Unslumping myself

A streamside walk on Sunday afternoon, just before sunset.  I was in a strange mood, unable to drag myself out of a bit of a gloom.  So I took a walk on my own - an almost unheard of thing.  The streams were far more full than usual because of the rain, and the water was moving quickly - at a fast walking pace, rather than a slow meander.

I walked down to the small community orchard which is just down the road from us.

You can just make out the list of varieties planted, although the light was low by this time.

The trees are mostly bare now, although one of them at the end did still have apples on it.  No doubt hungry birds will eat them soon.

The sun set just after 4 o'clock.  I love the winter sunsets and the early darkness.  Somehow I can feel the vital spark of life more keenly.  Human existence is closer to the edge.  Solitary walks are perfect for musing on such things.

The next day there was mist and sun.  The colours in this photo taken from our top room are some of my favourites.  Another reason to love this time of year.  The bleached greys and blues and the jagged black silhouettes.

Above the river there was an odd tunnel of mist in places.  I stood for a while watching the birds going about their business.  With only eight hours of daylight they are hungry by morning, and there are always plenty flying past, looking for food.

Today the house smelt like Christmas.  I brought the tree in and made some mincemeat, with apricots, cranberries and Cointreau.

After school the boys decorated the tree.  The usual mix of red, green and gold baubles, gold stars, angels and ornaments that we've been given over the years.

And my favourite little things that the children made at pre-school.  Misshapen lumps of clay, saturated with glitter and stuck with plastic holly.  Cardboard shapes covered in sequins and glue and trimmed with pipe cleaners.  Baubles made from old CDs with sweet photos of little boys on them.  Nothing finer.

I'll try a few more photos tomorrow in the daylight.  For now, this is all I have.

Pretty much identical to what I can see without my contact lenses in.

Tomorrow is the children's school carol service.  The church is always candlelit and it's such a beautiful service.  It's my favourite thing in the run-up to Christmas.  And to add to the excitement, apparently all of the boys have A Line this year.  In fact the littlest boy has three.  He came home today clutching a piece of paper with his lines on it.  He's Shepherd 1, which is a promotion from last week when he was one of many sheep in the nativity play.  I muttered something about hoping he didn't need a costume.  He gave this some consideration and then said actually he thought he would take one, as it was possible his teacher had said something about it.  I'm really hoping she didn't.

There's been lots of carol singing.  I think they do it at school every other day, so they come home singing them.  I had a "discussion" with the littlest boy about the correct words to "Hark the Herald".   I said it was "Joyful all ye nations rise".  He felt certain it was "Joyful all ye nations rife".  His teacher said so.  I said it actually wasn't, it was "rise".  He got a bit shouty and said that SHE SAID IT WAS RIFE.  I said, "Just for the record, I'm older than she is and I trump her every time when it comes to knowing stuff" (I know, I know, but honestly, he thinks she's the oracle), "and anyway, what does rife even mean???"  He said, "It's you know, rife guns".  Yes.  That makes perfect sense.  I'm definitely going to be singing that tomorrow.

Insidey-ness

What with a suspect ankle (eldest) and the early sunsets (two minutes past four today - about as early as it's going to get) we've been enjoying the indoors a lot lately.

The carols books are out and being banged out on the piano and blasted out of recorders and sung loudly (shouted even).

The piano is played more in December than the rest of the year.  It's old and battered (the eldest ran his toys up and down it a couple of times when he was little) and it really needs tuning and some repairs, but I love it anyway.

I don't often have time, but sometimes I play a few pieces, and when I do, I really enjoy it.

A couple of houseplants have snuck into our home lately.  A little rooted hoya leaf from Ikea.  I couldn't resist it, I'm dying to see what it's going to do.   (It's the heart-shaped leaf in the red pot).  And secondly a tillandsia that I rescued from B&Q.  It was sat all alone and slightly battered on the reduced shelf.  Nobody wanted it.  Sometimes I just can't help myself.  I only went to B&Q for a bathroom lightbulb, but while I was there I thought I'd just have a quick look at the plants.  Just a look.  I used to have dozens of houseplants Before Children, and I can feel them sneaking back in now that the little people are (theoretically) old enough not to dig around in the earth.

