Getting back to living life

I started to write this blog so many times, in my head and on the computer. “Don't think – just write”, but the words wouldn't come out in the right order, and I pressed the back space key so many times, I nearly gave up. What's the point? It's been so long and so much has happened – too many things to catch up with.

But here I am, pounding the keys and fumbling with words, thoughts and emotions, with a few pictures thrown in, just for good measure.

Spring was a write off for us. We had three close bereavements in rapid succession – the culmination of an emotional roller coaster as I watched my friend, Carole, lose her battle with cancer. Then there was my uncle Peter, also a victim of cancer, quickly followed by my ex-father-in-law, Derek, as he finally gave up his brave fight with Parkinson's. I moved through Spring in a state of numbness, not feeling the same joy as new life burst forth all around me. What is it all about? This journey of life we are all travelling on: watching the seasons come and go; getting up, filling our day and going to bed; laughing, crying......

I was brought up Church of England, but following my parents' break up, when my Dad found the Jehovah's Witnesses, I have had a strange relationship with religion. I don't go to Church, except for weddings, funerals, harvest, Christenings – you know, the times most people make an appearance, but it doesn't mean I don't believe in God. For me, religion is a personal thing: I don't wear a label; I don't “belong” to a particular faith. My experiences of the affects of religion on a family have soured my belief in Church – not in God, but the Church bit, when mankind gets involved. Watching the goings on as the ladies do battle over alter flowers (C of E) and “Elders” (Jehovah's Witnesses) telling my Dad to shave his beard off because it gave the “wrong” impression to the outside world (unclean – can you believe that?), then listening to my Mum crying and pleading with Dad to stand up to them, after all, didn't Jesus wear a beard? The sound of him tapping the razor on the side of the bathroom sink will stay in my memory forever, as I watched the sparkle dim in my Mum's eyes. But that wasn't God's hand – it was men “interpreting” the Bible and its message, and that was when I pulled away.

So, my faith has become my own personal relationship with God, and this spring saw that sorely tested. As I watched the greening of the hedgerows, buds bursting forth and bulbs pushing through the earth, my usual joy and wonder was absent, as I grieved for people I loved. But this IS what it is all about, though, isn't it? The cycle of life, that continuous circle and my grief gradually turned into a heightened awareness that I had to get on and “live”.

And that is what I have been doing. I have been outside at every opportunity, working in my vegetable garden and nurturing my plants. I have started to sew again and resumed my voracious reading habit. Oh! And cooking – something I have always enjoyed, but now has become a passion. Jimmy has been chief tester as I have tried out new recipes on him and I have shopped locally for in-season produce, that I haven't grown myself, like a woman possessed. We have entertained as never before and I have hardly turned the computer on – that is a major achievement in itself!

Last week we went to Suffolk – just the two of us in a beautiful cottage between Edwardstone and Boxford (Grove Cottages).

The cottage was rustic rural at its best and each morning we were visited by a family of ducklings, with their mum. I fell in love with this county as we visited Flatford Mill, on through Manningtree to Mistley (Essex borderland), back towards Nayland, Polstead, Kersey (where the Witch finder General was filmed), up to Monks Eleigh, Needham Market, across to Framlingham, Woodbridge and Sutton Hoo and then on to the coast, where we explored Walberswick, Dunwich Heath, Westleton, Thorpeness, Aldeburgh and Orford.
The furthest west we went was to Lavenham and Long Melford, where we also visited Melford Hall. Wherever we went, we drove through picture perfect villages of pastel coloured, thatch roofed cottages, with village greens and duck ponds. I completely understand Suffolk Mum's choice of home county! All too soon it was time to come home, back to the reality of domestic routine – washing, ironing, cleaning the chickens out...............

But then, of course, as we drove home reflecting on our adventures in a previously unknown county to us, we turned the corner and the Malvern Hills came into view, as the sun was setting. My heart lifted, as they gently stood proud on the landscape and the warm feeling of home seeped into my bones. We finally turned into our lane and as we drove up the hill, our cottage stood quietly waiting for us. The dogs were going ballistic as they recognised the car engine sound and after a raucous greeting, accompanied by wet noses thrust into our hands and tails circling at 90 miles per hour, we collapsed with steaming mugs of tea, laid out in preparation on a tray by my Mum. We grinned at one another. There's nowhere quite like home, but we both agree that Suffolk comes a VERY close second!!

Just blethering........

