Reasons to get up

In December I wrote that the loss of Django had left a huge hole and a feeling of having nothing to care for, and how it felt as though there was no reason to get up in the morning.

Now we have a new reason to get up in the morning, in the form of Lazlo.... 

 

Lazlo, aka Hawkfield Tamarack

 

With the hillclimbing we are doing with the car, we didn't intend to have another puppy until later in the year, but when the right one comes along there's nothing you can do!   Lazlo comes from a laid back home and shared his first 8 weeks with 7 brothers and sisters, poultry and ducks and rabbits. It was after a visit to see Wendy at Hawkfield with a view to getting a pup later in the year from the same lines, that we met her pups and decided that we wanted one from her - we liked the way they were being brought up, and our approaches to dogs and puppies seemed to match!  We reckoned that these pups have had a brilliant start to life and would fit in with us just perfectly, and thankfully Wendy must have decided that we were suitable to be trusted with one of her pups.

 

Lazlo was born on 8th May so turns 9 weeks old today.  We picked him up last Friday night and he has settled in brilliantly, seemingly already house-trained (no need to keep getting the free Telegraph from Waitrose then!) and interested in EVERYTHING.  He loves the garden which has plenty of obscure places to explore and birds to stalk, and likes to sit on the edge of the veranda and watch what's going on in his estate.

 

 

Going back to my December post, I feel incredibly protective towards this little man, and Mr H says his life is now complete again.  Lazlo is not just a puppy, he is a member of our family that depends upon us completely, and that is definitely a good reason to get up in the morning.

 

   

 

 



Never too old for night terrors?

For the last few nights I've been having those nightmares where I wake up and either don't know where I am, or don't know who the scary person next to me is.  I am glad to say that I am always so relieved to find that it is Mr H and I am overwhelmed by a feeling of being safe and protected because he is with me.

Some nights I just work out what's going on and go back to sleep; other nights I end up sobbing with the release of fear and the emotional mash-up that has been going around my head.

Not being one for dream translation, I am more likely to try and remember what I ate or drank on the evenings before these episodes.  But maybe deep down I am scared of something... I just don't know what.

Mortality

I apologise for this seemingly morbid topic.

At 46 many people might start thinking about dying... I don't mean considering doing it, I mean thinking that they are getting older and that they are mortal, and that we won't be here forever.

Nobody said this to me, but in the newspaper report of our crash I red that my injuries were 'initially thought to be life threatening'.  I thought about this and wondered what it would have been like to die, given that I was so drugged up on morphine there are bits I can't really remember clearly.  I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't really have known about it and that it would have been my family and friends who would have had all the suffering.

I was thinking about it the other day, and realised that although I am scared of getting old and infirm and losing my mental abilities; and of suffering and pain for both myself and my loved ones, I'm not afraid of dying itself. 

It's not that I believe in an afterlife or heaven/hell, I just feel that it will be a long and very peaceful sleep (hopefully not involving strange dreams that involve having to hide the duvet).

Dreams....

Mr H and I are just back from a fantastic week in the far north west of Scotland, camping at a wee village called Scourie.

Since we got back on Sunday, I've had a couple of bad dreams where I am lying out in the dark on the edge of a hillside, feeling as though I'm going to roll or fall over the edge and getting distressed.

Last night, even though Mr H comforted me and I curled up hugging him, I still felt as though we were out there in the scary dark.  It was only after in my half-sleep I felt something with my feet and eventually worked out it was the blanket box at the end of the bed that I realised I was in our bed.

I think I may need a chink in the curtains tonight....

The here and now

This being Easter Sunday, all sorts of questions have been going around in my head. Now I know that this is probably a sensitive subject and if it upsets anyone then ... well I suggest you stop reading if you get to that point.

I was raised as a Christian, low key but weekly church and we sang in the choir.  Mr H was brought up with a similar background but probably ducked out earlier than me. In fact I met him at a Christian Arts Festival, he was there for the music and I was there for.... I'm not actually sure.  I started going with my brother and sister in my teens, and I suppose we also went mainly for the music, and it was a 'safe' festival to go to.  It was just something I did.

In my twenties, after I was married, I stopped going to church except at Christmas.  Now I don't even go then because I don't want to be one of those people who only goes to church at Christmas.  Mr H and I didn't have much in common with the people our age at church; instead we'd go out somewhere, to the sea or the forest, because we didn't believe that God's presence was restricted to a stone building. .

Over the last few years, both Mr H have realised separately that we're not really sure what we believe in..  Is that age? or education? or just that we've both become more questioning of things that were previously taken for granted?