Last week I picked a few pretty things from the back lane - ivy, rosehips and what must surely be the last of the blackberries.  They're still brightening up my mantelpiece.  My favourite kind of arrangement - locally grown, chemical free, no flower miles, native wildlife friendly plants and free.

The biggest boy made me laugh the other day.  I looked into the living room and saw all three of them seated at the table together playing a game.  Together!  Nicely!!  On silent feet I went to find my camera to capture this moment of brotherly bliss.  It lives on the hall table, and as I took it out of the case I heard the eldest say, "Just to warn you, mum's coming in to take a photo in a minute".  I asked him after if he'd heard the velcro on the case when I opened it.  He said, "No.  We were all sat together playing.  I knew you'd come and take a picture."  Oh my.  Am I that predictable?  I fear I am.  But I do have nice photo.  The game they were playing is Whot! which is a vintage game from the 1930's.  It's fantastic, I played it when I was little, and I was thrilled to find it in a charity shop a couple of years ago so that I could play it with my little people.  It's a fantastic introduction to card games, and the five-year-old and the ten-year-old both like playing it.

Tonight was the littlest boy's nativity play.  He was a sheep.  It was of course utterly adorable and slightly chaotic.  The singing was in turn angelic and shouty.  It was moving and funny in equal measure.  Sheep, cows, donkeys, angels and kings milled around on the stage and mumbled their lines.  I sat about three feet away from my little man, who was rubbing his tummy and hissing, "Mummy, I'm hungry", in a stage whisper.  (I did give him his tea before we went.  Obviously not enough).  But oh how wonderful it was.  These are moments to treasure.  Although I am finding his mask slightly unnerving.  Maybe I just watch too much crime fiction...  (I should probably mention that during the play he had it perched on the top of his head, he wasn't required to stumble blindly across the stage.)

Once the little people are in bed I'm doing a little crochet with some lovely wool I found in the local wool shop.  It's somewhere I'm happy to support whenever I can.

I'm making a sleeping bag for a hedgehog, if you can believe that.  The littlest boy is still very fond of soft toys, and I believe that FC may be bringing him a hedgehog.  Hence a blanket or sleeping bag will of course be required (the littlest likes to tuck them up when it's time for bed).  So I'm crocheting as fast as I can whenever I have a moment.  Slightly worried about the lack of days until Christmas.  So that's what I'm off to do now.  Light a couple of candles, watch Marple and crochet like the devil.

The sun, the moon and some of the stuff in between

For one reason or another (illness and injury) there was less football this weekend.  A total of just one hour's training.  And it was wonderful.  There was time.  Time to read and draw and play and be with the little people without thinking about rushing off to the next thing.  They do love their football, and I'm happy to do what it takes to get them there, but with every training session and every match at a different location, the weekends aren't particularly restful.  There's a bit of a lull coming up though, and I'm really looking forward to it.  Hurray for the festive season.

On Saturday afternoon we went along to a wonderful Christmas Fair at a local Steiner school for children with special needs.  It's always a wonderful place to visit, very calming and in tune with nature and the seasons.

We spent quite a long time in a little wooded area by the fire, chatting with friends and watching the children having fun.

There's a lovely sensory garden there which the children loved, even in the depths of winter.  It had a big wooden xylophone, bamboo rustling in the breeze and water trickling down into a pool.

When the sun dipped low we headed into town to pick up a couple of essentials.  On the way out I looked up at the bare trees.  I love seeing them stripped of leaves, stark against the sky, with big clusters of mistletoe.

In town the Christmas lights were lit and it all looked twinkly and festive.

