mouthful it is easier but no less searing to drink more.

There is something ritualistic about the making and brewing and drinking of tea.

It is the first thing I do when I get home from dropping the boys off at school. I open the house, put on the kettle, then go out, feed the hens, check their water, look for eggs then a quick walk around the garden to see how things are faring - back to the house, ready, oh so ready, for a mug of tea.

Sometimes I make a brew with indecent haste - the need outweighs the ceremony. There is no finesse - the kettle is filled and slapped on, any (hopefully clean) mug is grasped and a tea bag tossed in, milk - got to have milk (not cream and not black!) and then a hard stare and impatient finger tap as I wait for the kettle to reach the boil. The still bubbling water is sloshed into the mug, followed quite crudely by the milk, a quick stir and almost with self harming speed I throw the searing hot liquid into my mouth - bliss mixed with 3rd degree burns shortly occurs.

Other times, I select a mug to go with my mood -

the one that looks like a knitted aran jumper for when I am crocheting or crafting, 

the celestial golden sun  mug, his beaming face benignly smiling from a sparkling blue sky 

for when I am feeling in my earth mother mode,

or the HUGE mug that wears plant inspired  puns and twirly flowers - 

this one I use for herb teas on a summery day, 

usually accompanied by an equally flowery dress, sun hat and bare feet.

We do have a selection of other mugs, smaller, daintier and girlier type, but they usually linger at the back of the cupboard ignored until visitors come .

Tea drinking is very social, you can drink it with friends or drink with toast, either or both - I'm not bothered.
It can be sipped daintily with posh friends or glugged thirstily with workmen. Tea can be served to friends and to strangers. It is not often turned down and nearly always welcomed.

Friends come around and I flick the kettle on, mugs clunk gently together as I reach for them . 

Sometimes a teapot is selected, a tea cosy too. 

Sometimes I just hand out ready filled mugs - I know who has sugar and who doesn't.

I did, before turning to the tea-side, drink coffee with the same infatuation. Only this passion was rewarded by sleepless nights, tremors and palpations. I used to joke about being 'on the ceiling' and look forward to the extreme first morning zing a strong mug of coffee would bring. Talk about cold turkey and withdrawal symptoms when I walked away from that destructive affair. 

Tea is a soother when a throat is sore, a comforter when work has got me down. Tea is company when I am alone and good in company too. Tea is warming after a cold day's walking and it is cooling on a hot summer's day. Tea can be drunk sweet or strong, it can be taken  black or milky, it can be sipped weak and scented or full of malty flavour. It can be anything to anyone.

I must have an addictive nature - I chain drink tea

..... (a scraping of a chair being pushed back is heard)...

erhem, my name is Hawthorn....I have a confession to make

I am a tea drinker.....

but no, I don't need help, 

just directions to the kettle will do 

thankyouverymuch!

Walking on the wild side tonight

A solitary drop hangs trembling on the edge of my hat. It quivers violently as a gust of icy air howls around the hill hitting us hard from the right. I briefly see the reflection of my eye in the droplet as it flies off. I blink, my eyes watering, my cheeks burning in the cold air, I pull my scarf tightly around my neck and chin.

I turn, not by swivelling my neck but twisting my whole body to the left. If I was just to turn my head, it would disappear into my hood. Skipping alongside me is Youngest. His coat slick wet, his fringe, peeping out below his hat is plastered to his forehead. He looks up, cheeky-grinned and shining-eyed. His face is happy but cold - I give him my scarf. He protests - but only a little as I wind around his head my beloved scarf. I can see his eyes beaming back at me. I hear a muffled thank you.

Ahead two figures bent forward, deep in conversation, battling the buffeting wind. More droplets falls off my hat into my eyes, I hunch my shoulders and pull my hat down hard hoping to reduce the raw surface area my cheeks provide.

Himself and Eldest reach the gate before we do and wait for us, I see that Eldest is wearing Himself's fleece hat and Himself has a head of dark wet curls. Each one glistening with sparkly mist droplets. He grins. Through the wet air and my wet eyelashes I see that grin and feel it's warmth.

The dog runs after the wind, chasing, chasing the scents carried along it's bitter trail. She is happy - her fur fluffed up in damp ridges and her tail held high. I whistle to call her back, the shrill piercing trill is ripped from my lips and fades across the hill. Somehow the dog hears and turns back instantly at a gallop - her face happy, her muzzle wide open with lolling tongue. A smell catches her and she stops hard to investigate. Then, dutifully as only a dog can be, continues back to her pack - us.

As we stride through the wet field the sun sinks below the heavily weighted clouds  leaving a blood orange slash along the horizon - warning us of the impending darkness. We speed up. 