I woke this morning to the increasingly loud chorus of bird song as the sun struggled to raise its head. Peeking over the blankets, I was unsure what the weather would hold for today and tiptoed out to open the curtains. Brrr, it was still chilly so I jumped back into bed, just as J came in with my morning cuppa. “Morning, honey,” he smiled at me and kissed the top of my head before he went back downstairs to let the chickens out.

The next sound to assail my ears was the dogs barking in delight as they were let out to “help” with the chickens. Their “help” is to snuffle all around the run, checking up on who has been roaming around eating spilt seed, during the night. Their curiosity satisfied, they come skidding back into the house for breakfast.

While all this goes on, less than five minutes has passed but already my mind is at it. It’s the same every day: I wake up and my mind is instantly alert but my body struggles to match the pace. So, this is my time to plan the day. Sipping my tea, I watch as the sun pokes through and patches of blue sky appear through the white fluffy balls of cloud. “Enough blue to make a sailor’s suit”. That was one of my Nan’s sayings and it popped into my mind and brought a smile to my face. Thinking of my childhood and time with my Nan always brings a smile to my face and, after the pain of losing her, I carry her with me always. I find myself still doing things we did together; things I would never have done without her and I smile often at the memories.

A pair of long tailed tits sit on a branch outside the window and peek in at me. They are nervous little birds and soon fly off as the more confident blue tits appear. Note to self: top up the feeders before breakfast.

The clouds roll in and the sky turns grey again as I am in the shower. I can see the field at the bottom of the garden and the pale green shoots are just pushing through the red/brown earth that is so characteristic of this part of the country. It is still too early to tell what it is going to be, but last year it was pasture and I think we are due a wheat crop…………. My mind moves on again: I must change the spare bed as we have visitors due. Mmm, will the sheets dry out today, or shall I hang them up over the Rayburn? Nearly dry myself now, I give lip service to some body lotion – too chilly to dally and get dressed.




Windows open and bed turned back, I shoo the cat out. She loves to jump up on the bed and I don’t mind after it is made, but she always makes a beeline to the warm patch I have not long vacated. With arms filled with washing I negotiate the stairs down and J is just coming back in from walking the dogs. Oh, great! They’re filthy (again!) and after a brisk rubbing down are banished to the utility room to finish drying off. Dog chews are dispensed before they start barking to “ask” for one – they are such creatures of habit.

The washing machine starts its gentle hum and the kettle is sending small spirals of steam up to the ceiling. I make J’s sandwiches for work and then we sit to eat our cereals together. And then it happened. You know the feeling when your stomach flips over as realisation hits? I had glanced at the calendar and realised that I had a blood test in 40 minutes. Darn it! Mental lists scatter as I frantically finish eating, rush to clean my teeth and throw on some lippy whilst doing up my shoes. I have to have blood tests every fortnight for a while now that I have restarted my Bosentan. Liver function can be affected and there is a strict protocol to follow.

I wave a kiss at J as I grab handfuls of keys and leg it to the car. Newent is only 15 minutes away so I may just make it; that is if there are no tractors on the road. And then my mind is at it again as I spy litter floating in the ditches. It was bin day today and we always get litter after a collection. Note to self – get litter picker out of greenhouse where it had been shoved when I went to buy chicken feed last time. Time to be a womble again!

Turning left at the Dymock crossroads, I pass a thatched cottage that is having the roof re-done. It is long overdue and I’m not sure if it has changed hands as there has been a hive of activity over the last few months. The ladders are still on the roof but it is still a little early for the thatcher to be at work. Crossing the motorway bridge I note that traffic is very light (this is not a busy motorway at the best of times, more like a dual carriageway), glance at the clock and dip the accelerator a bit more. I normally pootle about but today I have got an appointment so will get up to the 50mph speed limit.

It was hard to find a parking space this morning but I did find one eventually. Red-faced and out of breath, I check in at the desk. Just made it! 10 minutes later I am walking down the high street to pay a bill at the bank and the sun parts the clouds once more. I pause to pick up two plastic bags that are rolling along the floor and shove them in the nearest bin, tutting. This irritates me soooooo much. Newent is such a pretty market town with its timber framed market house and Tudor buildings. In the summer there is multi-coloured bunting draped across the streets and there are wonderful butchers, greengrocers, bakers, tea shops, card shops and the obligatory “country” store selling wellies, Barbours and cords. It is host to the Newent Onion Fayre in September and the crowds roll in.

