tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26842077842469720072024-02-19T02:32:59.007-05:00An EmbarrassmentLife is currently under construction. Let's spend a while in the garden...Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.comBlogger192125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-13532810666667219602022-03-27T17:29:00.000-04:002022-03-27T17:29:30.271-04:00Into The Wilds<p>So when last I wrote, I was planning an assault on the Wild Wood, in an effort to clear enough space for the fence to be replaced. However, I'd forgotten that I'd also resolved to keep on top of the climbing plants this year, until I noticed that the clematis was already sending out new shoots. (Something which struck pure terror in my heart after having to wrestle with it last year.) The wood was postponed while I cut back and tied up my various climbers. Most of the last two weeks has been about restraining a honeysuckle that loves our pergola a little too much, but that's another blog...</p><p>Flowers are coming out with a vengeance. My focus is on the back garden, but there's no denying that this raised bed around the front looks fantastic this time of year, with its golden flowers matched by the forsythia blossom behind it.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1UEv_4LWVzAyPJmo-Xk3Wui9w4QZ-Moaka6w2mq6kQYLlFdvT54U7mAkrq5iQlmtui690tlHeX3jfBzxnBrvFEJ-VLaxcrMZ0p4ano5X8wBeXng0rJlSbErPxgiyh-g3EbQXOBDnbLfv0wWYFLtZBgMZSCOnrB67U4O9Fw2KrKKYN8enFa3qHAE/s3024/IMG_2872e.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="2268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1UEv_4LWVzAyPJmo-Xk3Wui9w4QZ-Moaka6w2mq6kQYLlFdvT54U7mAkrq5iQlmtui690tlHeX3jfBzxnBrvFEJ-VLaxcrMZ0p4ano5X8wBeXng0rJlSbErPxgiyh-g3EbQXOBDnbLfv0wWYFLtZBgMZSCOnrB67U4O9Fw2KrKKYN8enFa3qHAE/w300-h400/IMG_2872e.jpg" width="300" /></a></p><p>And in the back garden... a mystery flower! I'm baffled by this solitary purple-speckled bud that's arisen amidst the three-corner-garlic. I don't remember anything else growing there last year. I've not tried offering it blood yet (it's not like it's in the Emo Grove); we're just watching what happens....</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjOzdoQWIL7OKk9ri28l9ynlAsC5f_Z2s9WPYswRGDwqygoEPDvfJpq1loyaTN66Ld8WiN1z6JwtkjHmN2ekdDKSPyUVgqVJ67B82Xt6fzUExDoS1zEnFXLXjA76MpxfjuhtPf2RE7OSvf42-WFX4JbKpXlSk2tBxx3iw4PJ3jWrkl6ekDS4zbUr4/s2360/IMG_2864e.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2360" data-original-width="1770" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjOzdoQWIL7OKk9ri28l9ynlAsC5f_Z2s9WPYswRGDwqygoEPDvfJpq1loyaTN66Ld8WiN1z6JwtkjHmN2ekdDKSPyUVgqVJ67B82Xt6fzUExDoS1zEnFXLXjA76MpxfjuhtPf2RE7OSvf42-WFX4JbKpXlSk2tBxx3iw4PJ3jWrkl6ekDS4zbUr4/w300-h400/IMG_2864e.jpg" width="300" /></a></p><p>At any rate, it's too early in the season to prune back trees: they may bleed sap. I don't know exactly <i>why </i>that's a problem, but it sounds gory; I had decided the prudent course was to infiltrate the Wild Wood towards the end of spring.</p><p>Then the fence contractor came round for an inspection and I learned two things: Firstly, I <i>will </i>need to clear as much space as I'm willing around the fence; secondly, that he could get it done in the Easter Holidays, which means I have two weeks to conquer the Wood.</p><p>Obviously, I could have requested a later date, but if it wasn't April, we'd be looking at late summer. On balance, it's probably easier on the plant-life to be cut back now, then have the summer to recover. Not to mention I work better with a deadline. </p><p> </p><p><b>Into the Woods!</b> <br /></p><p>I scouted around the fringes, lightly pruning back stray branches as I tried to assess exactly what awaited me in the depths. I still can't figure out all the trees, but I did establish that I have three different camellias.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhso88g1ZAAsiXaO_whSg_JBVjgqrOrXR7s9bZAkBeJ6DaDyqORnleTyKpGUD2dVemprpNCj1VpOjSaZSFLDuDsQGpwbbC1SuT0ZwNZsg54U1viMUsuwHDIADM63Fz5yu5kOITuYTo3a8kTB6T8-I-35wT7cRQY906VeKqzNNHvz1r2fmP0S7hwA04/s4032/IMG_2863.heif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhso88g1ZAAsiXaO_whSg_JBVjgqrOrXR7s9bZAkBeJ6DaDyqORnleTyKpGUD2dVemprpNCj1VpOjSaZSFLDuDsQGpwbbC1SuT0ZwNZsg54U1viMUsuwHDIADM63Fz5yu5kOITuYTo3a8kTB6T8-I-35wT7cRQY906VeKqzNNHvz1r2fmP0S7hwA04/w300-h400/IMG_2863.heif" width="300" /></a></p><p>One pale pink / white.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3_Z8_9zfAisLU1JNRCHhrf6eo3oQXcu8n1xneSiIhVoB_hZAuzcShD7vppUuAwULbHR0Zp4z1YER-lQE_WY0Ogm-XpEAXflFGCpIbnZ84Gs1l415su3NYu4N5OOpvc8lTuNt_BjHHiD6_y_3OER3oyVa9x8142iAQbVfYNqR_x1Z3MI_8LuH8XU/s4032/IMG_2860.heif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3_Z8_9zfAisLU1JNRCHhrf6eo3oQXcu8n1xneSiIhVoB_hZAuzcShD7vppUuAwULbHR0Zp4z1YER-lQE_WY0Ogm-XpEAXflFGCpIbnZ84Gs1l415su3NYu4N5OOpvc8lTuNt_BjHHiD6_y_3OER3oyVa9x8142iAQbVfYNqR_x1Z3MI_8LuH8XU/w400-h300/IMG_2860.heif" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>This frilly pink one. Most of the leaves are green, but a few are yellow. I assume that's a sign of poor health, but I figure if it's flowering, it can't be too bad. I'm still getting to grips with pruning... balancing soil nutrients will have to wait until next year.<br /></p><p>And finally, the one that is not photographing well. The third camellia has no (visible) blooms yet, and fewer buds. It's smaller than the other two and not pushing back against the surrounding trees. I'm hoping it will flourish if I can give it more space. (In the mean time, the other two provided me with a Mothering Sunday bouquet for my Mum!)<br /></p><p> </p><p>I had always believed that the Bay Tree was the dominant figure in the Wild Wood. Don't envision a rotund ornamental in a pot. Ours is several meters high, a general on the front lines who stands tall at the intersection of the path, the Wild Wood and the Briars. With a holly as its vigorous second, the Bay Tree holds back the Briar's attacks. One by one, their soldiers hurl themselves at it, trying to spear a path through to the Wood, but with the bay leaves starving them of sunlight, they twist around and seek refuge on their own side again.<br /></p><p>However, as I stood next to the Bay Tree and traced the paths of the branches through the canopy, I found my eye being drawn to the very back of the wood: here lurked the Alpha Tree. The Boss. Big Daddy Tree. Queen of the Forest. The One Tree to Rule Them All.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3KxjA6aG6mH6lYwD4LF5amT-ZiKMj7Ip_bPurOULd7U4IAI8yyuUonm2SPUqMnpHp2oMUMxd7guLcZO1Hah6qJCEPFqaiPwLDk7733CdqZL_2TYXc95B583RZnct1YYkFEb2JT92mMnr19KAmIrtq1MFJMJ691VHFbUk0RYQQ61ID09GNZXcXtU/s4032/IMG_2874.heif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3KxjA6aG6mH6lYwD4LF5amT-ZiKMj7Ip_bPurOULd7U4IAI8yyuUonm2SPUqMnpHp2oMUMxd7guLcZO1Hah6qJCEPFqaiPwLDk7733CdqZL_2TYXc95B583RZnct1YYkFEb2JT92mMnr19KAmIrtq1MFJMJ691VHFbUk0RYQQ61ID09GNZXcXtU/w400-h300/IMG_2874.heif" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p>Honestly, I'm only putting the picture up because it seems weirder not to... but it was difficult enough to spot in three dimensions; two dimensions are entirely anti-climactic. The Alpha Tree is the darker branches, just in front of the fence and growing around another, weaker tree... I <i>think</i> the latter is still alive, but it's a little hard to tell if it's growing new leaves or not. It's not exactly a beta tree. More like mu or nu in the rankings...<br /></p><p>At the far left of the picture, you can see the trunk of the Bay Tree, with a branch of the Alpha Tree going steeply up towards it. The Alpha's branch enters the foliage of the Bay and rises up until it pokes out the top like a puppetmaster who's unafraid to reveal the strings. Lower down that puppetmaster branch, you can see a secondary branch split off, heading towards the top right of the picture. This one carries on for a good two or three meters, hanging watchfully over the path where we tread unawares. </p><p>Finally (and least visibly) from the base of the trunk, two older, thicker branches grow low along the fence itself, pushing on the lesser trees and shrubs until they cower out of its way. It starts with the white camellia which grows into the next tree which grows into the frilly pink camellia which grows into another tree which grows into a second holly which grows into the third camellia which does not do much growing at all. </p><p></p><p></p><p>I had no intention of tackling that mess head on, and I certainly didn't want to go through the Bay Tree. The easiest path was to go around the overgrown holly into the Briars' territory, head along the back fence (which is <i>not</i> getting replaced, thankfully), and work into the wood from the corner. After many battles year, I am no longer intimidated by the Briars.<br /></p><p>I had previously sheared off one side of the holly to get access to the back. Behind it was the cluster of palm-type trees tall enough to be seen over the mass, and (once I brushed aside some dead grass) a large landscaping rock. I've spotted quite a few rocks scattered through the Wild Wood, which makes me all the more intrigued as to what the original layout was. <br /></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo4TpNm8D4ACMryL4WRU7cXEBSvQK_2arhDKwSt83v3VZhR9bhyR0l_ktHiuGz84_z-3F8_DfJRyHCoyqMTfTvh5YviG0gQHfYC3yhVJhh5F1qyZhyzn764JIho0_AfvtMqMFZHHP0qbVQDo-w6VQOsEVcrmImYDUGnC2rAfsVttm1E91UBRx4xo/s4032/IMG_2869.heif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFo4TpNm8D4ACMryL4WRU7cXEBSvQK_2arhDKwSt83v3VZhR9bhyR0l_ktHiuGz84_z-3F8_DfJRyHCoyqMTfTvh5YviG0gQHfYC3yhVJhh5F1qyZhyzn764JIho0_AfvtMqMFZHHP0qbVQDo-w6VQOsEVcrmImYDUGnC2rAfsVttm1E91UBRx4xo/w300-h400/IMG_2869.heif" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>Overhead, I found a rosebriar making a straight line for the side fence, and I used that as my guide (ungratefully cutting it into pieces as I went along.) I had more holly to cut back (this holly is not having a good year, but it honestly needed to lose weight anyway...), along with some leggy shoots of buddleia. Also known as the butterfly bush, buddleia is one of the more desirable weeds in any garden, but it's
definitely a weed which puts out vigorous new growth every spring with or