Everyone believes that their religion is the 'right' one (although so many of them overlap), but now I don't know if it is.  I feel a bit as though I was brought up being told that Ford was the only make of car, but no-one gave me the opportunity to test drive any of the other makes. I'm not saying I don't want a car at all but in this enlightened age who has the right to tell me it has to be a Ford.  I also don't like the idea that the car manufacturer is responsible for everything, including filling the tank with fuel when required (if you can't keep up with the metaphor, I'm talking about taking responsibility for ourselves, our actions and what happens in our lives instead of relying on Somebody to sort it all for us).

Ford: "Any colour so long as it's black"

Today, as I considered for half a second that I might go to church, I checked myself.   Why did I think I might go?  I realised it was because I thought I ought to be thinking that I should go. Not a good reason.

Then I started thinking about the afterlife, eternal life, eternal damnation, and how some people spend their whole lives worrying about it.  I realised that right here and now I'm not bothered about the afterlife, I'm quite satisfied with the present life.  We think about the past and the future far too much as it is, and thinking beyond death too regularly seems to me to be.. well, odd. I suppose that the reason is that this earthly life is supposed to be just a stepping stone.  But what if this turns out to be it? All of it?  I'm not saying that everyone should go out and party and get hammered every night. I'm just saying that I prefer to make the most of the here and now,

And if when I die I get a shake of the head at Heaven's door, well I'll just have to take responsibility for that.

Getting More

Well Folks you'll be pleased to hear that I'm feeling a lot more positive about things than I have been this week.  

I also have some I Want More plans for this weekend.  Just little things but that's all that was ordered - no mountains require moving and no major expenses.

Wishing you all a lovely weekend!

I Want More

So I came home yesterday from a fantastic week away with Mr H. I was well out of my comfort zone, in fact so far out of it that it got quite stressful at times.  But all in all, it was a Very Good Week.

On my way home I was thinking "Right, here we go. On the way home. Back to normal."

But then I realised that I don't want to go back to normal.  I don't want to slip back into the eat / sleep / work / study routine.   I want more.

I just have to work out how and where to create that 'more' in my life.  Just a few small things a week that make it different to the week before.

Now there's a challenge.

"I must go down to the seas again.."

Look where I DROVE myself to at lunchtime today...

I stood on the path above the beach, rocks and waves, and surveyed my sea.

It was cold, damp, stormy-grey, fabulous!

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

 

 

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over." 

Poem by John Masefield

Photos by Me

I've been thinking...

.. yes I know that's pretty dangerous, but it happens on occasion. 

A couple of times in the last two days the subject of New Year Resolutions has come up.  Among our family and friends we seem pretty unanimous that we don't do them, as they are pointless and why is it any different deciding to do something on the 1st Jan as any other day of the year?

Everyone knows that new gym memberships peak in January and attendance is tailing off by the end of February.     I used to have a long-term New Year resolution to stop biting my nails.  When I eventually did stop, it was for some other reason completely and nothing to do with the resolution. 

This year, what with things being put into perspective somewhat, Resolutions seem even more pointless.  The only one I thought about on the drive home today was:

To walk a-top the embankment and stay out of the ditch.

In other words, not to live life head-down working, or cooking/cleaning/everyday living, but up on that embankment looking around to see what's going on outside my own hill-fort. Looking for ways to expand my horizons and make the most of the fact that I'm alive and kicking. Not doing things because 'that's what's expected of me' but doing things I want to do; getting priorities balanced between other people and myself.  

****

One of the things that has come about after the crash was the question of what I really miss.   Most people think I'd miss sailing - since that has always been part of my life; I own two dinghies, and over the years have done a fair bit of big-boat racing though that is now about a week every 2 years so doesn't really count any more.     Most of the sailing people I know, put in my position, would be tearing their hair out not being on the water, and desperate to be deemed fit enough to sail again.    

But I don't miss the dinghy sailing one bit.   It makes me wonder how much I actually enjoyed it before?  I know that I've always had a self-confidence issue with it and can quite easily come up with excuses why not to go out: too much wind, not enough wind, too cold etc.  Maybe I've been kidding myself all this time?  I don't know when I'll be able to sail my dinghies again and I don't really care; I know it's winter now but even in the summer I didn't sit in the garden thinking 'what a lovely day for a sail'.  It costs me £260 a year to keep 2 boats in the club dinghy park, and now I'm thinking I could use that money to go to Scotland and go canoeing with Mr H. and Django instead.

