I have sinned ...

Which way? I cannot see the wood for the trees ....

Today, Raymond and I celebrate our 52nd wedding anniversary. We have both had a hectic working day; and delighted in together preparing our evening meal. We talked and talked, of our wedding day in 1958 - icy cold with snow in the wind - of the guests we invited, the embarrassment when we decided to marry of going from church to church within the near environs of the London districts in which we both lived to find one we 'liked the look of'; to then explain to the incumbent priest that we wanted to import our own vicar (my godfather), our own organist (my uncle) and our own choir, fellow musicians from the Royal Academy of Music, where Raymond and I met in 1957 as students; he studying the clarinet and I the teaching of theatre and speech and drama. (And I was only studying there because my father was professor of conducting.) We met, Raymond and I, though it wasn't love at first sight on my part; we married, we had (and have) three beloved children and nine grandchildren, set up our own publishing business; and the rest, as they say, is history.

I digress from the title of my blog: how have I sinned? I was reading the latest copy of 'Artful Blogging' and the advice given to intending bloggers: thou shalt and though shalt not. In my case, "advise your followers when you will be absent from posting for a while." I have sinned because I did not say that I would not post from 1st January until now, more than five weeks later.

My apologies. Had I known what was to happen in the last five weeks, I would have said. But I didn't know - how can you explain in advance that in the coming weeks you will need to survive winter temperatures the like of which we have not experienced since 1963; of the need to earn even in so-called retirement because our life-savings - all we have ever worked for since we set up our own business in 1967 - now earn but a few paltry pounds a month. The lock on the door fails so we cannot turn the key, we shiver outside in the cold, wrestling with it for ten minutes, are about to smash our way in; the boiler throws a wobbly and disintegrates, flooding the floor; the clothes dryer shreds a bearing; all need replacing. Bottles of olive oil cloud and all but solidify on the kitchen shelf; we only have heating from the wood-burning stove in the living room, and the load of logs I bought was not seasoned as advertised, but green, green, green- sycamore and chestnut (not oak) and will not burn.

So I spend hours canvassing articles, researching those that are commissioned, have to meet deadlines - five features in two weeks right now. This is not a sob story, for I really love the retirement career we have carved for ourselves over the last ten years; what I cannot admit to (though now you will know what frightens me) is that the mind may be willing but the body faints. No longer can I manage the all-night writing sessions of years past; yet I must remain as professional as I ever was; age is no excuse. Something had to give - I am afraid it was blogging; I signed in of an evening, read my favourites but lacked the energy to even respond or upload photos. Thus have I sinned.

But reading blogs has sustained me throughout my absence; thankyou so much to my three followers who have supported me because you took the trouble to email in my absence (you know who you are); thankyou to those who have become recent followers - if you have an email I will make contact; thankyou to all those who have been reading my past posts even though you may have wondered if I had dropped off the planet; and I am sorry that I have lost others along the way, that is galling. I can understand.

My love to you all. I am as wild a child as ever; just not as young as I once thought I was. But, as I read only recently in the poignant 'To Travel Hopefully' by Christopher Rush: "A man must keep moving in his mind and soul, otherwise he goes dead." For man, read woman. I tap away arthritically on my laptop; Raymond is watching the tv Parliament channel; illuminating, but so soporific that his eyes close. Snow is forecast again this week, the north-east wind blows bitter into every nook and cranny of this old house. But in the orchard, hazel catkins suddenly elongate, yellow and limp with pollen; within the 'plum patch' - snowdrops emerge and the first faint whisper of amethyst crocus tinge the grass overnight. Our 53rd year begins, and we have more projects on hand than ever before. Where there's a will ......

a faint breath of Spring; though it is grey, the sun does not shine and the pale crocus petals remain unfurled.

P.S. A warning received from my blogging friend, Helen (formerly Cocoa & Blankets); beware comments in Chinese; a hoax and malicious virus through which she has lost all. You can follow her new blog at 'A Time to Dance', the first post as lovely as were all her former ones.

Happy New Year, Happy New Decade

We wake to a still, bright morning, with such a raft of new challenges for both of us here at Ivy House. We will do our best to meet them; they are not 'New Year Resolutions' which I seem incapable of keeping, but long-term necessities.