without pruning. I had very few nerves about hacking away at it now.</p>Along my path I found plants I never knew were in my garden: Stinging nettles (they have obvious drawbacks, but peacock butterflies depend on them, so I'm happy to allow them here); some sort of creeper that was out-competing the ivy, to which I can only say: "Respect." (With judicious apprehension); more prettily, periwinkle, which is an invasive pain, but I have a soft spot for that spring touch of purple.<br /><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5RDlfUXcrpXW7Nze7VevYc96Ifgiqe0rN-BugRWV_taa3zZ3b7oS73yWnJHa8fwRErYVR865cTz63Ga58BfgGXNHNxR97lyY7h4LuJ323oBe567owN0CHaTy62Igd2O7YhYOr3IpmixUF_rrEYGWisawhVI0b5-c0wKKH0d7ed2qdyDcLHw8AGI/s2426/IMG_2865e.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2426" data-original-width="1819" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5RDlfUXcrpXW7Nze7VevYc96Ifgiqe0rN-BugRWV_taa3zZ3b7oS73yWnJHa8fwRErYVR865cTz63Ga58BfgGXNHNxR97lyY7h4LuJ323oBe567owN0CHaTy62Igd2O7YhYOr3IpmixUF_rrEYGWisawhVI0b5-c0wKKH0d7ed2qdyDcLHw8AGI/w300-h400/IMG_2865e.jpg" width="300" /></a></p><p></p><p>Eventually, my way was blocked by some far sturdier branches of buddleia, which had transcended from shrub to tree with a vengeance. Finally, I realised that I wasn't just dealing with the Briars and the Wild Wood; the Buddleias are a faction unto themselves. Hulked-out branches spread massively over the holly and into the Wood. It was <i>these</i> branches that had caused the Alpha Tree to grow over its own subjects.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyide7CiebFChXVTGtFqcxXEzIWjym16pk3CfecjkhcxcYJ32oqp9hMjNYdVHv4aCWZbbGnueECiFcqbhELJWN-S_MMddMhKm7v1-cuzCFDRkU5ApEOn44FpcWNsZt3j3HmIURdONsJWGWWwV-dtfJXAtStMDu7nj-NQV_nqEfqPLkCFIG2ZhjViE/s4032/IMG_2867.heif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyide7CiebFChXVTGtFqcxXEzIWjym16pk3CfecjkhcxcYJ32oqp9hMjNYdVHv4aCWZbbGnueECiFcqbhELJWN-S_MMddMhKm7v1-cuzCFDRkU5ApEOn44FpcWNsZt3j3HmIURdONsJWGWWwV-dtfJXAtStMDu7nj-NQV_nqEfqPLkCFIG2ZhjViE/w300-h400/IMG_2867.heif" width="300" /></a></div><p>I've never before appreciated just how insane buddleias run wild can get. This havoc was wrought by just one plant, though there were two or three all tangled together in the corner. As I attempted to unravel the knot of them with my eyes, I suddenly noticed something else: they had a hostage.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVNVi9QAabsl3DVtCFBQ1OLHQK8xFdZAK0fE7No1tFwKcYK5TGUt1Qy-yzlX4dJSASll4VXTuMdHFK9AYGJr78i1S2UtMPKvQPmqe68JHL7_GsJhNBlTt9je-cUnS8_YSCy0WJatp5aYsgrxsTKLaOyCN0mgP5OLXiUtFIVhDGA9B4fGHJnFS2yE/s4032/IMG_2868.heif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSVNVi9QAabsl3DVtCFBQ1OLHQK8xFdZAK0fE7No1tFwKcYK5TGUt1Qy-yzlX4dJSASll4VXTuMdHFK9AYGJr78i1S2UtMPKvQPmqe68JHL7_GsJhNBlTt9je-cUnS8_YSCy0WJatp5aYsgrxsTKLaOyCN0mgP5OLXiUtFIVhDGA9B4fGHJnFS2yE/s320/IMG_2868.heif" width="240" /></a></div><p><br />Once I'd spotted it, I couldn't understand how I hadn't seen it before; behind the bare branches were the evergreen leaves and white blossom of a fourth camellia. The buddleia had caged it against the very corner of the fence, forcing it to grow erect but slender in its prison. At least it could face southwest, making it the only thing in the wood that was <i>not </i>competing for the sunlight. Despite its diminutive spread, it was blooming prolifically.</p><p>It <i>is</i> clearly visible from the road, so I have no idea how I never noticed it before. Of course, it would be a lot less obvious until the past week or so when it started blooming. The flowers gazing over the fence inspire the cliche analogy of a fairy tale princess in her tower.</p><p>As you may have noticed, I embarked on this gardening challenge with a determination to find adventure. I'm not passing up a sidequest when it presents itself; we are Rescuing that Princess.</p><p><b>To be continued....</b><br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-69673277611977544082022-03-10T17:07:00.001-05:002022-03-10T17:07:59.533-05:00Race Against Spring<p> Things are growing in my garden...</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm7izu7oh2r9gpxWYRt8sN1uZTXHFvkNdej2sX7h2YRLtlz1uZLmZ_IAdScNl4_HGyxf3MTQC4c2UhmEzhDVQ26Sr-al2m502Brhlz9gm0RlOQv4SNwnDcStZZKmPSx04ZL7x-ckIkDInTNTyeRq9T_qUIkLSn9C6gdp8Nv9Vv1Bs4WPLC47Mhf4A=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhm7izu7oh2r9gpxWYRt8sN1uZTXHFvkNdej2sX7h2YRLtlz1uZLmZ_IAdScNl4_HGyxf3MTQC4c2UhmEzhDVQ26Sr-al2m502Brhlz9gm0RlOQv4SNwnDcStZZKmPSx04ZL7x-ckIkDInTNTyeRq9T_qUIkLSn9C6gdp8Nv9Vv1Bs4WPLC47Mhf4A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></p><p>There is no big display of daffodils anywhere. Instead isolated clusters are scattered throughout the garden, so on a walk-through, you suddenly come across a splash of sunny yellow. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig0R4SVHwz8ffKQzCeoodr8mvNrCLPTANFU_LE6tecFolmsP_QtvniUB9l7MfKhNGGqfUbnMVu2m3pT9_UB9RK1fIzKDcgOgMcABKb3BfXGR_9_XOsS5IY0yX2KS8RSf4da6WxvMdLAZjhpmyQ4GLQWsGOTVhUSy1Z404ieADDPEr_1sjNFDpRxp8=s3242" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="3242" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig0R4SVHwz8ffKQzCeoodr8mvNrCLPTANFU_LE6tecFolmsP_QtvniUB9l7MfKhNGGqfUbnMVu2m3pT9_UB9RK1fIzKDcgOgMcABKb3BfXGR_9_XOsS5IY0yX2KS8RSf4da6WxvMdLAZjhpmyQ4GLQWsGOTVhUSy1Z404ieADDPEr_1sjNFDpRxp8=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></p><p>A technicolour primrose path has sprouted under the pergola.<br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL1Sa1b4GHg1UFzOvw7WcaKgpv0IErtpwspfCGV-_29KWw4gG6RhFqsvG3-Ea4uG9o6JThhgBnpfU_sQaVh00mO3lKRAHhDjwWzK49wuIXxX321OvILBbc-LKcDb6wb1zh4iNpjOoDOiEJ4SSWTAydgake_s5wnZQLOiydAS1wnKlMhTxzsQuWcBA=s2592" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1943" data-original-width="2592" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjL1Sa1b4GHg1UFzOvw7WcaKgpv0IErtpwspfCGV-_29KWw4gG6RhFqsvG3-Ea4uG9o6JThhgBnpfU_sQaVh00mO3lKRAHhDjwWzK49wuIXxX321OvILBbc-LKcDb6wb1zh4iNpjOoDOiEJ4SSWTAydgake_s5wnZQLOiydAS1wnKlMhTxzsQuWcBA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br />Anemones brave the detritus of the Wild Wood.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik3BLpBpIEyV4zxW3wTnfolAC5jLGG6zlNuTIOyYPE4c0L21PZNaqpOqqxvJaGnOMO7_2ApAqeIFiHpDUjaRHtwJDlCrKfzwU_AU1KTvVVGrgaftGVIBzSgJCzmHea9jgGS_hm8NW7ZMSZ1YiQuXbRjTW9UVm0ZeDUbCwivkX6KkdHM6BTuK9Al3A=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik3BLpBpIEyV4zxW3wTnfolAC5jLGG6zlNuTIOyYPE4c0L21PZNaqpOqqxvJaGnOMO7_2ApAqeIFiHpDUjaRHtwJDlCrKfzwU_AU1KTvVVGrgaftGVIBzSgJCzmHea9jgGS_hm8NW7ZMSZ1YiQuXbRjTW9UVm0ZeDUbCwivkX6KkdHM6BTuK9Al3A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>I believe this is a hellebore growing in the Emo Grove. 90% of the year, it's just spiky leaves lounging sulkily at ground-level, but for a few weeks in late winter, it makes a supreme effort and drags forth this weary dark red display.<br /><br /></p><p>The end of winter dormancy has caught me a little off-guard. Last year, it was colder for longer and a dry, frosty April thwarted the spring growth, so the garden didn't get going until May. This year, we've had a mild winter and a wet February. I might still be worrying about late frosts, but it seems the plants are prepared to risk it.</p><p>My time of poking around the landscaping is over! Spring is the best time to plant, to transplant, to prune and probably a hundred other verbs I haven't learned yet. It's also the time to make sure the weeds are cleared back so that the less aggressive plants have room to grow, and that's been my main focus over the past few weeks. </p><p>Last year, I didn't know what was and wasn't supposed to be growing in any one spot. Greatly intimidated by the whole process, I didn't tackle the weeds seriously until May. I made a fair bit of progress over the first half of summer, but then Trog got sick, and I spent most of August inside, cuddling my dying cat. By the time I got back to the garden, the flowerbeds had been overwhelmed.</p><p>This year, I can identify <i>some</i> of the things that are growing, but it's still mostly a process of: "This is growing all over the place, but I haven't seen That elsewhere, so let's clear This away from That." <br /></p><p></p><p>At least I am armed with the knowledge of which plants have the most imperial mindset, laying claim to every bit of land they can get their roots into. I spent a fair bit of the winter pulling out grass, ivy and ferns from the borders. Now that spring is here, I'm also attempting to restrict the aquilegia and three cornered garlic to just <i>one</i> area of the garden.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkCJRNMSSHxLgMvWFpkAYU93kOyVQW6G00ix_R5GMu9Z9QnfOIW0PSmDpAyvTXzNGaus5ABJeEOttpphQDcMpACtZLnGimvfEWUC8p39fhQISZZZcnF-b2TOfv3CA3S7P6x3dgs__v7Sqv45obk_E2TUk1KYETS1uzO2jMWrlaEik4s43bvidZ5Ig=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkCJRNMSSHxLgMvWFpkAYU93kOyVQW6G00ix_R5GMu9Z9QnfOIW0PSmDpAyvTXzNGaus5ABJeEOttpphQDcMpACtZLnGimvfEWUC8p39fhQISZZZcnF-b2TOfv3CA3S7P6x3dgs__v7Sqv45obk_E2TUk1KYETS1uzO2jMWrlaEik4s43bvidZ5Ig=w400-h300" width="400" /></a> <br /></p><p>Fortunately, aquilegia is very easy to identify: it sprouts as these purple rosettes, which unfurl into frilly green leaves. It's a really pretty plant at every stage... it's just not very good at sharing with its peers.<br /></p><p>In this garden, weeding goes hand in hand with archaeology. February's discoveries: a double decker bus, a dinosaur and a dog.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0xvHs8uzYz9hwfbBrK68nDu7kpEkjJUEsAh1a1grZfI_yck2bk4-yHLXvN5Q7vwvxWfVnsFusUwtcUS5q7YTaLz0-X7F7iIx0oyibKS66GDrEz0gi0JjsSsi6gTSLl7UbRchT48SJdJvxGepcEASDKUJhNl-EPhlSHZa7mF-04qraHWiO6uNt1TI=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh0xvHs8uzYz9hwfbBrK68nDu7kpEkjJUEsAh1a1grZfI_yck2bk4-yHLXvN5Q7vwvxWfVnsFusUwtcUS5q7YTaLz0-X7F7iIx0oyibKS66GDrEz0gi0JjsSsi6gTSLl7UbRchT48SJdJvxGepcEASDKUJhNl-EPhlSHZa7mF-04qraHWiO6uNt1TI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It's been a lot of work, and I do worry that it's a lot of wasted
effort, that everything will just regrow from the roots and sprouts
that I missed. But there's some hope: the one thing that I did manage to keep on top of last year was the dry stone wall that is our boundary from the road. A year ago, it was covered in grass, and I spent hours teasing that
grass out from the rambling roots of the other plants—then three months
later, I was pulling out the root-network of the hawkweed that I had
inadvertently allowed to spread.<br /></p><p>Grass is still coming up all
along the wall, but these isolated clumps are a fraction of what was there
last year and I can see all the different alpine plants spreading
out. (This time last year, I thought there were only two different species.) While all my flowerbeds look worse than they did a year ago, the dry stone wall looks better.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFZUw3BEh37QRw_8-kMHJvxLfZYRgtSGV2PeKPRD9BA8VxaT2wM9HzwGJBxj9uYXaXN_i9UzN0LTS5p0uww9mHcCMFdt3Kev78g05sr4ctt_InRxa0gRm6olnddyCOEzDiA-FlbZZR0fTL037YITNiZt9uf8Jnm9HeidLN28XFAmduYDHLkS2fQiI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFZUw3BEh37QRw_8-kMHJvxLfZYRgtSGV2PeKPRD9BA8VxaT2wM9HzwGJBxj9uYXaXN_i9UzN0LTS5p0uww9mHcCMFdt3Kev78g05sr4ctt_InRxa0gRm6olnddyCOEzDiA-FlbZZR0fTL037YITNiZt9uf8Jnm9HeidLN28XFAmduYDHLkS2fQiI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>I've just got to repeat what I did with the wall on the front and rear lawn borders, on the Emo Grove, on the terrace, on the gravel paths, on... Maybe best not to get too carried away.</p><p>Unlike my fence panel which got carried away by Storm Eunice. (Appreciate that segue! How witty! How seamless!)<br /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><br />OK, so getting carried away is a stretch for what happened to the fence panel. A rotten support post broke, letting the panel blow into the border on its leeward side. 30 square feet of timber vs a buddleia and a honeysuckle? Flattened flora, right? Not in my border. The panel bounced off the shrubs and flopped forward onto the weedy hedge on that section of dry stone wall—which fortunately kept it from collapsing into the road.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjfOmLfRKRRXrAtHjeofbnXIsUgtFSL2RoE6WSghK3oqPMX7Cm7hcJC7ocdMjMmErF_DcBF5vQNBLK8kyO7Cu39HZKNqmb7n5Q_FO9DelLiJIg5lFw3rUVpMYCqsPxfhJvOoVfS1tkKdrlOHavU3aFTws0MWB8dCDfPLMJaXMmj2Vvgw7ujxw07FI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjfOmLfRKRRXrAtHjeofbnXIsUgtFSL2RoE6WSghK3oqPMX7Cm7hcJC7ocdMjMmErF_DcBF5vQNBLK8kyO7Cu39HZKNqmb7n5Q_FO9DelLiJIg5lFw3rUVpMYCqsPxfhJvOoVfS1tkKdrlOHavU3aFTws0MWB8dCDfPLMJaXMmj2Vvgw7ujxw07FI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></p><p>The fence isn't capable of standing up to the Cornish winds on that exposed westward side and this would be the third time I've had to get it patched up since moving in. I'm better off spending my money on a stronger fence.