Creativity

 Creativity takes energy

Not a lot spare to be creative yet

But we are in Advent

Not yet Christmas

I'll post again in the New Year

Thank you so much

For being loving

Patient

(and hopefully)

Laughing with me 

Just a little

Autumn Colour

 On Wednesday, my friend Judith and I went to Rosemoor.  I'm not a huge fan of gardens, as this exchange gives away - me - "lots of dead plants, dead things, sticks" Judith - "pruned things Sal, colour"

Hmm, well I enjoyed the sculptures but the highlight for me was the display of pumpkins and squashes.  And seeing Judith relaxed and happy.  Since she won't read this, I treasure time with her, knowing that as she has cancer, it may be a shortened time of friendship.  I've been there before and it is hard. Even the coffee cake didn't have walnuts - she doesn't like them, so a good end to a day.  She was grumpy because I prevented her walking up the higher woodland walk - ususally extremely muddy! I know how determined and stubborn she can be, but sometimes resting on a bench in the sun is a fabulous prescription for a friend who doesn't rest!  Oh and I appreciated it too, celebrating the unreal feeling of having a new job!

Living Water part 2

 Water again.  Friday, using the excuse of a parentally generous National Trust renewal, I went to Lydford Gorge. Thanks to The Sat Nav I got there! It was thrashing down with rain in that persistent, soaking, horizontal Devon pattern, the sort that actually fills me with joy, except that wearing glasses is a pain.

Funnily enough there weren't many cars there.  Just a few determined parents hauling their children out for a healthy walk in the woods.  And the woods were so beautiful.  The photos below don't do them or the water soaked waterfall justice.  What little of the walk that was open was so lovely and soul enriching.

There's something about woods that I love. I'm reading John Lewis Semple's The Wood again, as a bedtime read.  Beautiful, solid, well crafted prose, achingly well observed, so sharp you feel you are walking on the leaf litter with him, sitting at the edge of the woodland pond listening to the moorhens, walking home on the cusp of night hearing the cry of the tawny owl

And after Boris's dismal, depressing, spirit darkening maps last night I took shots of the leaves on the way to church.  The greens and browns were a mind resting option. And the reds fed my heart.

Living Water

There's been a lot of it lately I think.  Rain. I went to my happy place, North Devon to escape for a while this weekend.  And got thoroughly soaked as you can see from the photo below.  But also managed a good 10 miles walk including a walk up to watersmeet from Lynmouth and a return along the river, followed by the obligatory cream tea, walk up the cliff and rerun of September's walk along the coast path (30mph winds) to the valley of the rocks. 

I'm fascinated by water, as you will know, I find it draws me and I would love to swim in the rough pools and torrents as otters do, to tumble and play in the stuff.  I can stare at it, listen to it's magisterial thunder (especially after a week or so of rain) and try to imagine how Jesus voice might sound - "like mighty waters" personally I find that exciting rather than terrifying!

There's a really lovely poem in the book "watching the kingfisher" which sums up my bird and nature watching approach:

"Wait for the Spirit" by Ann Lewin

Wait...

Without expectation

Which might focus

Attention too narrowly,

So that we miss the coming.

Wait with expectancy, alert,

Hearts, minds, hands, ears

Open to receive the gift"

It's brilliant, go watching without being too disappointed if the bird you would like to see doesn't turn up. Focus on the good stuff of now.  I'm preaching last night's sermon to myself!

Here's a small attempt to sum up a whole afternoon's love affair with water.

"Whisky colour water, pools of bath bubbles of palest jade

Rills and runnels, teeming over trapped tree branches

Torrenting downstream, roiling over rocks.

White shirted, brown jacketed, swirling in the pools

I catch sight of the dipper, battling the river eddies.

Downstream, a flash of yellow of dipping flight

Grey wagtail, and the torpedo streamline of a cormorant

Diving through the weeds in expectation of dinner."

World Mental Health Day - a belated post

 Last weekend we celebrated World Mental Health Day.  And my computer needing fixing, it was as lacking in charge as my heart that day.  For whatever reason!

To explain, I have, for quite a few years had a recurring pattern of SAD - seasonal affective distorder. To those who say it's just winter blues, and that everyone feels miserable and/or down in winter is possibly not helpful.  It's what I used to say until I found out that most people don't wake up crying in the morning in winter, as soon as it starts to darken.  Nor do they have to prise themselves out of bed - and I am a chronically early riser, nor do they wake at 3am with what can only be described as the soundtrack of your worst enemy giving you a hard time. Using a bright light doesn't help.  At all.  It was a most unpleasant few years, until friends who loved me noticed the misery, as well they might, and with gentle persistence suggested I talk to my doctor.

So now, after a couple years of on-off attempts, I now take sertraline, which is a modern antidepressant.  Every morning.  Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Without arguing.  I don't like the emotional "flatness" - I quite enjoyed the feeling of sensitivity and highs and lows can be quite fun!