A slight change in direction brings relief as the wind now behind, pushes rather than cuts through our bodies. We start the descent, that on a dry day would be glorious - but this evening we slip and slide our way down. 

The boys - run, slide, laugh and challenge each other to do more, to slide more, to run more. The dog lopes along as if the wind is biting her tail. Her nose to the ground, her paws more secure that our feeble human feet - she is enjoying every wild moment.

Below, the twinkling lights of the town beckon to us, inviting us back down out of the increasingly dark and wet evening. We accept, reluctantly, because, despite the conditions, despite the bitingly cold air, despite the encroaching night - we have been out walking and we have thoroughly enjoyed it.

Time to go home.

Did I REALLY do that?? Gah, you better believe I did...............

I am squirming on my seat at the ridiculousness of what I am about to confess.

Not just one silly miss-hap, more a catalogue  - and not collected over a long time, Oh no this confession concerns a short sharp burst of stupidity! I also do the long-term-collecting-of-idiotic-moments, but they I am pretending to have forgotten.

I'll start with today's little ....erm.... calamity. As normal I took a bus load of boys to school with the plan that once I had dropped them off I would go to the local supermarket as Youngest has given me a shopping list to sort out.

His school is doing fund-raising and they had requested items for their raffle starting with the letter 'O' - go on, I defy you to not suggest orange immediately..................yeah? thought so, me too.

He also is doing a 'shoebox' present for deprived children overseas which he informs me last thing last night that he has to hand it in today - Tuesday. So I park up, check that I have both lists, my wallet and switch off car lights and radio. Shopping this early turns out to be a pleasant experience, I trawl up and down the isles looking for items starting with 'O'

.....Oxo cubes............


.........Olives......................... Olive oil...............feeling pleased now, getting going with this idea.................... Oat cakes.............. I start getting clever and find some Organic Original rice-cakes.................... Oregano herbs..............

I also get into the shopping groove and do the shoebox contents, mittens, scarf, toy cars, crayons and as I go along I am ticking of Youngest's list feeling distinctly organised and pleased with myself. While I am on a roll and while I am here, without children, without himself and with my wallet (I'm getting dizzy now) I do a bit of festive shopping too.  I finally stagger down to the car with bags cutting into my fingers of one hand as I ruffle around in my pocket for my car keys.  Not there, swap hands whilst still walking through the car park, fumble in the other pockets, not there.

Little question marks appear randomly inside my head, usually attached to the thought of...where the hell have I put my keys?


Not too worried (yet) I finally reach the car, put down the shopping with relief, blood rushing back to my fingers, and open my bag.................. erm................ umm.............. not there either. A quick furtive repeated checks with both hands in all my pockets confirms my initial discovery that - no-I-do-not-have-my-keys-on-me.
A tumble of thoughts crash around my head... do I ring Himself?? - no, he's at work and he can't get in the house with out the keys, what have I done with the keys??, how do I get in?? - but if I get in, how do I get home??.

Then. Something catches my eye. My keys. In the car. In the LOCKED car. Dangling from the steering column. Gah.........

I had what can only be compared to a moment of clarity, a moment of revelation. Trying to look calm, I cast my eyes around the car park, hoping that due to the earliness of the hour that I had not been spotted tearing my hair out, looking thoughtful. I super-casually picked up the shopping, and hoping hoping hoping that I had done my usual of NOT LOCKING THE BOOT, I walk round to the back of the car. Still in super-casual mode, I put the shopping back down, popped the latch and joy of joys the boot gracefully opened giving me the way into the car. Be still by singing heart!

Mean while, several cars had pulled up, so Über-super-casually  I put in the shopping, leant through and undid the passenger door, shut the boot, opened passenger door, still calm and looking flustered cool I then opened my door, leapt in and breathed a sigh of relief.

Postscript to this story - I have on various occasions done exactly this. On the day before Youngest was born I had to bend a coat hanger and break into my car so I could get home........ Himself has had to do similar a couple of times after I left the keys in a safely locked car.

 I can see a pattern repeating itself here, good thing I  DIDN'T LOCK THE BOOT!!

****************************

Well, that's confession number one, are you up for another? Oh well, here goes.

This little gaff happened last Friday evening while we were out at our French friend's party. When we arrived,  the house was pumping with loud music and some people had already arrived. We were introduced to a couple and their very attractive daughter. The woman had a French name which both Himself and I heard clearly, but when introduced to her husband and daughter, their names got drowned by the music, so we both smiled, shook hands and nodded. The woman spoke heavily accented English while the husband just stood nodding quietly behind. The daughter very quickly went off with the rest of the teenagers leaving us trying to communicate.

