Visiting Bristol

It was my birthday on Saturday, and we popped down to Bristol to see our eldest son, Sam, who is at the uni. It was really lovely to see him so happy and relaxed and loving his new life there - the best birthday present I could ask for.

It is also a great city for a short break - the glorious suspension bridge, lovely boutiques and cafes in Clifton village, the Clifton Downs for a good stomp and blast of fresh air, a  redeveloped dock area with a ton of things to do and see, and more good shopping around the central Park Street area.The steep, hilly topography means that there are often wonderful views and the Georgian architecture around Clifton is gorgeous, so many stunning streets and crescents, including The Royal York  Crescent which is supposedly the longest in Europe.

I had serious balcony envy - these ones look across to Bristol Suspension bridge and the wooded countryside beyond. Dreamy!

It was all looking particularly gorgeous bathed in the most beautiful Spring sunlight.

Today, back home, and as I walked the dog over the fields behind our house, the sun was beginning to sink slowly but the air was still warming in the sunshine, full of birdsong and it really felt as if Spring had sprung. It was as Dickens wrote in Great Expectations: "... one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade."

I hope you all have a great week ahead, I'm hoping the sun keeps shining!

Celebration

I had a lovely time with my mum on her birthday last weekend. We had already had a big celebration for her 70th back in August, all of us out for afternoon tea at a gorgeous stately home. That day there had been much laughter and merriment between the three generations. And some highly unorthadox croquet!

These two! The oldest and youngest and a hilarious double act!

It was a very special celebration at the close of a lovely summer.

Since then, our eldest on the far right has left home for uni and my darling ma has been diagnosed with breast cancer, had surgery and is toughing it out, still smiling. It was the most emotional september since records began, frankly! Seeing her last weekend made me realise yet again how unbelievably lucky I am to have her as my mum, and have a family that is so loving and supportive. Sometimes, you just have to say it and savour it.

Flown

Flown the nest this morning.

Our eldest, off for four years at Bristol University.

So proud of him and excited for him, he is so ready to leap into his future.

Trying not to think of the missing him part.
Here's to you, Sam, have the time of your life. xx

The view from here

For someone like me who has spent many years as a city girl, to have views like this from my back door is still a wonder, it is like an ever present source of calm disguised as landscape.

P.S. Thank you for all the kind wishes for my son and his surgery today - all done, last seen groggy but propped up in his hospital bed checking his FB status. Couldn't ask for more. xx

Rolo

Rolo.

How can I possibly have failed to devote a post to our hound?

"my left profile dearie"

"and my right"

"clooose uuuup!"

What can I say? He is a chocolate and tan cocker spaniel of the flopsy, slightly camp 'show' variety rather than the hard working 'field' kind. His demeanour vaguely reminds me of Graeme Norton.

We got him as a puppy three years ago. The eyebrows were the clincher.  (His eyelashes are pretty impressive too!)

This is him on his bed in the kitchen, looking improbably shy.

but this is where he likes to be - on the sofa in our sitting room, here wrapped up in faux fur by our concerned youngest when the heating broke!

He loves long walks, parmesan cheese, roast chicken and us, quite possibly in that order. His favourite pastime is rabbit hunting in the Norfolk sand dunes, but he would run howling if he ever came face to face with the burrow owner!

 




He is easy going and madly affectionate. His flappy ears rotate when he runs and swing rakishly when he looks suddenly to the left or right. He tries to smile and his lip gets kind of hooked up on his tooth on one side and he can't understand why we are crying with laughter. He often looks suprised and often entirely ridiculous. Always the slightly sad, spaniel eyes that melt your heart. He is always up for a cuddle. We simply cannot imagine life without him.

On being seven

Our youngest, turned eight yesterday. By the afternoon of the day before, he had dragged all his bedding off his bed, to the hall, and announced he was going to try and sleep the rest of the day off, he just couldn't endure the fevered anticipation of his birthday and the few more hours he had to remain conscious, WAITING!

It kind of sums up what I have loved about him being seven, what I love about the age in general. He is so totally engaged in his immediate surroundings and yet is rapidly beginning to understand more of the wider world around of him, both how it works and what it will and does demand of him. This year he has grown up so much, gaining inches, suddenly and disconcertingly flashing ankle where only a few weeks before trouser hung. But he has grown up in so many other ways too - learning new, important skills like swimming unaided, riding a bike, joined-up handwriting, tying his own laces, making his own bed - little by little gaining the skills and confidences to be that bit more independent.

It all makes me want to both burst with pride but also ponder, with a sudden need to swallow some strange surge of loss, how fast childhood runs, helter skelter down the staircase, and out the front door, without hardly a backward glance. I feel that my role of being a mother to young children is to reassure a lot of the time, make sure they feel loved, increasing capable and confident and able to stand on their own two feet when they need to. And yet when they do all those things, the very things I have hoped they will, I feel...a tinge of loss - how wierd!

I suppose I am realising that giving them roots is the easy part, giving them wings is more complicated because when they use them, it is away from the nest and swooping off into their future. Truly I need to embrace this, celebrate and encourage their flight, because nothing is sadder than a clingy, needy mother, nothing. So this year, with children ranging from seventeen to eight years old, I look change in its bright and hopeful face, cup it in my hands, kiss it on the cheek and tell it to be kind to my kids as they run out the door. And at the same time, I pledge to myself to relish every moment of our children's time with us, savour it and build a warm blanket of memories that will protect them, and us, when the world is harsh. Possibly, no probably, I will fail, at 7.59am when we are running late for the school bus, but the will to savour is there!