Greetings to all who are likewise challenged in 2010, no matter what the call, or circumstances.

And thankyou to everyone who left such lovely comments on my Christmas posting - I have many blogs to read through but the week has been punctuated with lovely visits from our children and their respective families. More to come! We celebrate the New Year over this weekend with some of them; we have saved a large chunk of the cake to share with them, and will even have to erect a temporary dining table to accommodate all twelve of us. 

Waiting for tomorrow

Usually, on Christmas Eve, I am frantically rushing from one last minute activity to another, but this year have thought it more appropriate to calm down. Which doesn't mean I am ready for tomorrow; not a bit of it: vegetables and roast joint to prepare just for the two of us, mince pies still to make, presents to wrap. I am thinking how strange it feels without small children scrambling noisily around us. But then our beloved three are now aged 48, 46 and 38! so it's been a long time since that pleasurable anticipation of the bustle of Christmas Day has invaded the quiet of the evning before. Now that the grandchildren are growing up as well (nine of them, aged 16 down to 5), it is even difficult to get all three families together simultaneously in one place. Yes we shall see them all during the coming week; the young ones will play carols for us on a variety of instruments, and sing; and update us on all their news and achievements. We will eat and be merry, exchange simple gifts, and be glad that we have all survived another year.

our Christmas cake, which I only finished icing an hour ago - hope it sets in time for tea!

Greetings to all Bloggers - and a heartfelt thankyou to all who follow my two blogs, and who leave me such precious comments.  With love and best wishes from an elderly granny sitting by the fire knitting herself a warm hat, but still the same irrepressible  'wild child' she has always been.

An alternative Christmas

With less than a week to go to Christmas Day, we gave up searching for a reasonably priced traditional tree and settled instead for what we already had. So out from the cold I brought a lollipop holly, a sweet-bay tree (lauris nobilis) and a Christmas box (sarcococca hookeriana humilis) - all evergreens that were flourishing in pots on my mini-terrace under the cider-apple tree. The Christmas box has sweetly scented but insignificant white flowers which are just about to open in the warmth of the lounge. Decorations have been kept simple, just some red and gold baubles. We have tucked this 'arrangement' into a corner by the sideboard. No fairy lights, but we have lit three candles on a high window cill; the roadside window lacks wooden shutters (we would never reach up to shut them) and so passers-by can see into the candlelight-room as dusk approaches. That is, if anyone walks past - it's extremely cold here in the high Cotswolds, with an easterly wind; down to -9C last night (15.8F). 

And now an enormous 'thankyou' to everyone who left me such kind messages after my unexpected hospital stay. I really did appreciate them, and apologise for not responding personally to each one. I am absolutely fine, such a silly scare; but it's odd how timing can so affect the aftermath. Even after a fortnight back home, I still haven't caught up with myself; it felt as if I had lost a week of work and have much to do before I can take a break over the festive fortnight that we try to keep free for family and friends; and for me personally,  catching up on all the blog posts I have missed - and for some creative journaling in paper and fabric.

Returning to normality

A day like no other. Backtrack to Monday 30th November 7.30am; it happened like this:

Sitting in ‘the office’ in my dressing gown, sipping tea and typing magazine copy, I experienced the most indescribable pain, as if my heart was a squashy tennis ball and a clawed hand was repeatedly squeezing it. I thought it would diminish and worked on through it – I had a deadline to meet. But it didn’t, so after two hours, I rang my doctor.

“Go straight to A&E (accident and emergency),” she said. Which I did – Raymond drove me in, quicker than waiting for an ambulance. I walked into Casualty and the moment I mentioned ‘doctor’ and ‘chest pain’ I was whisked into the initial assessment area, wired up, danced attendance upon, and generally treated with such kindness and courtesy that I felt near to tears. An ECG and blood samples were taken and a vicious curved needle put into my arm through which they could feed drugs if I needed them urgently.