</p><p></p><p>But if the fence is to be replaced, it'll have to be accessible along its full length. Even the rear third. The boundary to the Wild Wood...<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCZ7jEQYBchar2rJuhCNMLT3OEzSvA8d_5Q9h39B04YXxE8y8yyj4lyssO2G-UncH585mBlytCA4ClhcnK8sJkm_C4W1FVShl-EmaRPgY0P4AY3OiKTmpwyNtL9HiaCsA2DgyTpUmWSHAovn2xy6sBa3rc5BGUr4EHofVEAfYpjGTwTicxPg5lpiY=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCZ7jEQYBchar2rJuhCNMLT3OEzSvA8d_5Q9h39B04YXxE8y8yyj4lyssO2G-UncH585mBlytCA4ClhcnK8sJkm_C4W1FVShl-EmaRPgY0P4AY3OiKTmpwyNtL9HiaCsA2DgyTpUmWSHAovn2xy6sBa3rc5BGUr4EHofVEAfYpjGTwTicxPg5lpiY=w400-h300" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The point of no return. This is where the fence disappears into the Wild Wood and beyond human intervention. I have three months to reclaim it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Technically, it's accessible from the road side, but I'm worried that if I leave it, the fencers will just bulldoze through our wood to make their job easier. I want it to be a recognisable patch of garden so they make the effort to leave it intact. I hate having to sacrifice the wild character or the overgrown patches that support the native environment, so this will be a balancing act. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Please note, although I keep referring to it as a wood, I don't have some immense plot of land. It's widest point is only a couple of metres. An utterly intractable couple of metres.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm hesitant to start clearing it out just yet, because there may be wildlife using the undergrowth for winter hibernation, but I have made a start at reducing the holly and bay tree that dead-end the garden path. The holly in particular is at least three times the size it should be. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Evergreens aren't supposed to be pruned until late spring, but I decided it was worth cutting away on one side and the top in order to let light through. This also meant I had a path through to <i>beyond</i> the holly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For the first time since we moved in, I was able to look into the back corner of the garden. Behold:<br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiG-MBW2-3dBd4bJulG5bdBgFvzvFF3ffkEWYrMFN3AdYXsqPS9SFSpw581XXUgrwmE173owXI9zJdjfeS6AVRp2aAm-esQtV0K8jtELiZjiMaGXXRHlAAFw8aWPOjupj4cieo-saecPQ5q4cP_Sqkkw-Mw4TblkYIrIhFd6WsOYRsffURBkFfeIgY=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiG-MBW2-3dBd4bJulG5bdBgFvzvFF3ffkEWYrMFN3AdYXsqPS9SFSpw581XXUgrwmE173owXI9zJdjfeS6AVRp2aAm-esQtV0K8jtELiZjiMaGXXRHlAAFw8aWPOjupj4cieo-saecPQ5q4cP_Sqkkw-Mw4TblkYIrIhFd6WsOYRsffURBkFfeIgY=w300-h400" width="300" /> </a></p><p style="text-align: left;">Yes, predictably, it's just a tangle of overgrowth. There go my dreams of a monument to an ancient civilisation. There could at least have been a mystic oracle. Sigh.<br /><br />I think the 'trees' there are actually buddleia, so they can be cut back readily enough and once I cut out the ferns and briars disputing the territory, perhaps I'll uncover some feature incorporated into the original layout. But that's going to be an expedition in itself. Wish me luck.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'll leave you with the latest update to our ex-lawn section. I had got flower pots next to the temporary compost heap, but I figured that if the tulips were determined to naturalise, I might as well try putting them in the ground. I repurposed the edging that we dug up a few weeks ago, bought a bag of soil and, ta-da! A flowerbed! One too new to have weeds!<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg19P_SoRMYwzq09YhVC2-ptG4YMIOO9_eErNC2tI6FAJLxm9jbknuKhzbrFurnwlGxAtPWPaVvRsN8P8KIcvSotqhTfDXwneYk60ZASPe6Y2ZGbsvbIb1IWtDpDmhRTvF6mqw7Lqn2q9YGgkkJoVcucS6T0P_tbSiIyUS9gAilyxtTYQlOSL1LSVE=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg19P_SoRMYwzq09YhVC2-ptG4YMIOO9_eErNC2tI6FAJLxm9jbknuKhzbrFurnwlGxAtPWPaVvRsN8P8KIcvSotqhTfDXwneYk60ZASPe6Y2ZGbsvbIb1IWtDpDmhRTvF6mqw7Lqn2q9YGgkkJoVcucS6T0P_tbSiIyUS9gAilyxtTYQlOSL1LSVE=w400-h300" width="400" /> </a></p><p style="text-align: left;"> Joining the tulips are a rosemary plant and some poppies I'm trying to rescue from a too shady border. There are no guarantees any of them will survive the transition, but there's always plan B: Choose my favourite out of the weeds that inevitably invade.<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-48207288212655004602022-02-23T16:36:00.005-05:002022-02-23T16:36:47.570-05:00Landscaping Trials<p>One of the immediate puzzles of the garden was what to do with the squared-off mulched area at the foot of the lawn. (Originally the site of a greenhouse; the glass is still in the shed.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqqNkJ1_H2_aPhEx9qVJPeXE5sodHvXwBy64SAdRdMeQ4doM0rutd-VtDz4YxAOOkIv6c8wwPpRSkURmkggHm5BsGO88iRNzWgNIU1SK3XSIowY02UYNWtLE2cywYrSo4KA0u9G2rjsN8Wm4OQ1_RnPA_4YzgvGTVswud-vOuRAwx1gZQ_VswH-IU=s1504" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1504" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqqNkJ1_H2_aPhEx9qVJPeXE5sodHvXwBy64SAdRdMeQ4doM0rutd-VtDz4YxAOOkIv6c8wwPpRSkURmkggHm5BsGO88iRNzWgNIU1SK3XSIowY02UYNWtLE2cywYrSo4KA0u9G2rjsN8Wm4OQ1_RnPA_4YzgvGTVswud-vOuRAwx1gZQ_VswH-IU=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> My first thought was that we could put a pond there. Indeed, we put down our potted pond as a trial effort and (as there were spare stones from the dry stone wall lying around) we built a small cairn around it, to create an insta-rockery feature. It was the perfect location, nice and central, clear sunlight and a focal point when looking up the garden. A larger version would look amazing.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7xxW1cwAxJQJhYoRuTIv1QEU9O2lzDIKCqbcNsOgwtCkzqXQ3-_lAwaoWlOTTR-LdUV965GLcV_poKSc1CGmuh4OcrOerHW2rQ-hxtv76Yp-v4FWGeLYe5wZfX3Dj6eZWN2OqhAK66vUke6mpwODI9CssjQcs7M4Bjcht_zxUMnwsQ5fL1PkjUrI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi7xxW1cwAxJQJhYoRuTIv1QEU9O2lzDIKCqbcNsOgwtCkzqXQ3-_lAwaoWlOTTR-LdUV965GLcV_poKSc1CGmuh4OcrOerHW2rQ-hxtv76Yp-v4FWGeLYe5wZfX3Dj6eZWN2OqhAK66vUke6mpwODI9CssjQcs7M4Bjcht_zxUMnwsQ5fL1PkjUrI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></p><p>There turned out to be one small flaw in that plan: the site is right by the septic tank and directly in the path of the drainage field. As I don't wish to make raw sewage into a garden feature, we threw out all ideas that would involve digging.</p><p>At that point, the most obvious thing to do was to extend the lawn over the spot. I'm not wild about lawns... a well-maintained lawn is terrible for the environment (and constant work). One of my favourite things about the garden is that there <i>isn't</i> much lawn, so I was a little hesitant to make it bigger.</p><p>I dithered and left it for a year to see what the garden would do with the space. Predictably, the weeds took hold, predominantly toadflax which I found I rather liked. It gets very tall and looked quite striking against the background of ornamental grasses. It's a standard eco-recommendation to let a patch run wild; the centre of the garden isn't normally the suggested location, but that's what is going to happen until I run out of other garden projects.<br /><br />That said, there's a pathway between the shed and the rear lawn border which connects the main garden path to the lawn / pergola. I didn't want to block that nor did I want to keep the right angle that cuts deep into the lawn, so the plan is to turn roughly half the area into lawn while the rest grows wild. </p><p>I just had to figure out how to extend my lawn past its stone edge. To its credit, the grass was cooperating fully with seeding itself into the mulched area, but the mulch was a couple of inches below the level of the lawn while the edging stood an inch above it.</p><p>As the edging was concreted in, I borrowed a crowbar and sledgehammer from my Dad and enlisted my son's assistance. I don't typically make the children do gardening chores, because it's a quick way to kill their joy in the garden and the relaxation gardening gives me. However, I do make them join in periodically when I either need an extra pair of hands or when there's an opportunity for them to learn some practical skill.</p><p>Besides, my son was very taken with the crowbar. (So am I. Crowbars are amazing, and we're going to get one of our own.)<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgy3mzsTxBKLHOyxjYtSnSN5cE3jA5GCb-1DDElrXly9iKTPOxpNzbbj1qMbaX_zD3PAJqKx9vauOQJmo2447IyMdrhs5_EigyJ1w2dRWFvSQxnOm1eNOvZQuBvEbPvz-xzrYKniqAWtXGW-NQHe3rS2tarHRQBCsv2crYJE76I1ZUKQCot_k6o8ZI=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgy3mzsTxBKLHOyxjYtSnSN5cE3jA5GCb-1DDElrXly9iKTPOxpNzbbj1qMbaX_zD3PAJqKx9vauOQJmo2447IyMdrhs5_EigyJ1w2dRWFvSQxnOm1eNOvZQuBvEbPvz-xzrYKniqAWtXGW-NQHe3rS2tarHRQBCsv2crYJE76I1ZUKQCot_k6o8ZI=w400-h300" width="400" /> </a></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigfwpJXSALoMiUTU51EAfvr9EVehuoi5sYRDEbkcB3FujC_dOFbJTOcXxMk47LZ9MEcde7WP_v_g-bCQsNPzFFnG1N5f7Yvh9sJiesYrcmC2Ksry8t_X3MAogKX3S35NF9qmfR_G5SDjK7d7nLPnLu6JD1bYNyGxv_ICiFRTAQcOmQFm-eyBH_WN0=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigfwpJXSALoMiUTU51EAfvr9EVehuoi5sYRDEbkcB3FujC_dOFbJTOcXxMk47LZ9MEcde7WP_v_g-bCQsNPzFFnG1N5f7Yvh9sJiesYrcmC2Ksry8t_X3MAogKX3S35NF9qmfR_G5SDjK7d7nLPnLu6JD1bYNyGxv_ICiFRTAQcOmQFm-eyBH_WN0=w400-h300" width="400" /></a> <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">After about half an hour's solid effort we prised up four edging sections with chunks of concrete still attached. They're not made of the best stone (maybe limestone?), since two broke in half as I moved them around, but all the pieces can be reused. </p><p style="text-align: left;">That's for another project though... my first priority was getting some turf to go against those newly raw edges. My target for that was the other end of the lawn, up by the retaining wall onto the patio. That's the most likely site for the still-hoped-for pond (a 'next year' goal), so I figured we could sacrifice the grass there. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Dutifully, I read up on the most basic method of turf-cutting: </p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>String twine between two stakes to mark out a straight line. <br /></li><li>Using your spade, cut lines one spade-width apart into the turf. </li><li>Still using the spade, roll up the strips of turf between the lines, and transfer to desired location. </li></ol><p style="text-align: left;">I gathered my dubious children and we slammed that theory into the stony wall of practice.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFi8qB_9r3gltD-RmweYh9nU1eHEgIgNuKFAGRzlaemnNWarKSBB7wCwcG3JHrfsn0PRVHQlAVYbW9V6-v25ocCl_wA5oiF4uJVqdP-AX7pKpw-FHWx8BxgG3GVAbFfSbHP4whC0kjZ6ggtkOI_TRQ5lsYnFDhDTMOOpDZg1clcV6Yj2Z9ZJ7G7uE=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFi8qB_9r3gltD-RmweYh9nU1eHEgIgNuKFAGRzlaemnNWarKSBB7wCwcG3JHrfsn0PRVHQlAVYbW9V6-v25ocCl_wA5oiF4uJVqdP-AX7pKpw-FHWx8BxgG3GVAbFfSbHP4whC0kjZ6ggtkOI_TRQ5lsYnFDhDTMOOpDZg1clcV6Yj2Z9ZJ7G7uE=w400-h300" width="400" /></a> <br /></p><p></p><p>The
grass had a tendency to stick to the retaining wall and the ground
beneath it was stony at best and concrete at worst. (Perhaps