But this is world mental HEALTH day, so, yes, although it is dark and getting cold, and I have all the right triggers, and still get that cobalt dark feeling and I still wake early, and still need to bribe myself out of bed, and can easily get into a pattern of blue tears and thinking.  But the difference is that I am aware of it, have a level playing field, thanks to steadying drugs.  So here are the helpful things I do in case anyone reading should like a little enlightening!  I set breakfast ingredients out - or prep the night before so I can say to myself "you LIKE coconut porridge - yes, I know it sounds daft!  I leave my swimming costume on the bathroom floor on a Friday night so that I literally fall over it when hauling myself out of bed grumbling "why the hell did I book such an early swim? (the answer is early morning outside light - the best therapy out)

I make sure I have a book by the bed - a light read one! I register to walk for a " race at your pace" medal - they cost £10 and it seems a waste of money, but in Autumn shading into Winter I need the incentive, the push and that lovely sense of achievement it brings.  And they are beautiful to look at.

So, with the understanding of the above, I offer today's walk.  But please don't read it that I am a blythe person who drifts through the world seeing lovely things even in a year of pandemic, I don't - I ration the news input but I read a serious book alongside a more fun one most days.

This morning wisps of candyfloss drift over the gunmetal sea.

Turnstones scatter to the steady, wash back of the waves.

It gives me a sense of solidity.

 Someone is roller blading, ski sticks clattering 

Others stand, hatted, jacketed, watching.

My head feels as grey as morning porridge

 Above the horizon's belt of cumulus a  peach line appears

I watch it deepen to a rectangle of tangerine.

Rays batter downwards, as the sun struggles against the cloud bank.

I'd like to watch and see it rise, steadily but the swimming pool calls!

 

 

 

Unveiled Faces?

 Well it has caught up with Donald Trump and I am truly ashamed to realise my reaction to his Covid diagnosis wasn't "poor man" but serve him right! Hmmm, way to go for you Sal I think!  Maybe I should be praying for him!! Someone at work thought it was all a ploy to postpone the presidential election.

I've had that little bible phrase "we who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory" stuck in my head all week. Obviously a good one to remember and practice (see above)

At work we have had the regulations tightened up.  Masks are now compulsory in all areas except when we are behind our perspex screens, or, in my case, at the filing cabinet or scanner/printer.  Hello to tickling nose and steamed up glasses. Oh and forgetting you can't drink coffee wearing it. So I suspect that unveiled faces where we can see each others' expressions and in my poor dad's case, read their lips is on my mind.

We all - reflect his glory?  Because he made us?  A work of art - even if it's in progress, paint all over the floor, brushes stuck in jam jars, hand prints on the edges of the frame, clay slipping off the wheel yet again, stone chips flying and edged tools chunking. That's us.  But we reflect him.  Creator, craftsman, worker, potter, artist, writer and wordsmith.

When I write/take photographs/produce a meal - I "feel his pleasure" to crib a famous quote. I know the quote is Moses and his veil because he didn't want people to see the glory fade, but humour me, I have just taken the afternoon off to apply for a job and discovered the closing date is too quick and there are few, precious few jobs out there.  I'm fortunate to be working in a kind and generous place and to have a contract extension until the end of October.

Searching for clues

 Years ago I produced a slim paper cover A4 booklet called "searching for clues" A little bit of poetry for friends to read and ponder.  I was an earnest soul I think but people seemed to like it.  A few more equally slim booklets followed, each Christmas in lieu of fancy gifts.  I seem to have lost that gift of thoughtful, biblical reflection or maybe it was just a season in life.  Now I blog and have learned and am learning the magic art of writing laments.  I've just read church "focus" bulletin and seen a fellow wordsmith has written his own well crafted lament.

So I thought I would have a go.  I notice that Job, Jeremiah, Habbakuk and many others produced the most wretchedly downbeat songs when things got tough and God didn't seem to mind even if he did tell Jeremiah to get a grip - well maybe not in so many words. I've been really struck by Habbakuk's lament - the words are so pictorial and evocative- even though the fig tree does not bud, and there are no grapes on the vines etc, but he is describing large scale hardship and harrowing famine. We don't, here, have the same but:

I miss normality - whatever that was, when with uncovered faces we could chat

and laugh and read each others' smiles, not just their eyes.  Even as one whose hands do the talking.

Words embodied, not remote and artifically lighted.

Even as an awkward rook I miss singing - factory men whistle and sing why must we be silenced?

Everything feels awkward - I don't know the rules, don't particularly care either

I know it is important, but was it important enough?

To ruin the economy

To finish the careers of older workers

To blight and stunt the growth of those who are low paid

To feed the bloated online retailers - I share that guilt.

Yesterday there was a rainbow arching rain soaked motorway sky

A covenant promise but a promise that is not necessarily a soft option

For those who wait

 

yes, it's choppy prose but I need to keep writing after a relentless day of shivering with the warehouse door open and scanning sick records.  And in every workplace, "flu" seems to be a Friday/Monday thing!!

Tinsel and Turkey?