The thing I have consistently missed the most is walking, the most simple thing of all.   Not walking as in around the house, but walking to work, or into town, or along the clifftop or out on the Forest with Django.   And as an extension of that, the walking that I had started getting lazy about - out in the hills, mountains or long distance paths with Mr H. 

  

IF: Winter

During the Winter

Henrietta cheered herself up by

Sitting in her deckchair,

Reading 'Holiday 2011'

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve...  I should be panicking about tomorrow's meal, or out partying... instead I'm sitting by the fire (warming the chimney!): Mr H and Django have been out for almost 3 hours visiting friends which left me to doze on the sofa and watch all four episodes of The Nativity on iPlayer (a very good dramatisation).   

Merry Christmas to all my blogger friends :-)  

Thank you for being there to share my ups, downs and sideways this year!

Juniper

xx

Who was 'HD' ?

This is the second bedroom/studio/study window.  It is an old Crittall window and it holds a bit of a mystery; for some reason I haven't really thought about it until now. 

It has some initials etched on one of the panes, the 3rd from the right, 2nd row down to be precise.

The way my mind has worked while staring at these, procrastinating over my studies is as follows:

The initials are etched on the outside of the glass.

They are old fashioned style which dates them.

They are on the opening side of the window, so couldn't have been done easily by leaning out of the window; whoever did them must have been out side.

Below this window is what was originally an added-on lean-to kitchen.

I thought about this, and now I have a vision in my head of a kid climbing up on to the kitchen lean-to roof and sitting by the window, maybe shooting at birds with his catapult, and idly etching his initials on the pane. (I'm assuming it was a boy but I suppose it could have been a tomboy girl). 

I started wondering who he was?

A son of the house? I suppose it must have been his/siblings bedroom window as there are only 2 bedrooms   Maybe it was a trouble-making friend messing around?  

Did he get into trouble?   there wasn't much that could have been done about it other than replace the pane; and given that this was a modest cottage (dating back to early-mid 1800s) originally inhabited by staff from one of the local manor houses, I doubt there was the money for that.

What do you think?

Fate

I have just realised that if I didn't have a broken leg I would have been booked on a flight to Phuket today for the King's Cup... as the way of the world works, with this weather I would not have been looking forward to trying to get to Heathrow at 5am this morning!

A couple of years ago I decided not to go, for various personal reasons. That was the year that there was trouble at Bangkok airport and many people couldn't get there; I'd have been in limbo not knowing whether to attempt the trip or not. 

Sometimes I feel fate really does step in with the arrangements.

Happy Monday!

I spent most of yesterday working on my second essay, and every time I itched to put a semi-colon I put a full stop instead. Aaaaghh it hurt!  ok deep breaths.  It's nowhere near finished and isn't due til after Christmas but it's good to have a first draft down. I also need to put in the references, and an intro and and outro which are the hardest bits not to sound waffly in!  Then the second part of the assignment is analysing statistics, so that shouldn't be too hard if I put my logical head on.

I was going to go into the office today, but had a lousy night's sleep; it must have been the glass of wine I had last night, I'm supposed to be avoiding alcohol while on DHC.  Still, when I did sleep I had 'interesting' dreams about friends discovering they had two children they didn't know about and tasked me to find them. I was expecting kiddies but they turned out to be about 18.   The night before I dreamed about riding a temperamental horse that talked, and meeting a lady who had fallen off her penny-farthing bicycle. 

Anyway, I decided to work at home, and can always use the excuse that there's a light frost this morning and our steps to the office are 'treacherous' in the winter. I chose that word carefully by the way, I want to use it before the local press do. Last winter a friend and I ran statistical analysis of the words they used to describe the conditions. I remember that 'treacherous' came out top by a mile. Though to be fair, in January we did have rain/freeze/rain/freeze which resulted in everything being covered in an inch of ice - I needed my spiky walking poles to walk to work, because it was like walking on..well.. ice.

Treacherous walk to work, Jan 2010

Gateway to... where?

I put on my facebook status that I "want to work at the Max Planck Institute of Psycholinguistics" (yes it really exists, look it up), and facetious as that sounds I have been having odd bursts of excitement at where my OU course might lead me.  I have been particularly excited at the realisation that I may be able to combine my interests in the English Language with Psychology/Criminology.

My latest thrills came from reading last week's issue of New Scientist, which I buy about once every two months and is always interesting. This issue has several articles relevant to what I'm studying at the moment, including the different ways of thinking in different cultures (we in the West are the odd ones out); the configuration of intelligence in our brains, and the question of whether laughing is innate while crying is learned.

There is nothing like filling my head with questions about life and brains and cultures and animals and the world and dreams and reality, to take my mind off little glitches in my emotional state.