Once it became apparent that I did not need resuscitation, I was moved to the MAU (Medical Assessment Unit). I was seen by three doctors and assigned my own nurse. I was continually updated as to what was going on – by now I felt complete fraud but they insisted that they wanted to get to the bottom of the pain as it could be the onset of angina (a final treadmill session would reveal this). Tests were ongoing and I was wired up to a monitor which meant I couldn’t get out of bed; tricky when I needed the toilet – my nurse unplugged me and I had to walk across the ward, leads trailing, and make sure they didn’t drop into the loo!

Not a brilliant night, trying not to fall off the trolley-bed with an under sheet that kept ruckling and two cotton rugs that continually slipped off me; and it was unbearably hot. What I found amazing, as I was obviously not ill, was that I was able to listen and watch, keep an ongoing diary of my stay. The care and attention was without fault. I was actually looking forward to the treadmill, never having been on one before and I came through with flying colours: pacing slow, fast then faster, wearing nothing but pants and wires attached all over my chest, back and left breast, whilst the monitor results were being assessed by a sweet elderly gentleman technician and a dishy, tall young doctor. I was asked if I had any pain (none, except my right hip ached from the arthritis, but this lessened as the speed increased and I walked faster). I was asked if I wanted to stop; no, I was challenging myself. I did a half mile in five minutes. It was over and all was in perfect working order; indeed, I felt really fit. A final assessment by the consultant, and I was cleared to go home. The NHS at its best.

My husband was wonderful, too, collecting books, papers and laptop from home, seeing I had tasty food, sitting with me to counteract the boredom of enforced rest. Once back at home, there were lovely surprises waiting in the mail; about these I will blog in due course - visit 'Journaling the Journal' in the next couple of days. In two hours I go for a doctor's check-up. Scare over.

Celebrate

I have been thinking today of all my blogger acquaintances in the USA, and all the blogs I follow. This is for you.

"Light a candle

Kindle a Flame

CELEBRATE

Eat and enjoy

a festive meal

With family

or friends

THANKSGIVING

Sharing

Togetherness

Peace and Love"

Thankyou for all the pleasure you bring me, and for sharing your lives. May your day tomorrow be joyful.

Blowing My Own Trumpet

a fabric angel with trumpet and banner, cut from printed muslin and applied to a scrap of furnishing fabric

Sometimes such serendipity occurs in my life that I have to stop and take a deep breath - just in case such a moment does not come my way again. What with the de-cluttering (to make room for more clutter! - to create space for personal uninterrupted art); making a fabric keepsake and actually completing it, on time; and the long dark evenings when I can plan the changes needed in the garden to meet my 2010 deadlines: there is hardly time to take stock let alone breathe.

Serendipity this time crept up on me unawares. Ten years after 'retiring' our joint publishing business - and deciding one month later to pursue a new, freelance, writing career, I am thrilled to have three articles appearing in different magazines in one month; all just published in December issues. As any writer will I am sure confirm, it's not easy, launching yourself as a writer: you have to be creative and simultaneously 'sell yourself', wear two hats. It was only as each magazine dropped into the letter box that I realised the significance: three in one month. 

I loved working on them all, and Ray took all the accompanying photos: 'Ludlow & The Shropshire Hills - a Taste of the Good Life' for 'Practical Caravan' magazine; a short review of the edible garden competition at Malvern in 'Kitchen Garden' and a four-page review in 'Grow it!' of all the aspects of productive vegetable growing which so caught my fancy at the same RHS Malvern Autumn Show (a celebration of nature's harvest). 

the first page of my four-page review on the the RHS Malvern Autumm Show which has just been published in the December issue of  'Grow it!' magazine. Click on the image to see it at a larger size.

Housework, Gardening, Travel, Writing and Art-Making often collide, with each clamouring for attention, not to mention family, and my dear husband without whom my life would stumble. I so often watch Raymond painstakingly making immaculate dovetails in the exquisite furniture he makes in his own spare time, and trust that somehow I likewise can harmonise my own activities. Then there just might be more moments of serendipity. "The trumpet shall sound!" - again - but right now I have the excitement of combining art and writing: a ten-month project making a hand-made garden journal and subsequently writing an article to encourage readers to create their own. Follow its story in my other blog, Journaling the Journal; it begins in my post of Saturday 21st November.