Rant warning

It's September.  I know Turkey farmers need to calculate how many birds of what size to raise, and toy stockists were ordering back in June - I used to work for a toy supplier.  But it is September, just past the first day of Autumn and despite last night's miserable Prime Ministerial performance Radio 4 is asking if Christmas will be affected/cancelled.  I admit to having bought most presents and some of the food but that is just usual prior planning.

If only.  I cannot see that encouraging home working and effectively trashing the economy, not to mention the shambolic farce that is Brexit will help us.  We don't know what will happen at the end of the week let alone at the end of 3 months.  And I guess that is biblical, today is all we have but finding thanks at the end of the day is sometimes a little bit of a strain!

I'm tired, and so it would seem are a lot of people. 

 

Escape

 

I am not good at taking selfies.  So the above is an attempt to be a bit "arty"  I think I've succeeded in looking a bit wistful and very grey! It's been a steep few weeks really so escaping to my "happy place" Lynton and Lynmouth after the window fitter had been and replaced the rotten bathroom window felt so good.  I spent the Friday afternoon trotting down the hill into Lynmouth and having a cream tea.  Which certainly hasn't done my waistline any good but it cheered me up.

I stayed at an old house turned B&B in Lynton, mainly because it had space and was cheap.  The bed was memory foam and felt ridiculously soft after my "block of concrete" orthopaedic mattress. Surprisingly it was a good way to sleep.  Finding a working and available plug socket was a challenge - the one where the kettle had been optimistically placed was so dodgy I moved it to the gang extension socket under the bed!  Definitely an old house! But there were biscuits in a "Pirate Chest" and a cafetiere - I couldn't cope with sorting that out after a longish day and stuck to decaff.

The lovely owner had brought me tea on the outside lawn so I watched the evening chill and fade whilst hearing the story of Hazel the rescue Russian Blue cat.  She looked like Smoky - our old cat and had a playful sense of fun and gloriously soft fur.  Clearly she ran the place as she had her own chair in the breakfast room and went for a cuddle and a play with all the guests.  Even cat-allergic me.  Hard to resist something that purrs and wants to play even if it isn't quite what I expected in a guest house. Glad I wasn't staying much longer or ventolin would have been the order of the day.

This morning dawned damp and dreary in Lynton but perked up over breakfast with lovely sunshine.  But massive mounting fleece grey clouds loomed over the valley of the rocks.  The little South Sea Islander left abandoned on the bench at the start of the cliff walk had only her solar powered dancing to keep her warm.

Usually the goats are culled at some point but today they were out in force as were the runners chasing times and distances.  So not wanting to risk trekking down the sticky mud into Lynmouth again I went to Charlie Friday's for a coffee and a read amongst the orange, pinks and kingfisher blues that make it such a cheery and award winning place.

Up close and beautiful

 

The very nice thing about online church is that you can listen and worship later in the day than the stated service time! So this morning before the rain set in I walked along the Tiverton canal to "get my steps up" and get a little bit more distance walking.  Well that was the intention pre pouring rain and being totally distracted by the wildlife.

Wildlife camera people must spend hours and even days to get the perfect shots we so casually watch - my limit was shamefully five minutes watching this juvenile, non plumed heron tentatively stabbing the water with his fishing spear beak.  He wasn't very good - mostly he seemed to catch weed.  Originally I thought he was a plastic garden ornament he had been so motionless. Far nicer and more tasteful than a gnome.  Beautiful dove grey with neck ruffles of palest pearl grey.  And blame Dulux if the colours are the wrong way round - I have just spent time looking at paint charts to find the right descriptive words for him!  And black under his wings, with yellow rimmed eyes.

As for the moorhen I suspect he/she was avoiding the youngsters!  The canal was positively a moorhen youngster playground with them swimming in circles, running up and down the banks and plaintively cheeping at their parents. Or anyone's parents perhaps. This moorhen's deep red eyes, bright scarlet and bold yellow shield and smooth, dapper plumage were so close I could have stroked them.  Big yellow paddy feet.

And as the rain started to stair rod I saw that elusive electric blue arrow flash jet past me.  Yes, a kingfisher moment.  Not one moment, but two as he returned ten exultant minutes later.  So today's sermon was on generosity.  And I feel God's smile as I raised my hands in a victory shout of joy.

Small things large hope

 Small things, seeds sown, mustard seeds growing into leggy plants, doing your bit and maybe others seeing the growth.  I listened to the Lee Abbey Summer sessions while doing tea prep.  Bishop Jackie Searle was preaching on the parable of the sower.  Somehow it trickled hope into me that anything I may have done or contributed isn't in vain. It certainly made producing a "spanish style" (sort of) fish stew - olives/fish/left over homemade tomato sauce and leftover veg go more smoothly.  Leftovers - because I sat for an hour last night in the mother of all traffic jams when I should have gone to Morrisons!  So because I had an early swim I did a hasty online delivery for today.