Today, though, I have a hefty list of phone calls to make, washing to finish and floors to clean, so I need to concentrate my thoughts once more. And I left the house without making the bed! Major sin!! It is starting to spit as I pass the thatched cottage in Dymock village once more and see that the thatcher has started his work. Eight minutes later I reverse on the drive; 2 buzzards call from above as they circle over our roof and I battle with the gate against the strengthening breeze. I’m ready for that cup of tea now and slide the kettle onto the hot plate as I discard body warmer and hang up the keys. Within minutes it is boiling and I can commit my mental list to paper so that later I can enjoy crossing things out! So satisfying – I love a list and that smug feeling when you reach the bottom. Only trouble is, there’s always another list tomorrow!

It's been a while

The last time I blogged, it was about autumn. Now, it is spring and as the snowdrops are fading away, the crocuses and daffodils have taken over. Christmas has been and gone; already a hazy memory and, as the days start to get ever longer, the birds are beginning to build their nests and the promise of new life beckons.

We have had snow here, like many places this winter but, apart from that, winter has been a long one for me. Scleroderma has chosen not to be kind to me lately and I have suffered from digital ulcers like never before. My only pain relief has been morphine and I have been numbed down and out of it for a few months now. I don’t think I suffer from depression, but I have been down with zero energy and vast amounts of lethargy. When this happens, all I want to do is sleep or gaze out of the window at the trees.

Ever since I can remember, I have had a fascination of trees. I marvel at their ability to live so long, when we are here for just a fraction of time in comparison. I love the different varieties; their colours, sizes, blossoms, fruits and texture of bark. We are fortunate here that from every single window of our cottage, we can see trees: trees of all descriptions – oak, perry pear, hazel, silver birch, elder, ash, copper beech, apple and plum trees, plus a huge eucalyptus tree right at the bottom of the garden, with its amazing peeling bark. When my nephew and niece come to stay, we write secret messages on the bark and lay a treasure trail around the garden. We have had magical moments doing this, but they grow all too quickly and will soon rather sunbathe, listening to their IPods instead.

My “therapy” is my tree gazing. I have long since learnt to listen to my body when it is not firing on all cylinders, and so our trees have listened to my misery and pain and ever so gently, kicked me up the bum and nudged me back on course. They have turned a blind eye to my attire (I have been unable to do zips and buttons for over 2 months) as I have slobbed around in pull up trousers and sweatshirts. And now they are teasing me to want to go outside and do some gardening, but it has turned too cold for me again and I have to content myself with making plans and drawing up planting maps for my raised vegetable beds.

At least now I can type again! I am VERY slow and my fingers are clumsy, but I get there in the end. I am healing daily as the spring advances and there is a hint of warmth to the sun (not today, though!). I will never be fully “well” or cured, but I always get my equilibrium back – this winter has been harder to get through but I received good news that my funding has been granted for the drug “Bosentan” last month. I was in hospital having my Iloprost infusion (to try and kick start the healing of my ulcer) when my letter came and that was the icing on the cake. I participated in the drug trial for Bosentan and afterwards was given the drug for a 12 month period, free of charge by the drug company. This was 2 years ago and for the last year without the drug, my ulcers have been very spiteful. Bosentan doesn’t stop the ulcers coming completely, but makes them heal much faster. It is also used by sufferers of pulmonary hypertension but, fortunately, my “type” of Scleroderma means I am less likely to have this. So, enough! I have my little pills once more, my ulcer is shrinking slowly and I am feeling stacks better. Life is pretty darned good and I am back in the frame of mind to realise it.

It is growing dusk now and I am off to put the chickens to bed. Our ex battery hens have settled in wonderfully and are keeping us in more eggs than we can eat. Neighbours and friends are enjoying the eggs too and come to see them grubbing around in the dirt. They are such characters and so friendly – you only have to walk towards their gate and they come running to see what presents they have. Their favourite is mash potato, but they love rice, bread, veg peelings, chips (!), grapes, apples, strawberries and pasta. They love being picked up and stroked and the kids love to go and fetch the eggs when they come to stay. It couldn’t have worked out better – they give us so much amusement and we give them love and a safe environment.

So, until another time (not so long, I hope) – wellies, body warmer and gloves are to be donned before I venture into the cold air to close that pop hole! xx

Autumn reflections

Autumn is my favourite season. Well then, of course, there’s spring too, and summer’s good………. even winter has its blessings. Let’s face it, I love living in this country because we do get to experience ALL of the seasons, although summer can be noticeable by her absence! By the end of each season, I am ready for the next: looking forward to the changes ahead and hauling the next season’s clothes out of storage. This time of year is a triumph of colour, a feast of preserving and storing and that distinctive smell of wood smoke as tiny spirals dance lightly from cottage chimneys. Putting a match to the fire and hearing the crackle and spit; seeing the flare of flame and inhaling the smell of apple wood. Candles glimmer on the mantelpiece and the house smells of apple spice, cinnamon or winter berries. I put hand crocheted “granny” blankets over the backs of all the chairs and the curtains are drawn against the ink black night.