This morning I spent some time helping the middle boy with his homework project, which is to build a model Anderson (air-raid) shelter.  Plenty of glue, some felt, card and modelling clay and we're halfway there.  I've managed to squeeze in a hint of crochet too.  I taught him to make a chain, and after a few initial wobbles he got the hang of it, and after tea both him and his big brother sat side by side on the sofa completely engrossed in their crochet.

This afternoon I took the younger two to a park we don't visit very often.  It's much improved since the last time we were there.  It used to have brightly coloured plastic everywhere, now it's all rock, wood, ropes and sand.  They had a really lovely time playing happy imaginative games together.

It was a beautiful day, lovely enough for the ice-cream man to turn up.  Not lovely enough for me to buy any though.  I wished I'd taken a flask of hot chocolate.

As soon as the sun started to dip it got chilly.

We stayed until we were cold and the lure of a warm cosy home was irresistible.

A lovely weekend, just right to recharge everyone for the week ahead.  Hope yours was a good one too.

Father Christmas and the tangled web

I'm sure it's not just me who gets in a pickle with the complicated lies required to perpetuate the Father Christmas myth.  Thinking up instant answers to tricky questions without contradicting previous FC "facts" is something of an art.  Explaining why FC will not be bringing computer games to any boys in this house, although he will be bringing them (apparently) to almost all the other children in the school can be awkward.  Surely it's not because he likes them more, or they were more good.

This year it's been slightly easier, as the eldest knows the horrible truth, and he's also told the middle boy, who therefore also knows, but never refers to the fact that it's all a big fat untruth.  Because of course we are now all trying to pretend for the sake of the littlest one, who is still in blissful ignorance that everyone is lying to him and making stuff up.  Although his questions are getting more perceptive.  "How does Father Christmas come and get his letters?  Is it like at the Hippodrome" (we watched the panto with school last year) "when there's smoke and he's there and there's more smoke and he's gone?"  Well, yes, I expect so, I haven't actually seen him do it...

I remember spending quite a lot of time when I was little worrying about how FC could actually get to every child in the whole world.  Surely it wasn't possible?  The littlest is also puzzled by this.  But on a day to day basis he's far more concerned with what FC will be bringing in his sack.  He wrote a long list, all by himself, with his very own spellings.  I'm an expert at reading what he writes now.  The secret is to sound it out phonetically and remember that the "b"s and "d"s are usually the wrong way round.  Thus "dussoob" is "buzzard".  He wrote that in the book at the wetlands reserve.  I was desperate to subtitle it, but I couldn't manage it without him seeing me.  And we don't like to tell him he's got it all wrong, mostly we're just happy he's writing stuff.

So The List.  It was long, as I say, and varied.  Everything from "arsnl kit" to "abfent kalinber" (sound your letters out remember, and swap those b's and d's).  "ifoan" was on there, even though I'm sure he has no idea what one is.  I tried to explain that he wouldn't be getting everything.  To which he stated that yes he would, because he did last year (last year's list was very modest) and that that is what Father Christmas does, he brings whatever you ask for.  He very much has it in his head that by asking FC for things he will be saving us money, because of course FC will be footing the bill.  Previously the other half has told the biggest boys that we have to give FC money so he can buy the things.  I'm not sure I'm quite happy with that lie though, I don't think it's been thought all of the way through.  I can foresee even more awkward questions arising.  How do you pay him?  Where do you send the money?  What if there's some left over?  See what I mean?  A tangled web.

There's also the thing that makes me most uneasy.  The fact that we don't actually give the children anything.  FC does.  Nanny does.  Aunts and uncles do.  Friends do.  Parents?  No, they don't bother.  You'd think they would, wouldn't you?  A little token at least.  Something that says "I love you".  But no, nothing.  Although to be fair, this hasn't been raised in this house.  Yet.  I like to think ahead though, just in case.