this is the plumbing leading to the shed?) We found the spade too unwieldy to use, but with sulky trial and error, we figured out that our best system was to perforate each
line with a handheld garden fork, then cut it with a weed knife. I ended up
rolling the turf by hand, using the weed knife to cut through any
sticky parts. The rolls quickly got too heavy, but I would just
pull them off and start afresh.</p><p>This sort of labour was painful
on my back, arms and fingers. I let the children bail once we'd cut the lines so I was rolling the turf alone, but I still got three or four strips (in 12-15 pieces) done that afternoon.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6hUfDKoPXGUjXd_sJn91UFEroXSqxeYdOM3OtwBA8WTW8rGHkMcGxRW14NCBdACxT9_v1ZEj5qIrjipfccKi86CD7CkUogE25xlgUVJ8VzZnkVdYdPPaKbDTSLKCBnafGBz1m5oiZJG9xztqB6WUBf3DrNZHW6xOuHgJ7LBJDLTF365vapnwmkh4=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6hUfDKoPXGUjXd_sJn91UFEroXSqxeYdOM3OtwBA8WTW8rGHkMcGxRW14NCBdACxT9_v1ZEj5qIrjipfccKi86CD7CkUogE25xlgUVJ8VzZnkVdYdPPaKbDTSLKCBnafGBz1m5oiZJG9xztqB6WUBf3DrNZHW6xOuHgJ7LBJDLTF365vapnwmkh4=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br />At the turf's destination, I had laid the stone edging sections into a curve, as a rough guide between what we were leaving to the weeds and
where we wanted the lawn to be. Our sloppily cut turf filled about half of the area to my relief and to my daughter's withering pronouncement: "You made it worse." <br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhY6QFH1U0dTZ0bQq52KRiZaBezyZRKfar6zj5waciTR2nZK8Wji5h0kyXwqFlbkmJWc8uK_AFgo3l4eRXn_VOkBoinaP5ahWepB_5hJevqS_-GteGx7nlBrRQSRCFjFn_No-e68ibmKUCpyQ4jCOvQMD2NAg307cCJ14Og1GlZh1DjQjSF13j-9Cg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhY6QFH1U0dTZ0bQq52KRiZaBezyZRKfar6zj5waciTR2nZK8Wji5h0kyXwqFlbkmJWc8uK_AFgo3l4eRXn_VOkBoinaP5ahWepB_5hJevqS_-GteGx7nlBrRQSRCFjFn_No-e68ibmKUCpyQ4jCOvQMD2NAg307cCJ14Og1GlZh1DjQjSF13j-9Cg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a><br /></p><p>Strictly speaking, the time to lay turf is in spring when the new growth will help the grass establish itself. However, there are a million (my conservative estimate) garden jobs that are best done in spring, so by necessity, some of them must be done out of season. </p><p>As 90% of my garden maintenance is weeding and at least 50% of <i>that</i> is pulling grass out of every part of my garden that isn't lawn, I figured that I would only need the tiniest fraction of grass to survive in order to colonise the new ground. Even if all the turf died, I was pretty sure new grass would take it over within six months.</p><p>While I was not hugely invested in nurturing the displaced grass, I did time it right before a week of forecast rain, since the internet was emphatic about daily watering. That week turned into a very wet month, but on a dry day a week later, I cut two more strips of turf, which just about filled out the rest of the area (or close enough). <br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitQw4M_v09TFD5rxSIU8SypMPz576iwHDJ0lWBrz2vr5FP9AUcETkNAb0r4X8BQNLtrPMrSg82KCgcq6ELwIJBX8emALC8-ilKbwLzcdjEFqVCJcR9t7vWxOaeZ9lgeiw1tk78vZGqtI7PWhtPnl9yP4K3DPoMm-2Lawu93ktL-KtqSPeNM871ydc=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitQw4M_v09TFD5rxSIU8SypMPz576iwHDJ0lWBrz2vr5FP9AUcETkNAb0r4X8BQNLtrPMrSg82KCgcq6ELwIJBX8emALC8-ilKbwLzcdjEFqVCJcR9t7vWxOaeZ9lgeiw1tk78vZGqtI7PWhtPnl9yP4K3DPoMm-2Lawu93ktL-KtqSPeNM871ydc=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p>The original grass was already looking better, and the new grass came up much more easily, probably due to the rain softening the ground.</p><p>One section of the stone edging was half against the flower bed and half against the lawn. I solved that problem by cutting out an extra triangle of turf to extend the border, though it meant more crowbar work to get up the stone bricks that served as edging between border and lawn. Predictably, when I replaced them, they weren't long enough for the new line. I've popped some other stones there as a temporary measure, while I keep an eye out for something that matches the bricks. (Please interpret "temporary measure" as lasting in excess of two years.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsb4bQta-Wn5d2O8dNcd30blLL1KjsYq2MIGudqSmOBe3kIGm9iF_5Jd89wTUeMaxn6p7OmIhLEyLSYqtROYlE6RXWCF9GxaExbcNrJ6irwhGdZuMxq-AIQU4vj_Wz1YBjYMbE9EG_qXJCrhvWD6Povk7BF1jLN1XL5tiLF3Hwea_ujss8NuyI5Mc=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgsb4bQta-Wn5d2O8dNcd30blLL1KjsYq2MIGudqSmOBe3kIGm9iF_5Jd89wTUeMaxn6p7OmIhLEyLSYqtROYlE6RXWCF9GxaExbcNrJ6irwhGdZuMxq-AIQU4vj_Wz1YBjYMbE9EG_qXJCrhvWD6Povk7BF1jLN1XL5tiLF3Hwea_ujss8NuyI5Mc=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>The relaid turf is very uneven and there's still a discrepancy between the levels of the lawn, the relaid turf and the bare ground. I'm going to let the weather, roots and worms sort that out, crossing fingers that it will be stable enough by the time we start mowing again in spring. (We need to mow already, but we're procrastinating.) </p><p>In due course, I'll remove the loose edging sections as well, and we'll just maintain that boundary with the mower, which is already what we do with the bamboo. The pathway between lawn and the paving on the other side of the shed remains indeterminate ground cover, which I'll figure out with selective weeding.<br /></p><p>My favourite aspect of gardening is that you do a project part of the way then let nature take its course for a bit. It goes beautifully with my brand of ADHD.</p><p>Letting nature take its course is less of an option with the patch of bare earth we'd left at the front of the lawn. As said above, the vague plan is to put in a pond next year. What are we going to do for the intervening twelve months?<br /></p><p>To start with, we've built a temporary compost heap. We'd found a pile of bricks in the garage and another on the terrace behind the greenhouse, while an old mesh door had been discarded down the side of the garden fence. (I'm not sure what this door was used for, but it's in near-perfect condition.) We stacked the bricks loose to make the sides and propped the door up against them to create a back wall, which I pull out to turn the pile. </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidUtqpNcq-xEcD1h6DaQdabrZWE1j2JA2IIlkgNQUr0EgOnkWgCN7F35DdxpPXQ7759AvPYMIUFAtFodioqNSk-4ICaKIy0QydT5YUvjgYN_cMxzpgOLTPMb9xaQLedEpkKKsW3zW4qVeUsT48yxDgBxwmOQ6SqCAzKqR2G9vJ94kMCCrcznJLNzI=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEidUtqpNcq-xEcD1h6DaQdabrZWE1j2JA2IIlkgNQUr0EgOnkWgCN7F35DdxpPXQ7759AvPYMIUFAtFodioqNSk-4ICaKIy0QydT5YUvjgYN_cMxzpgOLTPMb9xaQLedEpkKKsW3zW4qVeUsT48yxDgBxwmOQ6SqCAzKqR2G9vJ94kMCCrcznJLNzI=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The door falls over with every gust of wind. One might argue it's
totally irrelevant, and I removed it in this week of Storms
Dudley, Eunice and Franklin. Our casually laid bricks, however, have
withstood the gales admirably from their sheltered position.<br /><br />It's not a thing of beauty, but in the cold,
wet winter months, having a compost heap right off the patio is much
appreciated. I have a vague intention of moving it come spring, but I
don't have a place in mind, so it's very possible we'll have
rotting organic matter in the foreground of our view all summer.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga_DMisePDCfgs_VZZlIbihvtptKsm-AiXrSGrfaGJyq_lD6w8L5EcBZHNrGnrJU6YcQn9iC2tTC-tOx2ZtHTgbMJ4-tY92UMHD_Dv7DclBGavuFtZooukBNLhZmCQLpXVE-9wNpdlocUVWQKC_IACQf0UIdu9iF937K-FiiStvHr41Xeyt_5cwC0=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga_DMisePDCfgs_VZZlIbihvtptKsm-AiXrSGrfaGJyq_lD6w8L5EcBZHNrGnrJU6YcQn9iC2tTC-tOx2ZtHTgbMJ4-tY92UMHD_Dv7DclBGavuFtZooukBNLhZmCQLpXVE-9wNpdlocUVWQKC_IACQf0UIdu9iF937K-FiiStvHr41Xeyt_5cwC0=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Some of our old flowerpots have two year old tulip bulbs stubbornly coming back up in defiance of every gardening website I've read, so I've popped those next to the compost heap to cover the last bit of bare ground. I'm gambling that I'll remember to come back to this area before the weeds re-landscape it. (The odds are not in my favour.)</p><p>As I keep forgetting to take pictures of the early spring flowers coming up, I'll leave you with the comparison shots:<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1504" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhqqNkJ1_H2_aPhEx9qVJPeXE5sodHvXwBy64SAdRdMeQ4doM0rutd-VtDz4YxAOOkIv6c8wwPpRSkURmkggHm5BsGO88iRNzWgNIU1SK3XSIowY02UYNWtLE2cywYrSo4KA0u9G2rjsN8Wm4OQ1_RnPA_4YzgvGTVswud-vOuRAwx1gZQ_VswH-IU=w400-h266" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One Year Ago<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1Joza84OfUTgBG2gKvMuW_0F-WIDItqKHNRu-PWBer8RFRhYk_II9jasChnPTz3GF4Zw4x6C-5S2DmN-1qK_nwQ5vXkvAu71roHI-KZr7e40ZhgFzXZ6RQlv9LzA2uMCD2g8sl86LZZJ5OFfsVHD5M6yL35kEQ1wxGOjpDbmqsQIlRjofTL_h_1M=s2752" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1734" data-original-width="2752" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1Joza84OfUTgBG2gKvMuW_0F-WIDItqKHNRu-PWBer8RFRhYk_II9jasChnPTz3GF4Zw4x6C-5S2DmN-1qK_nwQ5vXkvAu71roHI-KZr7e40ZhgFzXZ6RQlv9LzA2uMCD2g8sl86LZZJ5OFfsVHD5M6yL35kEQ1wxGOjpDbmqsQIlRjofTL_h_1M=w400-h253" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Week<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: left;">I am absolutely cheating by taking the current picture on a sunnier day to make it look better than it is, and I am unrepentant.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-11551717146662804762022-02-06T17:18:00.001-05:002022-02-06T17:18:18.904-05:00Secret Gardening<p></p><p>Over the past few months, I've attempted to write a blog but never finished. The whole life thing is going backwards, and I haven't felt like chronicling my ongoing failures. Any self-respecting novelist would fast forward to the turning point of the saga, with a couple of paragraphs in which the protagonist reflects on the bleakness of the intervening years and what they've lost along the way. <br /></p><p></p><p>Reflecting on bleakness in real time is tedious, but blogging is therapeutic for me. Fortunately, I'm not an influencer, and I don't have a brand to maintain. So now and for the foreseeable future, this is a Gardening Blog.</p><p>The garden has been the silver lining of my unemployment: a fantastically constructive diversion that lets me escape from my issues while still feeling like I'm making progress with something. It's a fully landscaped, rampantly overgrown jungle of native and exotic plants, which I am trying to mould into something that suits <i>us</i>.</p><p> </p><p>The story of my garden really begins in 2001, when the house was bought by a retiree who had travelled extensively during the course of her career and wished to recreate various garden styles she had seen overseas. Based on what lies over the neighbour's hedge, I presume the original garden was just a simple slope of grass, with perhaps a tree or two, and the inevitable paved rectangle of patio at the back door. Under the Retiree's supervision, the grassy slope became a geometric series of tiers with themed flowerbeds separated by a gridwork of paths that would make a Roman proud.<br /></p><p>However, over the next fifteen years, the Retiree's health declined, and she was unable to tend her garden. The ornamental plants that survived expanded well beyond their designated territory while native plants doggedly reclaimed ground. </p><p>The next owners were a young family, keen to have a go at the wilderness. They tidied up the main paths, eliminated some hazards, planted some fruit trees and defined the outdoor spaces they wanted. When they moved out, the mother thoughtfully left a letter detailing what she knew about the garden: a starting guide for the new owners. Us.