I miss Lee Abbey.  I miss real live church.  But Bishop Jackie used the example of the suffering and persecuted church and their faithfulness.  And somehow that helped.  As does the returning hope of being able to walk longer distances. (small victories)  Today was the first time I put my (empty) walkers rucksack back on and cinched the waist belt, tightened the chest straps.  I know I can fit into my walking trousers - and today for the first time I had no pain swimming.  I'd forgotten the joy of being able to kick hard and also to walk normally without realising it.  My heart goes out to those for whom restriction of movement is life long and for whom pain is a constant.  Realising this week for the first time that I have slept and woken up without pain is a sweet thing.  And I know that in six months time God willing I will have forgotten what serious physical weakness feels like.  At least I hope so.  It's going to take a bit of patience rebuilding the ability to walk up hills.  I'm re reading the Salt Path before going to sleep and what a superb writer Raynor Winn is.  Homeless, with a death sentenced husband, cash strapped yet they walked the South West Coast Path.  I will wait for the sequel the Wild Silence to come out in paperback!

Swimming

 Aquatic being that I am swimming is something I have really missed not only during lockdown but also due to back pain.  It's a moot point if lack of swimming or lockdown itself caused the "sciatica" as I used to swim twice a week as regularly as the irritating Pyramids timetable would allow.

Everything has increased in price - understandably - as a result of extra cleansing measures and limited numbers but what a joy to be back in a pool again!  Exmouth pool used to be a favourite when I lived the other side of the city as I could hop on a train and exit right next door.  Now it's a quick drive and a lengthier walk as I am far too mean to pay for parking.  Unlike the Pyramids where I would swim along and count the submerged and floating hair and plasters - this pool is transparently clear.  The new regime of clothes in a basket, poolside ready, get in and swim and process to your numered cubicle without the unpredictable (Pyramids) shower is very reassuring.

Fewer numbers, but oh there is some pool rage!  It amuses me as the lanes are sufficiently spacious to swim abreast rather than in a head to toe line.  But people like to follow the ropes it seems.  I am happy to do the odd seal-like swerve to avoid other rebellious swimmers but it is much calmer in the middle!

This morning I was amused by the "slow lane club" whose pre swim bitching and ailment exchange irked me.  Until I tried to think a tiny bit more charitably which is hard - maybe they are just sore/anxious/fearful of strangers in "their" pool.  But it has been such a fresh, sea air morning that being grumpy seems a shame.  Pre swim I sat on the flood prevention wall and played the 5 senses game - what can you hear/touch etc.  Before opening all too easy eyes!  Fresh air flowing over wrists and ruffled hair, oystercatchers sounding off and black headed gulls screeching. The pressure of the wall on legs and backside, smooth concrete.  And I could see the lovely vista below but not through the lens - too bright and brisk a day and the reflections of sun on the water meant I was taking photos blind

A House through Time

 Avid TV history buffs like me welcome the reruns of programmes like A house through time.  Thanks to Amazon I have a second hand copy of the book by David Olusoga and Melanie Backe-Hansen based on the series - or in truth supplementing the series.

I have been genuinely shocked by the chapters on the Victorian poor. I remember being told by an Open University lecturer that Dickens never exaggerates in his descriptions of the lowest of the low and the appalling conditions they were forced to live in.  I was aware of the reforms made by the early sanitary reformers and benefactors such as the Quaker manufacturers Cadbury and Rowntree.  But what has totally overwhelmed me has been the blatant disregard of the poor as Victorian London was "developed" - broad new avenues and suites of houses which were deliberately routed through the disgusting "rookeries" of the bottom of Victorian society.  Train lines were brutally cut through districts of the poorest.  The Victorian middle classes villified the poor as shirking, filthy, moral degenerates - some may have been but there are descriptions of the overcrowded, huddled together rooms with absolutely no facilities and the disgusting overflowing rotting effluent laden "shared privies" - so few for whole streets! How the poor could be "moral" seems a tad optimistic!

I know that we have deep wealth divides, I know that rents are immorally high, I know that many children still live in disgusting damp, infested accommodation and that so many live in food poverty.  It's too easy for me to be appalled by conditions which prevailed within the actual lifespan of my own home, and to turn off the TV when documentaries make me uncomfortable.  It's frustrating - not being at that level of poverty myself yet without the wherewithal to make a difference.  Except that unlike the benighted Victorian poor I can vote.

Jack of all trades?

 My friend Hannah Foley, who blogs at "Owling About" is a Renaissance woman of multiple talents - writer, nurse, parent, grower of veg, lover of the countryside and a lovely person as well.  I have just read her latest blog on the craft of writing and can but feel a little bit overawed!  I'm a hobby writer and taker of photos hence my title but oh both give me huge joy.  Today, having finished the two redecorating projects - my bedroom and the kitchen, I drove to Barrington Court again.

It draws me this place. I've written about it before, taken photos of the interior, used it as an escape after an over-intense conference.  Taken friends there.  I think it is just the lost garden feel, the sense of it being a half finished hidden treasure, deserted and deliberately empty. My feet echo the long gallery boards and I am disappointed that today I am sharing it with others! The intricate, delicate gun-reminiscent lock caught my eye on the way out.