Another tricky part is stopping them changing their minds every day.  How to explain that FC has already been to the shop and bought what they asked for last week.  I got them to stuff their letters up the chimney last night.  A kind of "final answer?" moment.  They've gone now, so the order is in, it's final.  Except, that when FC went to the shops today, one of the items requested is no longer available, so he's had to buy a different model.  How to broach this so as to avoid Christmas Day disappointment?  Did he maybe send me a letter or a text?  But really, he's Father Christmas for goodness sake, he can deliver anything requested to any and every child in the world, except he couldn't get the one thing we wanted right.  Actually, the boys are always very good about being thankful for what they have.  The eldest got watercolour paints and paper last year, as well as some books and some other little things.  And he was absolutely thrilled and declared it the best present ever.  Just as well, as by Christmas morning I was panicking that he would be disappointed.  But he always blows me away with his attitude, so grateful, so pleased.   I'm hoping this year will be the same.

The pictures are from a beautiful book I happened upon in Oxfam.  I'd been lured in by something else, and when I got to the book area, there it was on the table.  "Letters from Father Christmas" by JRR Tolkien.

Every year when his children were little, Tolkien sent them letters purportedly from Father Christmas.  And they are utterly exquisite.  Filled with stories of life and adventures at the North Pole, wonderful drawings, lovely calligraphy and special writing for the bits written by Polar Bear and the elf.  Lucky, lucky children to have such an imaginative and talented father.  Who clearly loved the whole FC myth.  Makes me feel a little better about it all.  Because what is life without imagination and tales?

Even the envelopes are things of beauty.  Oh to be able to produce things like this.

The children were enchanted.  I thought maybe they wouldn't get how special and amazing this was, but they did, and it made me happy.  The oldest two tried their hand at the Arctik writing like Polar Bear does (he has his very own spelling too).  The letters are such enchanting stories, interspersed with little comments from Polar Bear.  I really can't emphasise how wonderful they are.  And voluminous - the letters were sent for over twenty years.  The book is 157 pages long, and every page is filled, and still not everything he wrote is included.

Hours and hours were obviously spent producing these for his children.   With probably no thought that anyone else would ever read them.  It puts me to shame a little.  But I'm thinking he probably had a wife somewhere baking the mince pies and scouring the shops for the exact things on The Lists...

The unbearable rusticness of parsnips

A busy week so far.  On Monday I went to the big shops for paint.  On Tuesday I decorated the littlest boy's room.  It was a very long day, but I was so pleased to get it all done and dusted.  Something to cross off of The List!  It was touch and go whether he would get home from school and burst into tears, given his current emotionalness, but thankfully it all went okay.  He would of course have very much liked to help me paint (oh my), but he was happy and so I was happy.  I do like adding little touches to his room to make it cosy for him.  A picture here, a rug there, a lightshade, a quilt.

 Today I thought I'd go to the allotment, but then it rained.  But then I had an email saying that some of the sheds in the plots around mine had been broken into.  And then the sun came out.  So off I went...

My shed is right at the end of this path.

The view across to the park.  Sometimes I miss having a little pre-school boy with me, and I sigh a little sigh.

Here we are, my plot.  And all looks well.

Fortunately my shed hadn't been touched.  It has an odd door that looks like it used to be a door to somewhere else.  And the keyhole looks like it's upside down and the lock turns in the opposite way to that which you would expect.  I suspect it may have previously been a portal to an alternative reality.  The shed's fairly solid and doesn't have any windows, and I think all of these things are in it's favour when it comes to break-ins.  They don't make them like this at B&Q.

A quick look at my plot.  Not a thing of beauty at the moment.  And no things at all to pick.  Could do better.

This is a whole garlic bulb that got left in the ground last year.  I haven't had the heart to pull it up, it's trying so hard.  But I don't imagine the new bulbs will be very big.  I think I might keep it just to see what happens.

This is a plum tree on a neighbouring plot.  Trees aren't allowed to be taller than 7' otherwise The Lady With The Clipboard sends you a stiff letter.  When Gardener's Question Time came to our town, Bob Flowerdew suggested hanging glass bottles on it to make it a sort of weeping plum.  It always looks striking.