<br /></p><p>Here is the garden when we took it over, brown and dormant in midwinter.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIdBOYgmpeEIBWT7LbsqdPnWLkk6yGnPJdbrBdLw9ScTZiv5QvoRnJiR40Cq_5S3QjnUePBvCyyr7_EV8MX7OoSisbpAqKkx-zGyqFaWk2-5gsSSNBcLy3bbSGV-e4sBdczu96_uDZZbbJmfS8_m_HkW4vVrqzIjXvCXY5dzVLHDpHCzpayCPjNHY=s1504" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1504" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIdBOYgmpeEIBWT7LbsqdPnWLkk6yGnPJdbrBdLw9ScTZiv5QvoRnJiR40Cq_5S3QjnUePBvCyyr7_EV8MX7OoSisbpAqKkx-zGyqFaWk2-5gsSSNBcLy3bbSGV-e4sBdczu96_uDZZbbJmfS8_m_HkW4vVrqzIjXvCXY5dzVLHDpHCzpayCPjNHY=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Spoiler alert, the Family was <i>much</i> better at keeping everything tidy than I am.</p><p>The Retiree left a legacy of hydrangeas and roses... I seem to discover one or the other every month. (OK, some of them are probably ones I found before and forgot about; the point is, there are enough for that!) The Family's garden told a tale of children at play: I have a small collection of plastic toys that I've excavated from flower beds including a shark and a dinosaur. Also the swing on the pergola which was a stroke of genius.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiX4gI2zw8dsczTadFXMwzdWhgcgaDiRfPiB8sPSHZeWYPQgL1pw4MPtKKEOTArMZ2s3r8_YQ89puFc32GAHbfPgB9tLoCqXNGOohbW9wzy0mUKtPvJXr-182IeJVdfgpLcTt-dNJVyqlsfujzL1yC_X4P3wuLAY8PRSNWE8YikXkJZddV8ltmjRqE=s2736" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiX4gI2zw8dsczTadFXMwzdWhgcgaDiRfPiB8sPSHZeWYPQgL1pw4MPtKKEOTArMZ2s3r8_YQ89puFc32GAHbfPgB9tLoCqXNGOohbW9wzy0mUKtPvJXr-182IeJVdfgpLcTt-dNJVyqlsfujzL1yC_X4P3wuLAY8PRSNWE8YikXkJZddV8ltmjRqE=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>The pergola leads from the lawn to the terrace at the back of the garden. For the Retiree, this was the site of an ornamental pond; for the Family, it was the location for a greenhouse; for Me it's the secret base of the briars that have annexed all land within six feet of the back fence. On occasion, I sally forth with my loppers, and the ensuing carnage results in thorny cuttings all over the terrace. Most are swept into the garden waste bag, but many escape my broom by falling into the cracks of the paving stones. In other words, the terrace is a booby-trapped no-man's land, where even the cat refuses to walk.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH6uT22SM0XarRaAou1_MG90nnLwrXondb25X0WpL73dVmIfRThlNN0AqO8JgMh713tETNimOI1Gxz37WtDofAqnzXR2Ky629sL6n_4BRBR7u9iDIMOWDYbZv2gzJWADmAvsjkJySIOCov9x-YL_HtOVU3DByp1BNUZ_ye0TE2cZ1bhojhfwRXrig=s2736" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgH6uT22SM0XarRaAou1_MG90nnLwrXondb25X0WpL73dVmIfRThlNN0AqO8JgMh713tETNimOI1Gxz37WtDofAqnzXR2Ky629sL6n_4BRBR7u9iDIMOWDYbZv2gzJWADmAvsjkJySIOCov9x-YL_HtOVU3DByp1BNUZ_ye0TE2cZ1bhojhfwRXrig=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>The Briars (mostly rambling roses but some brambles have enlisted as well) would probably take over the entire garden, but they're in a stand-off with the Wild Wood that is, in theory, an ornamental border along the fence. I assumed it was a single row of large shrubs and trees, until my parents peered into it and spotted camellias blooming at the back. We cut down a large box shrub to reveal them... sort of.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6vam8oVmcMAPCcmYqBTOrHvHZTNaa9HSXeaxObajsSw1ln8OM4KiTtVrjRGbovd1iXqV5OR61Ea_33ihvymD73Dxm50lAB48T9qM7G68qYQWEYisMDZl6cq91uSfi4MqnuDAMe4q1TWm162VU9TZ57kWngotlIbAoOAEvnB1Gow1nAH7O1Az7ieg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6vam8oVmcMAPCcmYqBTOrHvHZTNaa9HSXeaxObajsSw1ln8OM4KiTtVrjRGbovd1iXqV5OR61Ea_33ihvymD73Dxm50lAB48T9qM7G68qYQWEYisMDZl6cq91uSfi4MqnuDAMe4q1TWm162VU9TZ57kWngotlIbAoOAEvnB1Gow1nAH7O1Az7ieg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> They were clearly planted for winter colour, but they were barely visible and struggling for light. By summer, when the weigela had leafed and blossomed, it was even worse. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfvyAg_GTAqmOq6vEAJObZiZgryduXtGkLrwerKOOUrG2Az6NVVnbs3NPkOeSo1tyZxK6ucba_eQZ3lOP3cvzbtDhaLXDKdenGY8D1UYVwkAf-SRhf5xnP9CWDEx6u4q88oXNKLtbCtaU6dzlYNRsUHiq0nUL3bbHYWYnTecBlBFMz4pTbpAXIF10=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfvyAg_GTAqmOq6vEAJObZiZgryduXtGkLrwerKOOUrG2Az6NVVnbs3NPkOeSo1tyZxK6ucba_eQZ3lOP3cvzbtDhaLXDKdenGY8D1UYVwkAf-SRhf5xnP9CWDEx6u4q88oXNKLtbCtaU6dzlYNRsUHiq0nUL3bbHYWYnTecBlBFMz4pTbpAXIF10=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>A year later, I still haven't made it to the camellias, I still have to google the spelling of weigela, and I honestly have no idea what's in the very back corner as any path is barred by a wall of holly and bay tree. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmDtEj33qDQagjoyT08s-XGs6GVzVU0Y6mcPk7Ii7CIXvSQ-hdRza_1ZitcvR4436lGp0PfJ1luJarybGjkN6IT9z542p0FuKpP9wQq6gIrGvisS1dgUc8yqvpccj75hgdPLXncAkb1Q-6I-LJy6Pxa2p1eoNbqHpkisofYyS5hzA6JEiiNL_4C_8=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhmDtEj33qDQagjoyT08s-XGs6GVzVU0Y6mcPk7Ii7CIXvSQ-hdRza_1ZitcvR4436lGp0PfJ1luJarybGjkN6IT9z542p0FuKpP9wQq6gIrGvisS1dgUc8yqvpccj75hgdPLXncAkb1Q-6I-LJy6Pxa2p1eoNbqHpkisofYyS5hzA6JEiiNL_4C_8=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>I recently pulled a three metre rose briar out of the tangle. The proper dramatic convention would have been for some clue to the mysteries beyond to emerge with it, snagged upon the thorns: a bone, a priceless artefact, a note from a long-lost castaway.... Sadly, my rambling roses are habitually inconsiderate and failed to bring back the loot. <br /></p><p><br />While the Briars and the Wild Wood remain disputed territory, the young family made the rest of the garden safely accessible, even if the flower beds are still wildly overcrowded in summer. Between the pergola and the Wild Wood stands the Scarlet Grove a.k.a. the Bloody Grove a.k.a. the Emo Grove. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi00rJWLTnVTAXI21vRYlH_zPGhvX1IJdi9AAerCO3ygGKPiTWARgodPFD73pTmls7mSxManGZyPQNq2a0RugDzDyea9estka6shmXA6D4CcoWkGWiRN4lSPGT6pqgjghQzEE5jY5ResMwKiP9wEL16EvDmQI7HlNX2flNNAUIoR2-V0f6wHucVANA=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi00rJWLTnVTAXI21vRYlH_zPGhvX1IJdi9AAerCO3ygGKPiTWARgodPFD73pTmls7mSxManGZyPQNq2a0RugDzDyea9estka6shmXA6D4CcoWkGWiRN4lSPGT6pqgjghQzEE5jY5ResMwKiP9wEL16EvDmQI7HlNX2flNNAUIoR2-V0f6wHucVANA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p> All summer long, it's a blaze of reds and hot pinks, which effectively
draw the eye when you're looking up the garden from the conservatory or patio. See the below picture, taken from the patio two months later, when the lantern tree was fading but (to its right) the poppies were in neon bloom.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieFcpX5Bv9in6jJJErMt5785_u_I91GnHwtErD9xZWNEuQp1QSsrqxk-wvedLVnnoqR4JAf0pAJrisTc8Qmg_rw4B4wT4vQ7Qp1Zsk1YVIN-UWExkvDNFce3kOQjEw5H9ZMT6AYjSCVpfacU4BKbt3kyy76SlpKjoa4E1Yr_pR39RacJC1FPzC7R0=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieFcpX5Bv9in6jJJErMt5785_u_I91GnHwtErD9xZWNEuQp1QSsrqxk-wvedLVnnoqR4JAf0pAJrisTc8Qmg_rw4B4wT4vQ7Qp1Zsk1YVIN-UWExkvDNFce3kOQjEw5H9ZMT6AYjSCVpfacU4BKbt3kyy76SlpKjoa4E1Yr_pR39RacJC1FPzC7R0=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>A sea of ornamental grass (and random individual flowers, struggling to stay afloat) divides the lawn area from the landscaping, concealing the gravel paths. We've named it Trog's Savannah, because he used to love sitting around there, chewing on the grasses and basking in the sunlight. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs70uVR2pF3orWJseZtdDSmxjOz7IH0F0Y2T8v6Dpzi__38DtgXC2LsBmdx-JZz7qdt4367PbH9IQ1PQ6ddXRnUQa0NUN02FIIspnLWS2O2mqcMVdkIMAxQBIngUCQQYbcB1UGX3f3GrtdHA5HBlboEoJhSA4Ftf7v7i03PTGXrtBhMF_QGsp2uVE=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs70uVR2pF3orWJseZtdDSmxjOz7IH0F0Y2T8v6Dpzi__38DtgXC2LsBmdx-JZz7qdt4367PbH9IQ1PQ6ddXRnUQa0NUN02FIIspnLWS2O2mqcMVdkIMAxQBIngUCQQYbcB1UGX3f3GrtdHA5HBlboEoJhSA4Ftf7v7i03PTGXrtBhMF_QGsp2uVE=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br />The Retiree had a shed with attached greenhouse between the grasses and the lawn. The shed is still in use, but the Family tore the old greenhouse down as it was in dangerous disrepair. Over its foundation, they laid down mulch to create a play area for their children. My kids being older, we weren't sure what to do with the space, so we put down our pond-in-a-pot and stacked random garden stones (mostly found in the garage) around it. By the end of the summer, the whole area had been claimed by a jungle of giant weeds; one of this year's tasks is to excavate our own pond.<br /><p></p><p>In front of the mulch is a small lawn, which brings us back to the first picture, because I don't have an updated overview: </p><p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIdBOYgmpeEIBWT7LbsqdPnWLkk6yGnPJdbrBdLw9ScTZiv5QvoRnJiR40Cq_5S3QjnUePBvCyyr7_EV8MX7OoSisbpAqKkx-zGyqFaWk2-5gsSSNBcLy3bbSGV-e4sBdczu96_uDZZbbJmfS8_m_HkW4vVrqzIjXvCXY5dzVLHDpHCzpayCPjNHY=s1504" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1504" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIdBOYgmpeEIBWT7LbsqdPnWLkk6yGnPJdbrBdLw9ScTZiv5QvoRnJiR40Cq_5S3QjnUePBvCyyr7_EV8MX7OoSisbpAqKkx-zGyqFaWk2-5gsSSNBcLy3bbSGV-e4sBdczu96_uDZZbbJmfS8_m_HkW4vVrqzIjXvCXY5dzVLHDpHCzpayCPjNHY=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></p><p>The lawn is a nice space for sitting on (but not a huge mowing commitment), with interest provided by ever more borders. The Retiree must be responsible for the inexplicable stand of bamboo (kept effortlessly out of shot by the egocentric spindle tree), but the front and rear flowerbeds may have been partly replanted by the Family: there are quite a few herbs and tactile plants popular in modern sensory gardens for young children.</p><p> </p><p>Up until I acquired this secretive beast of a garden, I thought I didn't like gardening and wasn't any good at it. My chief (only) asset was my avidly horticultural parents, and it was on the strength of this resource that I took the plunge and bought the house. They have proved invaluable for plant identification and as an interim source of garden tools. Most of my house maintenance expenses have been on buying the necessary equipment to manage the garden.<br /></p><p>Fortunately the most difficult and expensive part has been done for me. Thanks to the retiree, I've inherited a
full collection of plants laid out to provide colour and interest year
round, all of which are hardy enough to survive neglect, along with
literal tonnes of landscaping material (which has fortunately been
distributed in smaller weights throughout the garden). With so many resources at my disposal, my creativity has run wild, and after a year of furious internet-based self-education, I'm feeling ambitious....</p><p> </p><p>There's a favourite quote of mine that I've always used figuratively. Now I'm taking it literally, revelling in a hobby without deadlines.* <br /></p><p></p><blockquote><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>"Live as if you are going to die tomorrow; Garden as if you are going to live forever." <br /></b></span></span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