The bronze, golds, russets of the flowers below, the perfection of a water lily.  A butterfly suspended in time, the lazy green light glint on weedy water and the homey colours of the brick stack  slowed my pace, restored my soul. The bees and crickets hum in the grass and it is a good to be alive and forget Covid time.  However brief, however personally uncertain the future is.

Dank day

 Dank, wonderful descriptive word. Damp and dripping but certainly not cold.  Overcast, sticky, humid and very foggy on the Tiverton Canal this morning.  I drove out to see if I could find the staff parking for the temp job I start in September.  So, in need of a stroll I headed to the canal.  I've seen kingfishers along here before so my eyes and ears were alert.  

The banks' foliage was high and reedy, beautiful brown velvet looking bulrushes, tangles of brambles in the hedges.  The water had drifts of yellow and also white and pink water lillies which I stopped to admire.  Lots of ducks - drakes still in eclipse plumage.  A big family of swans sailed upstream. Six fawny brown babies paddling away and peeping their calls to mum and dad as they swam ahead.  Walking in their company I found myself passing moorhens and a couple of their chicks who swam away with the head back and forward motion that looks so inefficient and tiring!

Past the kingfisher tree where I'd seen them before and no such luck this time - the water had a green algae scum and the drizzling damp got steadily more unpleasant - a waterproof jacket and hood in a heatwave is not great.  And still no kingfishers on the way back. 

Jacob and Blackberries!

 It's a frabjous day for earlyish morning blackberry picking.  Mainly because it is cool up in Mincinglake Park and climbing gentle, rough ground is my next bit of "training for Pembrokeshire" - getting my iffy back used to uneven ground which it still doesn't like too well.

Lots of blackberries, lots of prickles too and I'm wearing shorts. Not so good! It is a lovely way to concentrate, relax, avoid spending money on a "take to dinner out" present and breathe.  Breathing is good.

The main drag of Mincinglake is broiling hot and it's only 10am.  Definitely to be avoided.  

I had another walk at 5.30am up on Ludwell Valley's rufty tufty slopes.  As I was listening to Nick's sermon on I have no idea where in Micah he mentioned that some word was used for limp - it was super early and I was half asleep - but my mind went back to poor old patriarch Jacob. Since I was also admiring the cornflowers, it just proves you shouldn't multi task.

Like Jacob I wrestle - with ideas - with big books that look intimidating, and with over thinking.  And I remembered that poor Jacob also suffered from a sore hip - his wrestling partner (?God) cheated somewhat and smote him what must have been a cracking blow on the hip.  I can't imagine how that must have been without painkillers!! Poor Jacob limped: did he have L4 nerve irritation too (aka sciatica?) I really hope not. No wonder he comes across as a whinger in his later life.

And I came away home from my lunch with a six pack - of windfall apples to accompany my own over stewed blackberries.

Candle smoke

When I pray and read the bible I light a candle.  Gives me something to look at when I pretty frequently can't think what to say.  Goes along with a coffee cup to huddle over. Blame the heavy duty pain medication I have been on and a host of other tedious reasons for feeling less than charging on all cylinders in the mornings!  This morning I had a tough job snuffing the candle - it wouldn't blow out.  It made me think that my faith was sufficiently tenancious but God has definitely not given up and there is a brilliant verse about Jesus not "putting out a flickering candle wick" Somewhere in the gospels - I think in Luke - it encourages me when for whatever reason I feel a bit less than stable.

Much later after tedious job applications and the usual round of chores and petrol station I walked into town and drifted into the cathedral mainly to escape the rain and to pray.  And lit a candle for a friend with cancer.  For a preaching friend, for a stressed nursing friend.  It felt decidedly odd and a real privilege to be back walking around the place. Prayer as incense, prayer as candle smoke....

Tyntsfield - 5 mile walkies!

Yesterday I went to Slimbridge, avoiding the children.  Drakes skulked, flashy green heads reduced to manky little stripes of dull green.  Collected together, they looked like morning-after-a-hard-night blokes - apparently it is called "eclipse plumage" - that should have told me that I wasn't likely to see too much in early August.  But it was so lovely to be back; to watch the otters sinuously swirl through the water and wish I could join them, to potter round the bird hides pretending to be an expert.  I don't have the patience but it was quiet and I spotted lapwings and heard them calling, and what I think is probably a sandpiper.  There are interesting new sections opening up but, scuppered by Covid they look half finished with no actual wildlife, just structures.

There is also a lovely summer walk along the estuary and it was so good to feel the breeze riffling my hair into spikes and to hear both breeze and the crickets murmuring in the grasses.  I'm not the best at bird identification, but I learned one trick - birds are, like me, creatures of habit - so find what they like to eat and watch.  In this case, thistle seeds; baby goldfinch was my reward.  I also know that the clunky rustling of leaves in undergrowth is usually Mr or Mrs Blackbird making a racket in search of breakfast.