I like looking out for quirky things at the allotments.  There used to be a plot with lots of sculpture made from recycled bits and bobs.  Wonderful it was.  This shed is fantastic.  Look at that window.  How I love re-using.

I stumbled across a big crop of raspberries on my way out.  Masses of them.   In December!  No-one appeared to be picking them.  Such a shame.  If the littlest boy had been with me he would have helped himself to one or two.  I try and stop him and I explain he can't have things from other plots, but you know, small boys and temptation.

This is the view from the bottom of the site back up towards the high street.  The yellow house on the right is up for sale, and I kind of wish it was mine, even though it's on a main road.  It would be so handy for the allotments, no?  I saw Kirsty Allsop standing outside it the week before last, with a couple and a camera crew.  I had to resist the urge to rush up to her and show her a craft project.  Or take her down to the allotment and show her my exciting garlic.  You'll be happy to hear I played it cool and retained my dignity.  Of which there actually isn't much, but still.

The site wheelbarrows are kept leaning against this wall by the gate.  Several of them were painted red for the summer carnival - "The Red Barrows".  I don't know how they went down, we're always on holiday when the carnival happens.  

It was only a flying allotment visit, on my way to Tesco.  I'm well aware of the irony of going there to buy the family vegetables on my way back from the allotment.  But let's not dwell on that.  As I said, I shall try harder next year.  

While I was in the splendid Tesco store, I spotted these.

Rustic parsnips!  I was so excited, I've only ever had ordinary ones before.  Although to the untrained eye they do look quite similar.  Apologies for the poor photo, but it was all I could do to take my camera out in the middle of my local store (where there is always someone I know lurking nearby when I'm buying chips, ice-cream and cake).  I managed a quick snap, but standing around changing camera settings was a chutzpah too far.  I wouldn't want people to think I'm odd or anything.

I didn't buy the parsnips, as it happens.  But I shall try growing some next year.  If I can just find some properly rustic seeds.

And so it begins

So, December is here already, and I'm feeling particularly unprepared.  I need lists to function and so far I have no Christmas lists.  I do have a list that says, "Make Christmas lists" on it.  I don't need to panic quite yet though.  Do I?

My first job tomorrow will have to be ring the domestic appliance man, as the temperature in the fridge is the same as the temperature in the kitchen.  Sigh.  I've only just had to buy a new dishwasher.  And when I went to get out of the car this afternoon after a cold couple of hours watching the middle boy playing football, the doorhandle broke.  I'm thinking I'll have to live with that though.  I'll add it to the list called "Things to do one day many months (years?) from now in the event I have some disposable income".  That's a really long list.

But I didn't come here to moan, I do love December, especially the beautiful light.  I always notice the time that the sun sets.  It was 4.05pm today.  The sun is up for only just over eight hours.  This was around 4 o'clock yesterday at Slimbridge.

I love the bare trees silhouetted against the sky as well.  And the fact that you can suddenly see so many birds in them.

There's been a little less football than usual this weekend.  Last Sunday the eldest hurt his ankle in a match, and he's spent the week hobbling dramatically about the place.  I took him to the doctor on Wednesday, who sent us to the Minor Injuries Unit.  Who told us not to run on it until it stops hurting.  Of course, if I'd applied common sense I could have got to that point without giving up three hours right in the middle of the day.  But at least now we've been told nothing is broken.

The weekend has flown by all the same.  I need to be more efficient with my time I think.  I'm feeling a little out of control of things at the moment.  The littlest boy is being quite high maintenance (by which I mean difficult) and all the little setbacks of life are taking up too much time.  I shall focus hard this week and try and accomplish more I think.  All the things on the list of things that don't have to be done immediately but that ought to be done soon.  Painting the littlest's room, clearing up the garden, ditto the allotment, clearing old toys and things that I've amassed in a huge pile ready for a table top sale that never seems to happen (should I cut my losses and give them to a charity shop?)  Things to put on Ebay.  Corners and cupboards needing to be tidied.  I'm taking a deep breath and preparing to be constructive this week.  Wish me luck.