I spoke clearly and simply to the husband, who said very little, preferring to pull on his neck and nod. His wife chatted happily but I had to listen carefully to catch all her words, and again I spoke back clearly.  After about 10 minutes of small talk I asked them how long they were staying and the woman answered....Oh, oh we haz been ere for 20 years... my uzbund he is a farmer non? it ezz verry cold tonight non? Excusez-moi I mus go and fineesh la tarte tatin'

Those little question marks that feature in my life began to fill my head

...20 years?...

a farmer?... 

I turn back to her husband and ask where he is from and he gives me a strange look and replies.....

Ay Lass, I'm from Yorkshire, me farm's oop top of t' moss by t' reservoir.....

Oops heh....

This and that and - oh yes - a bit of the other

Good grief it's cold today. But, not going to dwell on the coolness of my toes and the numbness of my fingers.
Excuse me, going to toss another log on the fire...........

........Back. Now where was I? yes, good grief it's cold today. And that is the last you will hear me mention that.

Now in no particular order - this weekend's round up.

Sunday - Remembrance Sunday. Youngest proudly carried the flag down to the cenetaph and stood with the rest of the flag bearers whilst the service stopped the traffic in the streets. It was a bright cold day and the pavement's icy fingers crept through our boots and into our bones. Youngest stood there in his cub uniform - it will be his last call of duty as a cub - he's growing up. I watched as he felt the chill of the air wrap around him and make him shiver. He had refused to wear a coat as it would cover his uniform, one he is so proud of.

In the back of my mind was the fact I had left a cake quietly cooking in the oven.....alone......at home...by itself..... as we stood for the two minutes silence.

I silently berated myself for thinking of the potentially charcoaled baking rather than collective emotion for the moment of hushed remembrance.
As soon as it was politely possible, having snatched the flag from youngest's frozen fingers, shoved him into his coat, passed the flag to a startled senior assistant leader, grabbed shivering youngest and a rapidly-turning-blue eldest who was hanging onto a tooth-chattering giddy dog - we ran up the hill home. Leaving behind a bemused Himself.

Frantically smiling apologetic excuses as we ran gasping through the returning church goers.

...Sorry....excuse me....cake in oven....excuse me.... oops sorry....cake....oven...burning.....  

All the time dragging in breath and dragging children, coat flapping and camera bouncing we returned home, my legs like rubber - the only thing that kept me going was the thought of rescuing my poor cake.

We burst into the kitchen and I flung open the oven door - and there......sitting all demurely and ready to be taken out was a polite little lemon drizzle cake minus it's drizzled lemon - phew!

Little while later, we all sat, my Mom and Dad, gently defrosting boys and Himself, as we hoovered up the last crumbs of the lemon drizzle cake. Yummmm.

******************************

Friday was fun - Friday was like visiting France. We spent a lovely evening with our French friends and their many other French speaking friends and despite a distinct lack of speaking anything remotely French sounding, we really enjoyed ourselves. It was in the early hours of Saturday morning we finally flopped into bed.

******************************

Saturday was wet wet wet and nothing as enjoyable as the band of the same name.

A bit of bad tempered mooching around seemed to be the order of the day until we bought some paint, found 3 paintbrushes and a paint roller and spent a very good day (despite the rain hammering down outside constantly) and we painted our hall.

Talk about a complete boost to ourselves and the house! It used to be a hideous yellow - yes, I don't know how we lived with it for so long either....... It always felt dingy and dark, but now, sporting ivory white new coat it feels bright and huge!!

(But that is probably due more to the fact we had to take every thing out for painting and have not put it back yet....might not, like it like this)

Monday - oh drat - that is today, back to normal. So excuse me, waffle ending, work about to begin...and I'm cold! And that is definitely the last I'm going to say on the matter (for now.....)

Perfecting the art of procrastination aka - doing nothing when I should be doing something

Where I'd rather be........................................

.................................................but am not. 

It's cold and wet here today. 

The wind howls around the house like a demented soul, lifting road rubbish and leaves and hurling them about irritably . 

Hunched coated villagers push their way through the gusts, their hats flipping and flapping in the bad tempered breeze. 

Cold fingers open and close doors into cars and into houses. 

Here inside my home, the fire crackles away. 

Soothing the frenzied sounds of the wind and warming the air around me. 

Inside I am calmed by the solid surroundings of home while the bland sounds from the newsreader on the radio slowly fill up the room, seeping information into my head, I am not listening and not hearing but am aware of the words rolling around. 

I am in that self-induced state of limbo - I have things to do but I choose to nurse a mug of tea and and stare wordlessly at the wet windows. Not through them, but at them. My gaze and my thoughts are inward.

Despite my superficial static state, inward I am restless.

I need to be under that big sky.