Today was one of those autumnal days of watery sunshine and I went to a local church to clean it for my mum. Mum is the official church cleaner but she is spending the week up in Scotland with my dad and I have volunteered to step in. Bromesberrow church is such a lovely church. It dates back to 1170AD and is full of architectural gems. The drive up to it is a tree-lined avenue and today the sun set the colours off to perfection. Bromesberrow lies in the foothills of the Malverns, where they merge into the Eastnor hills. From the A417, the timber framed spire can be seen jutting out from the trees and standing in relief against the gentle rolling landscape of the hills.




And then, in a spiritual juxtaposition, behind Bromesberrow (or Bromsberrow as it is also called), following the twisting lanes, you come to White Leaved Oak – a tiny settlement nestling at the base of the hills. There are some amazing walks around here, not least a visit to the White Leaved Oak itself. Much folklore and legend has sprung up about this tree, including debates as to whether it is THE original pagan White Leaved Oak. Nonetheless, it is clearly a place of pilgrimage and the tree is adorned with crystals, ribbons, flowers and crafts, especially at Solstice. It is said the tree marks the centre point of laylines which include locations such as Stonehenge and Glastonbury.

Wherever your Spiritual faith lies, on a day like today, you only have to look around you and see the wonders of nature and marvel at her display of vibrant colours, even as she is dying off, ready to be reborn in the Spring. My drive home was spent in quiet contemplation: having been moved by stories from other PurpleCoo members, seeing nature at work, spending time in the serenity of that ancient church and thinking of family and friends. It is these quiet, still moments that bring us closer to who we really are and I felt the stress ebb away.

I drove up the lane, glad of my 4x4 as I plunged through mud and yet more mud. Now I know why I always seem to have a stripe of mud on the inside of my right calf – note to self “wash the door sills!” As I reverse on the drive, J is in the kitchen window and the kettle is gently sending puffs of steam from its spout as it boils on the Rayburn. He knows me so well, this man of mine………….

Hens, carpets and gravel!

Here are our new girls! I’m not a fan of soap operas, but when I was a child, I remember watching Coronation Street with my Nan so, when naming our new additions; it just HAD to be done. Welcome to Ena (Sharples), Betty (don’t know what her surname was), Hilda (Ogden) and Mavis (Riley).







Nearly one week on and they are getting their feathers back. They have learnt to scratch around in the dirt, stretch their wings and even jump up onto the roof of the hen house we borrowed for them. Tonight, we put them into our own hen house with our Buff Orpington girls and, hopefully, by tomorrow they will all be fully integrated.




Oh, and the eggs! We were a bit worried about the quantity we would get, as they are ex-battery hens but, no need! We are getting 3 eggs a day and, yes, they are delicious. Our Buffs lay pale, creamy coloured eggs – these are ever so slightly smaller and brown. We had one egg laid in the transporter box as we brought them to their new home and we gave it to my niece – first egg for a special young lady.

The other exciting thing that has happened is our new stair runner! It was fitted today – our bargain, half price, lovely, scrummy, Roger Oates carpet. (It looks more pink in the photos but it is actually a raspberry colour!) During our alterations, we moved the staircase and, on one of my eBay forages, I found an antique stair rope and carpet clips – so, a stair runner it just had to be. Roger Oates’ studio is in Eastnor, Herefordshire and I have long loved his carpets and visited the studio shop often, as it is just down the road. Our latest visit brought with it the delight in finding a runner that was only ever produced as a sample, and there was enough for our stairs! At half the normal price, it had to be……..





And finally for today, I am off to bed to get an early night in preparation of a gravel delivery which, with mum and dad, I will be spreading over the membrane I have laid in the front garden. Tomorrow night, no doubt, I will have a bad back and blistered hands from raking!

And......... the kitchen.

Our bargain eBay kitchen out of a farmhouse, re-jigged by our carpenter and walls liberally decorated with some of Jimmy's enamel signs found at a car boot sale.








We were VERY naughty and bought a Lec retro fridge (also off the internet!)

Alfie looks very bored by it all now.

Finally - some extension pics!

Some pictures of our new bedroom and ensuite - kitchen, hallway, new stairs and outside to follow!