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<![endif]--></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span> <span> </span><span> </span></span>– </span>Rudyard Kipling</b></span></span><br /></blockquote><p></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">* NB: Gardening is technically full of deadlines: tasks that must be done by a certain time of year or at a specific stage of the plant's development. I'm just ignoring them, secure in the knowledge that if the garden's survived this long, it can survive me.</span></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-36621515588567075342021-09-23T17:15:00.006-04:002021-09-23T17:16:50.274-04:00Goodbye to a Mog<p> This month, we said goodbye to our cat, Trogdor, after 17 years.</p><p> Ever since we got the cats, I've had that fear at the back of my mind, knowing that someday I would most likely have to make the decision that it was their time to go and wondering how on earth I would know when it was the right one. As it turned out, it was very easy.</p><p> Trog was sick for a long time, a good year of gradual but obvious decline: vomiting frequently, losing weight and diminishing his range of movement. The vets finally detected the stomach cancer in August, but I already knew something was very wrong. By that time, he was only eating liquids and moving from his food in the utility room to his bed in the living room, with occasional sojourns to the conservatory. </p><p>He no longer climbed to his "cave" on the cat tree for a rest. Instead he started using the cushions on the floor that his sister Meg more typically slept on. One day, I gave the kids a challenge to build a cat fort on the living room rug. My son stuck Trog's cushion in a cardboard box and wrote "Fort Mediocre" on it. I berated him for his half-hearted effort, but Trog took to his new floor cave immediately, spending almost all his time in there when not begging for more cat soup.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxQue1-4bKJbkCT1DefNKVVgflAmdnYAaXWleUfSCs2Ej5vCiKS2bACpl1-u2cJ_wXqB3sEGX7JtQkGFpFZ9v4_81g50DPd_ahrIRrly30AG-_0utGdY30WysU6nsfFjNRHvTXSBKKvhY/s1273/IMG_2306.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="955" data-original-width="1273" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxQue1-4bKJbkCT1DefNKVVgflAmdnYAaXWleUfSCs2Ej5vCiKS2bACpl1-u2cJ_wXqB3sEGX7JtQkGFpFZ9v4_81g50DPd_ahrIRrly30AG-_0utGdY30WysU6nsfFjNRHvTXSBKKvhY/s320/IMG_2306.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />The worst part was when I realised he was rarely sleeping. Gone were the days of seeing him blissfully contorted in slumber; instead, he would be curled in place with eyes open, his chin lowered but his head still up. He was in too much pain. Even to lie down, he would hesitate first, bracing himself. He did the same thing before using the litter tray.<br /><p></p><p>He was still drawing comfort from us, occasionally coming to the sofa to cuddle up to me; sometimes he'd purr as he did so, but it wasn't his vigorous, loving purr. A cat's purr can mean: "I'm in pain; be gentle with me." If he lay on me or against me, in those last weeks, I could never bear to move him after he'd gone through the ordeal of lying down. I must have spent a cumulative week or more over the summer, just sat on the sofa to let the cat draw what comfort he could from me.</p><p>I don't know when the last headbutt was. That was always his signature gesture of affection, the hard ramming of his head into your face, purring furiously all the while. There were times when he would give me that gaze that usually preceded a headbutt, but he couldn't follow through with the move. It was usually my target when he was sick: I would know Trog was himself again if he was headbutting, but this time, I knew there wouldn't be any more.</p><p>After the initial diagnosis, we went through a determined or desperate few weeks of medication in the hopes of alleviating his symptoms, of restoring him to his quality of life for a some months. One day, it hit me that it wasn't working, and when the vets confirmed it, I knew it was time. It was his inability to sleep that I couldn't bear. I hated seeing him unable to do more than sit with his pain, and the thought of him alone every night with it was worse.</p><p>That was Friday, and I almost had him put down that afternoon. In the end, we waited until Monday because the children's father wanted to be there. He was the one who named Trogdor after the internet meme-before-memes. Trog had always been 'his' cat, and Meg 'mine', to the point that when we separated, I suggested he take Trog with him. (It was a genuine offer, but I'm relieved he declined. Trog has been a big part of the last few years, and a constant loving presence in a time when I've needed all the emotional support I could get.) </p><p>While having their dad visit was an extra source of stress for me, his presence made a silver lining out of a bad occasion for the kids, and Trog was happy to see him. (So was Meg, who unusually spent a lot of time sat on his lap.)<br /></p><p>Because Trog could still be distracted from his pain, I was OK letting him have that extra few days to say goodbye. In retrospect, I'm very glad we did. His digestive system behaved itself, and we showered him with love, affection and all the random treats he would eat. (Plus the ones he didn't eat but Meg kept from going to waste.) His dad had the bright idea of getting him some fresh fish, which he wolfed down ecstatically, even though it was solid.</p><p>His last week had been one of wet and gloomy weather, but between showers that weekend, we took him out to the patio for some extra stimulation and attention. On his last day, Monday, it was finally dry again and I encouraged him onto the lawn. He hadn't been on grass in weeks, but we sat there despite the damp, and he lay down and watched his sister go sniffing around the garden for about ten minutes. Then he carefully got up and walked shakily back to Fort Mediocre.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Gj_oOzWldSNpzjJ0EMbynANmLdCQ9hramQ5erRc-ZOUWio93dTBYE19pOHlF7oMcP7DZUmqUIHN7JNtC2lPt_lZ7zHG2rBheFc3syYAAZWVuPI28l1ywet90GlxqSXnxri4DxULaSek/s2736/P1050469.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Gj_oOzWldSNpzjJ0EMbynANmLdCQ9hramQ5erRc-ZOUWio93dTBYE19pOHlF7oMcP7DZUmqUIHN7JNtC2lPt_lZ7zHG2rBheFc3syYAAZWVuPI28l1ywet90GlxqSXnxri4DxULaSek/w400-h266/P1050469.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>The best memory of that last day for me was when he came to me on the sofa. He fell asleep, deeply enough to dream. For the first time in ages, for the last time, I felt that warm, relaxed weight, twitching in dream-running... if only for a few minutes. He twitched violently enough to wake himself up with a whimper. I soothed him, and he settled back down immediately, but he didn't sleep again.</p><p>By their choice, the children didn't make the final trip to the vet with us, saying goodbye at the car instead. Their father came, so there were two of us by Trog's side. Covid regulations meant we had to wait out in the car park as Trog was prepared for the injection. It was an awful wait, and when we were allowed to enter the room directly via a side door, we had to wear masks, so we looked strange to Trog. But he knew us by sound and smell and that, I hope, was enough.<br /><br />The injection is set up so that the anaesthesia takes effect before the lethal stuff. Seeing his head droop down to the table brought an unexpected flood of relief and gratitude: all I had wanted was to see him rest, to sleep. When he became still a moment later, my heart clenched, but I'm so grateful that his final experience was that of sleep at last.</p><p>The children coped really well with it. I was so scared of how they would react; they hadn't understood the severity of his symptoms to the same extent. However, they had seen them and knew that all the happy things that made him <i>Trog </i>were already gone. Their Dad stayed through Tuesday and we all had a lot of time to reminisce about our lives with Trog: the escapades and the love.</p><p>It was harder watching Meg's reaction. Although she wasn't affectionate towards her brother and rarely interacted him, they'd become more comfortable around each other in their old age, and she had been much more tolerant of him in the past few weeks, making concessions with food and resting places that she never would have done before.<br /><br /> She didn't notice at first that we had come back without Trog, but that evening, she looked into Fort Mediocre and everything else on the living room rug, realising that he wasn't there. Then she sat up and looked from one end of the sofa to the other. This set me to tears and Meg always comforts us when we cry, so she promptly sat down on my lap, but even then, she looked around a little more before focusing on me.<br /><br />On Tuesday, she searched determinedly around the house, even asking me to open the front door so she could sniff the air on that side of the house. On Wednesday, as I made her breakfast, she stood looking into the hall, waiting to see if he would appear for his share. I had picked up Fort Mediocre because I couldn't bear her looking in it; my son cut the Fort Mediocre sign out of it, to keep as a memento, and dropped the rest of the box back on the floor. Meg went back into it and started scratching furiously, dragging up Trog's smell.<br /></p><p>Fortunately, that was the end of it. She's taking her duties as a newly single cat seriously though: we're seeing a lot more of her now that she's decided she can have twice as much attention.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHVGDuuFHtynsk-5q0gTn8iLk9RzjIU2bCWbPkzFWyyGPnCIlSCrLp6KYL17vMYMV9O0IKLCecHmLhncW8xTonjOmd1qUXA_8gFJz9MjP0WCW-1KoumdyDLS5IgaKAQ52sBojZjhgDCI/s2048/DSC00297.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIHVGDuuFHtynsk-5q0gTn8iLk9RzjIU2bCWbPkzFWyyGPnCIlSCrLp6KYL17vMYMV9O0IKLCecHmLhncW8xTonjOmd1qUXA_8gFJz9MjP0WCW-1KoumdyDLS5IgaKAQ52sBojZjhgDCI/w400-h300/DSC00297.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br />Yesterday was the seventeenth anniversary of bringing the cats home. Almost all of my adult life, all of the children's lives and a very respectable life for a cat. Or nine. Or more... I'm pretty sure Trog lived more than nine. He lived in seven different houses, travelled by plane twice and train once. He spent over two months as a feral cat when we lost him after a move, but he didn't last a week the one time we put him in a cattery: the owner had to call our emergency contact (my parents) to pick him up, as his paws were bleeding from his efforts to get out. He brought live birds, mice and rats into the house, though his specialty was snakes. He never ate reptiles, but he <i>loved </i>playing with them. For years, he woke us up at 3am to be let out, but not before at least five minutes of fierce loving. He was scared of strange people, but he would take on any cat... until he realised he was getting old and gracefully retired to the indoor life.