Which leads me nicely to the delights of having a proper Premier Inn Breakfast.  It was a one night away day so I took a pot of porridge for rescue.  But thankfully a streamlined version of my favourite in the world meal was available.  Plus copious amounts of hand sanitiser after using hot water machine/toaster etc.  Poor hands! 

And so to Tyntsfield despite the satnav which tried to route me through Easton in Bristol.  Which I know from experience is a crawl.  The only times I have been to Tyntsfield it has rained or been pretty cold and dull so today's parkland 5 mile walk was such a delight.

Jesus' Day Off

My homework?  The lovely book prescribed to me by Kathy-the-spiritual-director..Jesus's day off  by Nicholas Allan

Wonderful, hilarious. Needed.  Jesus has been feeling a bit tired and things aren't going so well -so the doctor prescribes a day of fun and frolics!  Including halo frisbee and loaves and fishes picnic.  I love the pictures so much and after a trying time it's just what I need (as was roast lamb dinner and apple crumble)

So I know I am really exhausted when I go outside to walk and can't take a deep breath.  Here however, are some of the attempts at having a relaxing "day off"

Looking Seedy?

Not me, I am like a happy shorn lamb with a haircut that is chippy to take account of my rubbish lockdown haircutting attempts.  I heard tales of home colour horrors whilst in the chair, under what looked like a large clear plastic bin liner!  So good.  But on the way to Morrisons, a quick walk in Mincinglake Park tells me summer is doing the job of slowly preparing for a new season.  Me too, sadly as thanks to Covid19 I am jobless. Again.  Totally out of context but "Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light." (Dylan Thomas) I do rage well - it gets things done once shock has worn off.  My cousin too is a victim of the jobs cull.  That's life sadly

Birds and feathers

Sparrowhawk and Greenfinch, little egret and sand martins.  A nice haul for this weeks' bird watching.  Even if I did think the sparrowhawk was a kestrel.  I have found that looking around and above, and paying attention to the difference seems to work - robins/blackbirds/wagtails all register as the same olds - these are fairly common,but if I see something or hear something and think "now what's that" then that seems to be when nice things occur.

Today's greenfinch had a feather in her/his beak - no I don't know the difference, sadly.  The bird sat on a branch above me, twirling the feather like someone smoking a cigar after a nice meal.  Flipping heck greenfinch moment!  I haven't seen one for years.  The river Otter walk to Otterton and back always has interesting moments, even if I never see a beaver.  I can always hope.

YAY!!

And this says it all for me today.  A beautiful 8am walk along the path leading up from Budleigh golf course and back onto a stormy looking beach via the coffee shack.  5 miles.  And on rough ground.  Ok I limped like an old farmer going up the rough, stony track but once the hip loosened up it was plain sailing for the rest of the walk along the cliff top and down onto the beach.  And the coffee and company were good.  I have been advised to add 10% a week to my walk length so it's a nice 5 miles most days this week and some interesting maths next week.  What is that in steps?  Today was about 13000?

Rescue Drama

Yesterday I found one of these annoying babies in my garden, squeaking and squawking. Baby robins and small song birds fall out the nest and can choose to fly or die - but when it's a "seagull" and that's a 9ft wall, and there are other walls and trellis surrounding the garden?  It didn't seem to manage, so with the very bulky padded oven gloves, I caught it - finally - after a chase round the pots and recycling bins - and hefted it onto my neighbours wall, topped with trellis.  It flew into my neighbours garden and sat awkwardly on the fig plant. 

Last night I found two of them, roosting in my flower bed, lurking next to the rose.  I'd been alerted by the annoying squeaking and the whirling of adult gulls overhead.  It wasn't particularly late but I thought they could get themselves out.  I fell asleep to the sound of them pecking the cover over the drain and squealing at each other.  Not restful!  They and I woke at 5.30am - they left the flower bed to poo in the garden and eat the petunias!  Me, to eat branflakes and find the ladder.

If this didn't work I would phone the RSPCA - mainly because dead and rotting seagull didn't strike me as an attractive garden feature and because I have a little compassion for them! Another annoying wander around the garden, cornering the big, bulky yipping thing and pinning it's wings gently.  Climbing a stepladder early in the morning hampered by herring gull is fun! Rather ungently I chucked it over the wall into the unkempt patch of weeds and grasses at the back of what was the bank.  And watched from the bathroom window as it poked it's head above the parapet and waddled around.

A hour later and I've just hefted it's friend/sibling over the wall, pecking and petrified.  All is quiet and I am aware that I could have left them but I know from rescuing a similiarly trapped baby rook that a 9ft wall is a big tall intimidating ask - he/she sat in the garden for 3 days before I gave in and helped baby onto my neighbours flat roof. An interesting start to my 2nd furlough day!