Landed!

Do you ever have weeks where you feel that you are rather like a long-jumper, flying through the air, feet not touching the ground, the days of the week skimming past below you as you try and maintain control before you hit the sand?

It has been a week like that with us.

Eldest son was 16 on Monday. Party was on Friday night and involved an evening out with mates and a sleepover at home with ten 15/16 year old boys camped out in our sittingroom. The room usually looks like this (Janet, please note white slip-covers, freshly washed!),

and I will leave to your imagination what it looked like after the ten of them, plus sleeping-bags, giant chocolate cake, multipacks of cola, crisps and a huge pillow-fight had taken its toll. Suffice it to say, I am still finding the odd feather and cola can!!

There was a lovely moment though, at about 11pm hearing far-off laughter and chatting getting closer and closer as they wended their way in the dark over the fields and along the river to our house. They got a huge thumbs up from us for having a fantastic time without any accident, injury or damage to their livers. Phew.

Sunday brought high tea with a dear friend and her lovely two kids. One was nursing a sore ear, which was story in itself and one I feel obliged to share. Scenario: 11 year old boy is given weekend homework of preparing a role-play for a Monday lesson illustrating some aspects of battle in the Middle Ages. Elder brother is more than willing to lend a helping hand, or hands, armed with kitchin utensils. Their mum, whilst praising ingenuity, bans spatulas etc for fear of blinding and the like. Their father then calls from the west coast of Ireland where he is having a surfing jolly with some friends. Mid conversation, dreadful, bloodcurdling screams, intimating real, rather than imagined pain is heard, phone call is aborted, and mum runs into the kitchen to find, to her utter bewilderment that raw spagetti has become the sword of choice and somehow, don't ask, but a fragment of durum wheat pasta has become lodged in ear canal of younger son.

Screaming, crying, heartfelt apologies and explanations are all thrown into the mix, (and it was completely accidental), as they hotfoot it to the nearest hospital. TWO INCHES of spagetti is removed by a doctor, who pronounces that the eardrum is well and truly perforated.

You couldn't make it up, could you? Poor George is recovering, Paddy is sheepish and hallelujah for ibroprufen!

Monday was filled with not just cleaning up the house, but frankly bringing it safely back to its moorings, like a swaying hot-air balloon, pulling on its ropes. And restocking the fridge and generally feeling slightly heroic in my domestic sphere, bringing order and calm to all about. And getting out into my damp and mushroomy, October-y smelling garden, to notice that wet dianthus leaves look like the diamante hairslides I so admired as a little girl, and actually still rather do for all their 1920s-style decadance,

Tuesday, I escaped to London and salivated over the best, most exquisite jewellery currently being created by contemporary jewellers in the UK, at the 2010 Goldsmiths' Fair in London. The Goldsmith's Hall could and should be a post in itself, but suffice it to say that it has stood on that very spot, opposite St Paul's Cathedral, since 1339 although little is known about that first building. The second was built in 1634-6 and required renovation and restoration after it was severely damaged in the Great Fire of London in 1666. It lasted for the best part of two centuries but was demolished in the 1820s, when the present Hall was built in the style of a classical urban palazzo. It is such a grand place, but they were very fierce about no cameras when I was there, so I will just guide you to the website if you are interested.

The jewellery and flatware were breathtaking, my eye was drawn particularly to the work of Sue Lane, James Newman and Ruth Tomlinson (although not the pieces on her first website picture, but love, love the others!). I could name so many more, but it was a wonderful experience to see so much talent, in an artform I love, under one roof. Fed the soul via the eyes!

So, it was good today to finish my arc across the week, and land with a happy thud on the sand. I hope your week is treating you well.

We are family

We went to a beautiful wedding yesterday, full of hope and new beginnings.

It was in the exquisite surroundings of Rushton Hall, a stately country house, with the most stunning inner courtyard and surrounded by its parkland and a huge lake. It has an amazing history, including being the inspiration for Haversham Hall in Great Expectations, Charles Dickens being a frequent guest at the house.

But two memories of the day stand out in my mind: the way the the bride's face, so pretty and radiant, crumpled with emotion when her groom spoke - during the vows and his speech afterwards. More usually that kind of facial transformation is associated with shock or sorrow, but her lovely face just crumpled with joy - and she looked even more glorious for it. It was so real and sponaneous and moving. Also unforgettable, was the moment when the groom came to a sudden stop in his witty and urbane speech and choked up, managing simply to say, "oh, we made it baby". 

These moments made me realise again that, for all the beauty that life can bring to our senses, the exchange of love, of real, undisguised emotion and truth between friends, lovers, family is really what matters, transforms and nourishes us at the end of the day.

It also made me think that family comes in all shapes and sizes and configurations. Blood ties, partnerships, marriages, adoptions, companions, tribes and communities. It can be messy and painful at times, but is also the crucible of our character and deepest feelings.

Today, as our family regrouped for high tea after walks in a wood, music-making and rugby practice, I looked around the kitchin table and gazed at the shape of our family, and loved it.