<br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5bKHmVz-HTWBzwbzJtHserrict-BTTkbYyHMXWZfznT9FdrlTIQVXlzfo9_gPi-p9POv7T501S4d0Yqy-Nst0RdRJBzzUihJWyv3x3Fcnq3mZOPXQWvre0nrRpfc6jEpc9JkRvbf7Gg/s2048/P1020377a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5bKHmVz-HTWBzwbzJtHserrict-BTTkbYyHMXWZfznT9FdrlTIQVXlzfo9_gPi-p9POv7T501S4d0Yqy-Nst0RdRJBzzUihJWyv3x3Fcnq3mZOPXQWvre0nrRpfc6jEpc9JkRvbf7Gg/w400-h266/P1020377a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I promised him that our most recent move would be the last, and even if he didn't understand me, I'm glad that I kept that promise. He was already old and sick when we moved in, but he was still himself and he had six months here before the pain took hold. There's a part of the garden I refer to as Trog's Savannah, and my mental image of the conservatory has Trog in it, sprawled in the sunbeams. Today, we collected his ashes. We plan on taking some of them to scatter in the reeds in Virginia where he once claimed his territory. The rest will stay with us, as will the memories, the pictures... </p><p>Trog, you're more than welcome to haunt us any time. Just keep the burnination to a minimum.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXAbF2mrFODSe3dcIV-L7W3ZOU-ak-ssH7y-Sn18YAvD4n3ByCXsZfVu1VbpWpG6nCJtWKW1aMKCwwP8cg4ztwQdUrRl_KIzDEuVrRhgb5CnxkdWAaB3wa3LA0kzpLd4NfncNw4YuJx4/s2048/P1040365.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXAbF2mrFODSe3dcIV-L7W3ZOU-ak-ssH7y-Sn18YAvD4n3ByCXsZfVu1VbpWpG6nCJtWKW1aMKCwwP8cg4ztwQdUrRl_KIzDEuVrRhgb5CnxkdWAaB3wa3LA0kzpLd4NfncNw4YuJx4/w400-h266/P1040365.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-22317997423287781572021-08-10T15:03:00.001-04:002021-08-10T15:03:59.263-04:00Drop Out<p>Last month, I dropped out of my postgraduate course. </p><p>I posted in February about how the children were struggling emotionally... for one of them in particular, mental health has been an ever increasing concern, and it got to the point where I was unable to go into my placement. My course depends heavily on practical work, and while the providers were willing to give me all the leeway they could, I eventually had to acknowledge that there was no way I could complete it.<br /><br /> It's not something parents can talk about, just out of respect for their child's privacy, but mental health issues that impact the rest of the family happen more often than I knew. It's terrifying, because you don't really know what it means, how long it will last or where it will lead. Parental guilt gets ramped right up, because obviously, this is Your Fault. Still, all you can do is deal with it as best you can. In our case, that means I have to be a stay-at-home Mum again, and make the family my priority.</p><p>There's often a societal assumption that women who do this are satisfied with their "choice". They do it because they don't really want to work, they'd rather stay at home and are, in part, using their children as an excuse. After all, if they <i>really </i>cared about their career, they'd find a way to pursue it regardless. There are so many examples of mothers who battled the odds to succeed in their chosen field. <br /><br />Or there's the assumption that although the mother is making a sacrifice, seeing her children thrive is fulfillment enough. In years to come, the grateful child will talk about the mother who gave everything to see that they had a good life, we can all raise a glass to her as a hero, and feel complacent that she has been given due respect.</p><p>For the vast majority of women who find themselves in this sort of situation, either assumption is harmful: they're reasons not to help.<br /><br />Therefore, I would like to make it very clear that I <i>wanted</i> to complete my course. I'm passionate about Early Years, I'm terrified about what this might mean for my future employment prospects and I've always been happier and more self-confident when I'm working, even if only for a few hours a week.<br /></p><p>But I'm the one who made the call that the family would come and live here. If the children need extra support just to cope with their new lives, I have to take full responsibility for that. In our case, that means putting my career back on hold. </p><p> And what of those omnipresent anecdotal examples of women who worked/studied full-time and raised children on their own? Well, every situation has different issues and different resources... or perhaps it's a situation where the mother literally has no option but to put her employment first, because the family needs her income. Unfortunately, a lot of the time, that means she (knowingly) has to put the child in a detrimental situation so that she can work—possibly in a field that is <i>not</i> what she's really interested in. <br /><br />My relevant resource: Spousal maintenance, which lets me get by without my own salary in the short term. I hate depending on that, but it would be irresponsible of me to ignore it.<br /></p><p>Relevant issue #1: Covid, which has overloaded the mental health system. I naively assumed that once we were in the system, I could let the professionals take care of things. Instead, I have to constantly chase people up and coordinate the various support elements to make sure we are moving forwards in a sensible direction... <br /><br />Relevant issue #2: my ADD. Keeping up with the support system is exhausting on its own. Coursework then demanded I switch the brain over to devising a learning sequence on composition of number for four year olds, etc. That switch was a struggle; focusing on actual day-to-day parenting proved impossible. My anxiety and the children's started feeding off each other, the house became increasingly chaotic, and the to-do list piled ever upwards. So I dropped the course, and shifted my mental power and time to our home-life. </p><p>When the family's mental health has improved enough I'll resume the employment hunt. The long term intention is to attempt my course again and hopefully complete it on the second try. A friend of mine who did something similar told me she took three attempts to pass her own course. Twice, she had to drop out due to issues with her children. She wasn't even a single mother! <br /><br />A note to all couples where one partner is taking time off from their career to focus on having / raising children. If at all possible, plan to have a couple of years where that partner can have <i>their</i> career take priority, and the other partner becomes the primary caregiver, the one who stays home as needed or otherwise manages the parenting miscellany (i.e. keeping the kids in the correct size clothes, arranging their social lives and taking them to appointments.) Even if the stay-at-home partner is only going back to work part-time and/or on minimal income, give them practical support until they've got well started. They've earned it.</p><p>As for me, at least my professional skills are transferable when it comes to working on self-care for the family. I don't necessarily know what I'm doing, but I <i>do</i> have a plan. The children have had enough of "Things will get better," so this is a summer of "Things <i>are</i>
better." We're doing those things we keep saying we'll do but never get
around to. From re-starting the children's tennis lessons to renting a
row boat for a half day and having a picnic on the canal.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00NRG_euU5OJ7rHTEtk2rMYkz745o3o_RTAQES3MveQ1Kp5564wDS8T5_LNv6Q1L-Gt1dhBpovKGAfH4clrfIYJrY7nsUorvsJ44f09m3BU1DnClIPyehAZBUjvaj_-Moq0bcJk15vCc/s4608/P1090985.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi00NRG_euU5OJ7rHTEtk2rMYkz745o3o_RTAQES3MveQ1Kp5564wDS8T5_LNv6Q1L-Gt1dhBpovKGAfH4clrfIYJrY7nsUorvsJ44f09m3BU1DnClIPyehAZBUjvaj_-Moq0bcJk15vCc/w400-h300/P1090985.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-care, boat-style<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>As per usual, that's our life: some things are worse and some things are better; some things will get worse and some things will get better. But our life goes on, and I want us to <i>live </i>it.<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-70920890429927264462021-03-15T18:58:00.000-04:002021-03-15T18:58:12.970-04:00Mothering<p>It was Mother's Day this weekend. Which, per tradition, meant that the first thing my daughter did was stumble to her schoolbag and scrabble around until she found the card she'd made for me. My son, however, is now in secondary school, where Mother's Day Card-making is no longer on the curriculum. Getting up slightly later than his sister, it took him a couple of hours to even realise what day it was, so his gift to me was guilt-tripping-fodder... <br /></p><p>Obviously, the kids have gone back to school, though we're still figuring out my son's new bus route. We had the letter explaining his stop and times at Christmas, and I carefully put it away for future referral, so three months later, we have no bloody chance of finding it. I got the info emailed to me from the council, but it's an unmarked stop, school route only, and no other kids get on and off there. My son nearly got run over the first morning when flagging the bus down, and he's yet to get the driver to stop on the way back. Luckily, the next village is less than a mile down the road...</p><p>With such stress factors, it's not surprising Mother's Day almost went forgotten. I should note that their Dad would help them get a card, but as US and UK Mother's Days are on different days, he doesn't necessarily know it's coming. I had barely remembered it myself, and when I had, it was worrying about what to do for my own mother. <br /><br />These days, I don't harbour expectations for Mother's Day. I'm glad I <i>am</i> a Mum, and while it's really touching to get gifts or other sentiment-driven actions, appreciation is meaningless when forced and the kids are really too young to truly understand what I do for them. Nor should they... I'm supposed to be setting them up to lead their own lives, not to be indebted to me. I get plenty of little moments that touch me and make me feel loved throughout the year. They don't make the stress of parenting any easier, but they do make them worth it.</p><p>Anyway, being older than my kids, I'm very aware of my obligations towards my own mother. We're not actually used to being on the same landmass for Mother's Day. We therefore had to celebrate, but taking her out for tea wasn't exactly an option. She suggested we bake her a cake, and I hit the internet with the goal of finding a boozy but easy cake recipe. So on Saturday, we had an excursion to Homeleigh Food Hall in the morning and spent the afternoon in the kitchen, first soaking cherries in brandy, then mixing them into a cake. It failed to rise because I didn't pay close enough attention to the recipe, but that didn't matter, because we finished by pouring the brandy over the cake. </p><p>Last year, with Mother's Day in lockdown, I ordered a puzzle box by post, thinking to give her some at home entertainment. I had severely underestimated the difficulty of the box, and she gave up, putting it away until we could all be together again. Lockdown isn't quite over, but I'm still a single adult household, so we bubbled up a couple of weeks ago. (I've been worried about bubbling with Mum and Dad due to their vulnerability, but they've both had their first vaccinations now, and there have been no new cases local to us in weeks.)</p><p>Long story short, Mum and I spent Mother's Day afternoon eating alcoholic cake and figuring out codes from overly cryptic clues. We only got halfway through the box... we'll have another go at it this weekend, when they come over to help me with the rambling rose that's annexed the back end of the garden and most likely has its sights set on world domination.</p><p>It's odd how productive our weekend was, after a hectic, stressful and exhausting return to school. But that's the worst of having nothing to do all day every day... there's no reason to do anything today instead of tomorrow. When we just have a weekend, we have to make the most of it. I'm still a little worried about keeping up with everything when I make my own return to school (probably next week), but so far, we've only benefited from having more structure—or perhaps more <i>variety</i>—in our lives.