Deja Vue

It's groundhog day part 2.  I've been furloughed. Again. Probably for quite a while as the current projects at work allegedly don't need an administrator and the only other option was factory work.  I have a healing back and I had no option really - I don't want to damage it and the boss knows that now.  But this time, there are people to socialise with, National Trust card to make the most of until it runs out (I have no intention of it being a generous donation to them - I am going to get my money's worth out of it) And bedroom painting to do.  Slowly of course. The paint I bought a while ago is a different colour to the cream the bedroom currently. Why should "summer linen" be so different to the old "soft linen"?  Soft linen was pale creamy white whereas this is a slightly pinky creamy beige, an unbleached sort of linen.  It will look good I think, with the curtains I bought last year in the B&Q bargain sale aisle.

Gaining a cheerful perspective took a little while. My initial reaction to furlough was shock - although I should have seen it coming; and a drab sort of blueness but having worked two seven day weeks give or take a few hours off - I realised that tired doesn't make for good judgment!

Today a half day in the sun at Budleigh beach with Sandy and her friend Ruth who came for a brief swim - while I minded the rucksacks.  Ruth is a brave all year swimmer and Sandy has a wetsuit so this chicken heart merely dipped feet into the very clear very lovely but freshly freezing water.  Brrrrr.  Watching people getting into wetsuits has to be one of the funniest things in a while - it looked extremely uncomfortable.

To hear the lap and wash of calm waves, to smell salty air, to drink a coffee with a friend.  Such very simple things.  But for both of us it was a gentle return to some normality.

Chaos

The weekend was the calm before the storm.  Stores are in chaos - cardboard everywhere. Metal bars in boxed pairs fill the metal shop, glass on stillages ready to be picked up and distributed for screens.  Men in masks mill around the packing benches.  In the offices, the MD has a hair trigger temper - he shouts at the best of times so I am glad I'm downstairs again now. Everyone is tired - I'm accused of unfairness when I put someone down as sick when they definitely were - they don't get paid.  Oh crap.

Most of the guys are grumpy but there's still singing and whistling to the radio.  Mike and Kev moan about working in the factory - I am so relieved that I don't have to - my job is endless repetitiveness, groundhog day feeling but my daily spreadsheet tick sheet list is colouring nicely with deliveries.  I'm looking forward to a break: lunch time I sit with my back to a chunk of rock in a lawn of "dandelions" and something-or-other-bit (sheeps/hawkbit who knows - it's a yellow flower,  clover and miniscule pink flowers. I stare at them and the words on the page and everything blurs a little. 

I have proper time off next week, even if I do wake up the same time as usual!

Thank you

A hearty heartfelt "thank you" to anyone who has been reading my blog.  I'm so grateful.  I love writing and can't imagine that life would be fun without it.  And yes, I know people read it as sometimes - like today, I check the statistics and do a double take.  People read it. The everyday ramblings of life.

Today has been a day for catching my breath.  And being grateful.  I have my office back after three weeks of being homeless at work, borrowing desks, moving my "chocolate spiders" teabag tin around, carting the footrest and coloured highlighters and desk calendar around.  So today feels a little more rooted.  The lady who has been using my office calls it the dungeon.  I call it the hobbit hole - much more affectionate I think.  It's quiet and peaceful and Mike in the drawing office is glad I am back - he's a quiet man and has had to listen to Wood & Woods "Mumbai call centre" - two ladies brought in (friends/wives) to phone up job centres to arrange crews attending to install their signage.  I may be annoying (to me anyway) but Mike and John - who usually works there too, both missed me.

My task for the next two weeks is printing, saving and extracting digital files. Oh joy! But I get to do something useful, work with someone I respect and make silly amounts of extra time up as overtime.  What's not to like.  And as it's quiet over the weekend and there is absolutely nothing to do in between the emails coming in, I got a bit of reading done. Upstairs, the men are just plain bored - waiting for the crews to finish the installations but under the managing director's eye and pressure mounts on them.  It's a tight deadline - two weeks to install all the front of house signage for all the job centres in England!!

The Queen is not amused

Well that's been my view of Queen Victoria, possesor of the grumpiest dour face and endless mourning clothes.  Can't say I knew much about her really - coming from Sidmouth I knew there was a connection as she stayed at what is now one of the town's hotels as a child.  But reading Lucy Worsley's biography has been a joyous eye opener of a read.  You have to love a book that starts with "The most powerful , memorable images of Victoria show her as a little old lady, potato like in appearance, dressed in everlasting black"And she follows by asking the question: "How did she go from dancing princess to potato?

What a great way to intrigue!  She documents a series of memorable "days" in Victoria's life, including the death of her father, meeting with Prince Albert, her wedding, her homes, her relationships with servants and children.  A host of familiar characters which I know only from films crop up - Abdul Karim, John Brown.  And I learned she loved her food and drink, was taller than me so how that is short I am unsure but she had tiny tiny feet! (unlike me)  Albert is evaluated from his letters to be a workaholic, controlling "emotionally abusive" husband.  I disliked him intensely! Worsley argues that although she spent her life subsequently mourning him, it was being without his influence that allowed her to use her own "emotionally intelligent" approach and to suceed as a monarch.  I have delighted in the evidence of personal quirkiness and eccentricity and it has filled out my shaky knowledge of her reign although I knew a lot more about the general "Victorian" age.  Highly recommend it as a read

Riots in interesting times

A friend has just challenged my thinking.  She comments on the notorious photo of President Trump holding a bible and says that it would be amazing if he read it, turned to Jesus as his saviour and became a humbled leader.  I think fat chance - suspect that reveals my cynical lack of faith.  I'm often challenged by my friends faith and hope and positivity.  I often wonder why we are friends as we are so different and what she sees in me - I guess my ability to listen to her process her thoughts aloud!

I have no comment on black lives matter protests - another subject I feel woefully inadequate to comment on.  It makes me aware of my own inherent racism - I'm a child of the 70s and a working class upbringing where Alf Garnet and the black and white minstrels shamefully featured as entertainment. But watching the excellent House through time TV programme this week reminded me of the riots in Bristol https://thebristolcable.org/2017/10/bristol-reform-riots-1831 in which the chartists violently took out their anger and fury at their lack of political representation and poverty in days of acrimonious rioting, looting and arson.  We are not immune.  In a different age Luddites smashed the machinery replacing their own skilled jobs - protests and riots are not an America only phenomena. In my lifetime I remember poll tax riots and miners strikes - Andrew Marrs history of modern Britain brought up my own furious anger against Thatcher.  I am not immune.  Given the right trigger, I have that same tendency in me to violent anger and a sense of injustice, however wrong the expression is I can understand the powerlessness that drives some of it.

Chaos?

Today I am working - after my first full week.  I've changed teams three times, moved desks twice, changed working hours and loved the return to banter and some heavy duty teasing that translates to "we missed you"  It seems I've learned to ask for help during lockdown - this week has taxed my spreadsheet knowledge!  So, as a beautiful counterpoint, lunchtime walks provided peace and tranquil photos as the large contract we are working on means both factory and offices are crammed with everyone's friends/relatives/inlaws and children, all packing signs, inputting data and in the case of the "youth club" larking about dancing and looking at their phones (my downstairs drawing office buddy finds the "youth club" infuriating as he's temporarily their supervisor in packing signs.  I just can't read their writing when the delivery notes appear - from one whose writing is notoriously awful

So good to be back! Oh and Sowton is lovely but the photos are closeups as the background is often litter and industrial buildings....

Stonechats

Yesterday's walk was a revisit to Woodbury Common - two whole months have passed since 23rd March when, clad in a fleece and jacket and full of pre-lockdown anxiety I marched around a pretty soggy common in equally bright but decidedly chilly sunshine. This time I went walking early again - but to avoid the sun which was hot even at 8.30am in shorts and T shirt.  The drugs I am taking to keep my back recovering are absolute "zombie juice" making me feel rubbish and sleepy so although I did have my camera and (like Dominic Cummings) was safe to drive I didn't think to take binos with me.  Maddeningly the sound of stonechats reverberated all around the walk.  I just couldn't see them for trees and bushes. 

Stalking them, with the camera at full zoom, prepped and ready was frustrating - my walking boots squeak! But this little guy perched and sang, happily at a non camera shake distance and he is particularly handsome I think.  The next bird I would like to see on the common is a wheatear - it's been a while since I saw one.  I have loved the spring and now early summer-ish chorus of birdsong and it is a joy to be driving and walking even if it isn't as far as I would like - maybe I will need to learn to work/walk and drive "under my pain level" for a while longer.  Sunday's sermon reminded me that there is no immunity from pain in this world, and that whatever we do with God we can make a difference - so encouraging to such an ordinary person who oftens doubts there is anything spectacular within them!

Perfect Day?

"Just a perfect day
Drink Sangria in the park
And then later
When it gets dark, we go home

Just a perfect day
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later
A movie, too, and then home

Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
You just keep me hanging on

Just a perfect day
Problems all left alone
Weekenders on our own
It's such fun

Just a perfect day
You made me forget myself
I thought I was
Someone else, someone good

Oh, it's such a perfect day
I'm glad I spent it with you"

 

with thanks to the chill CD that's in the car, another Lou Reed song.  Wish I didn't hate his voice so much because this is a such reflection on what a simple happy day should be...except for me it was delivering food to parents and sitting sweltering in their garden while they huddled in sweaters - coffee and a rather odd squashed looking cake (I'm the maker of wonky flapjack & liquid lemon drizzle cake, who am I to complain) and lots of cheering of lovely worried little people.

 

Then down to the town for a blustery, salt laden turn around the seafront and across to Jacob's ladder - with a pasty and icecream & flake to make it feel like a holiday.  The waves creamed in, sunlight bounced off the water and there were surfers.  And social distancing transfers all along the front promenade.  Think the gulls have been on a diet as I jealously guarded the rather over peppered pasty and amazingly decadent Mr Whippy icecream from them.  I may have ripped up my costa card in favour of small shops but it was a non classy icecream proper seaside sort of day.  

 

There's a sting in the tail of the tale - I'm sore.  If that's the way it will be from now on I will carry painkillers and pace life until my back heals up but there's no way I won't celebrate and live my fun in style.