<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-14114830026676066812021-02-25T16:43:00.002-05:002021-02-25T16:53:39.398-05:00Lockdown Fatigue<p>The first lockdown was a break, bringing the onslaught of Life to a temporary standstill just as we hit the first gloriously warm spell of the year. The children were in the same class at school and did most of their homeschooling together. The rest of the day was ours to spend as we wanted.<br /><br />The second lockdown almost seemed to pass us by. The schools (and many other businesses) stayed open and I had just started my placement for my postgrad. All three of us left the house every day, interacted with other people and learned new things--save for the two week blip when my son had to self-isolate, but we managed to adapt.<br /><br />This third lockdown has been harder. <br /><br />The children are at two different schools with very different homeschooling systems. My son has to log into the relevant classroom for every period, while my daughter requires a fair amount of attention if she's to do her work properly. While the schools are more prepared for homeschooling now, teachers are still struggling to teach via a medium they've not been trained for and one that renders almost all their training invalid. They can't engage their students with hands on activities or group projects. School is, inevitably, boring.</p><p>The weather's terrible too and with the government finally getting firmer about travel restrictions, we're reluctant to venture too far afield. But it's hard to muster interest for the umpteenth visit to the beach in the wind and rain, or for a walk through rain and mud. Even when I dredge up the motivation to drag the kids out, at least one of them will be groaning the whole time, and then I start snapping. Fresh air and exercise are no relief.</p><p>It's taken a toll on our mental health. At first, I assumed I was doing all right, because I was staying productive with house stuff—until I noticed I was losing weight. I'd all but given up on self-care. House-productivity was just escapism—a constructive form of escapism, doing stuff that needed to be done anyway, but it was a way of procrastinating on everything else because I didn't want to face up to it.<br /></p><p>The mental health issues are even worse for the kids. They've had a rough go of it the last few years: Dad left, Mum was an emotionally volatile mess for two years straight, and they got uprooted from everything they knew and plopped down in a new country to start over. Now, just when things are supposed to be getting better, we have this interminable pandemic.<br /></p><p>Supporting them is what's taking its toll on me. Sometimes it's fine, because I can see the breakdowns coming and I can head it off. Sometimes, I don't see them coming, and I realise too late that I picked the wrong time to get insistent about doing a chore. Then all my plans are wiped out for a few hours as I try to defuse everything. Usually badly, as my brain isn't good at switching tracks from whatever project I was on to focus on human interaction.</p><p>A few weeks back, I posted to Facebook about how I wanted to be something other than Mum for a little while. Some friends offered to video chat with the kids so I could have a break, but that wasn't what I meant. It's not difficult to get time away from the kids; what I miss is being Sarah. </p>Our family doesn't have our support bubble this time around, and we sorely miss that... I miss being a girlfriend as well as a Mum, I miss having somebody who wants to go out for a walk, we all miss having a fresh face to talk to and a different meal to eat. Something that isn't the same as every other day!<p>Socialising in general is something we're badly in need of. They chat with their Dad most days, but that's not getting them out of the parent-child dynamic. My daughter's got a few online friends on various games (she's allowed to be on game-chats on the understanding that I may glance at her screen at any time to check everything's OK), but my son isn't into net-chat, and I'm not active in any online community lately... probably the first time in my adult life that that's been the case. We don't do many video calls either. </p><p>We should do. There's no excuse. I have family and friends who'd be willing, and there's no end of virtual events to try, if we want something other than a basic chat. It would do all of us the world of good to talk regularly to other people. But it only happens every now and then, even with me thinking about how good it would be for us.</p><p>(One friend, a mother herself, understood my afore-mentioned Facebook post exactly, and the two of us have occasional video-chats, mostly framed around
watching an episode or two of Bridgerton and then discussing it, letting
me live another side of myself for a while. But, because we're both parents and Life is a Thing, these happen infrequently and often get postponed. They don't benefit the children either.) </p><p>My vague theory is that as the lone adult of the household, I get tired of being the one to set everything up, to always be the one encouraging others to participate in my choice of activity—often with very poor returns of enthusiasm. <br /><br />At any rate, I'm doing a bad job of keeping up my end of the social network, and the whole household is suffering as a result. <br /><br />As gloomy as this is, our life-rollercoaster isn't a white knuckle ride. We're not getting the high highs, but nor are the lows <i>too</i> low. Thankfully, this is just a part of our lives it <i>will </i>pass. In another few weeks, the kids at least will be back in school (I haven't figured out yet whether it makes the most sense to return to my course before or after Easter). The weather will have improved. We can meet up with my parents again. By the end of the year, we should be able to hug, to travel, to make more friends...<br /><br />Of course, it's easy for me, with 43 years of living through difficult periods, to have confidence in this being temporary. It's less easy for children, and in the case of my two, I've been saying: "We've just got to get through this difficult bit and then things will get better!" since we came to England in summer 2019.<br /></p><p>Small wonder they're getting a bit suspicious of the whole Hope concept. All I can do is keep trying to find the patience for all three of us.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV5uSi0amHBCBjzlQ038zIAiKjKDygXDqf7I5gaHwRs2p6nRqjIJYbrNXSX3R3pHz0xejxsL7oHbLdfMBK8pSIKHOKajPj_JgXvJC5f7AP5pgPBB3gXrJNeC-usiODUFEP3SpraThzG4/s2736/P1050004.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Sunrise from my bedroom window" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCV5uSi0amHBCBjzlQ038zIAiKjKDygXDqf7I5gaHwRs2p6nRqjIJYbrNXSX3R3pHz0xejxsL7oHbLdfMBK8pSIKHOKajPj_JgXvJC5f7AP5pgPBB3gXrJNeC-usiODUFEP3SpraThzG4/w400-h266/P1050004.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-83040643429951856322021-02-06T14:55:00.000-05:002021-02-06T14:55:41.062-05:00My house<p>Making this house ours has been a leisurely process so far as we find ourselves more focused on schoolwork, but it's already our home. As with all new homes, we're discovering an escalating list of problems now we've moved in, but I'm still so thrilled we found this place. It's perfect for <i>us</i>.<br /><br />I knew we needed a guestroom, even if it was a dining room that we used as a guestroom. I like having people to stay. I'm an introvert, but I enjoy being around other people, and as a single mother, I <i>really</i> appreciate having adult company in the house. </p><p>The house has an extra room downstairs that the sellers were using as a study. I decided I wanted a library more than a study, so I flogged my desk on Facebook Marketplace and put the bookshelves up instead. It's going to require some creative organisation to make it a comfortable bedroom as well, but a sofa bed is on its way. I've always wanted a library and if the idea of bedding down in a roomful of books doesn't appeal to you, you are no friend of mine.<br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAN4gXaOcKNrvSqtkURraT8lpIQ9zY8LixBmhfAKnRGijTQk0hcQWDOG1h5EMCgPeaep4GbITy1hbfyMTf0XcSc3-a9PTgPD3YbXqJ2bX3_blLcTY1mbgMvaYuWRSYSLNdY0yOFvTp4c/s2736/P1050159.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAN4gXaOcKNrvSqtkURraT8lpIQ9zY8LixBmhfAKnRGijTQk0hcQWDOG1h5EMCgPeaep4GbITy1hbfyMTf0XcSc3-a9PTgPD3YbXqJ2bX3_blLcTY1mbgMvaYuWRSYSLNdY0yOFvTp4c/w400-h266/P1050159.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></p><p><br />The other thing we needed was room for our sofa. Our sectional is a good size by American standards, and bloody massive by British ones. Our mover was dumbfounded. I knew from the room measurements there was the physical space for it, but I wasn't sure how it would fit around the door, radiator, kitchen... <br /><br />Thankfully, it looks like it was made for this room, dividing the space beautifully, though I may want to replace the round kitchen table with a rectangular one in due course. I credit the sofa for the cats settling in so quickly. The fact that this was their third move in eighteen months almost certainly helped, but the sofa means home in a way nothing else does, and the cats were purring and confident as soon as they found it.<br /></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-FtB18nzWG9QKK186v5wR3-VpNaORoMlK3QZ_JrKctG6uPytsR86r1g_iW3NMUfzvS0PBBnxyC1bxB5-aICkBcIdw-KjfSypDb29F7cwV7Y19P8Wp7BuOWtDPDdhwkYJCetNdwQ_Ntk/s2736/P1050166.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-FtB18nzWG9QKK186v5wR3-VpNaORoMlK3QZ_JrKctG6uPytsR86r1g_iW3NMUfzvS0PBBnxyC1bxB5-aICkBcIdw-KjfSypDb29F7cwV7Y19P8Wp7BuOWtDPDdhwkYJCetNdwQ_Ntk/w400-h266/P1050166.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></p><p><br />For the first time, the children have a home with a fireplace! Two in fact, since the one in my bedroom has been left in place, although it's purely ornamental now. The massive fireplace downstairs has been redone and fitted with a
woodburning stove, which we're all getting the hang of using. In this grey, mizzly weather and the repetitive grind of lockdown, it's very nice to curl up on the sofa (cats included) for cosy evenings in front of the fire.</p><p>Upstairs, I have a couple of candles in my grate, and my grandmother's silver pheasants on the 'hearth'. When I was a little girl, those pheasants were permanently falling over on her hearth, and now they can fall over on mine. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxiV2jOrzL0kjbtgFXZfDkNb4hm9Av9TeycAxsz9Gl9Os_PoQOFOYEAowgnzKHujAgCxQzMPknrKkW_IPYZ35WUFbbmMaVO9nlSRqzee7YllCvSUZhWiv_sixDOlTM9o-YbtzD63bqa3A/s2736/P1050128.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxiV2jOrzL0kjbtgFXZfDkNb4hm9Av9TeycAxsz9Gl9Os_PoQOFOYEAowgnzKHujAgCxQzMPknrKkW_IPYZ35WUFbbmMaVO9nlSRqzee7YllCvSUZhWiv_sixDOlTM9o-YbtzD63bqa3A/w400-h266/P1050128.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></div><p><br />I have her old secretary next to it as well. As I said, I didn't want a study. Nan's old-fashioned little fold-out desk is fine for paperwork. I should perhaps buy a new filing cabinet, but for now, I've put everything into a concertina folder. In this era of 'going paperless', we have fewer documents to store after all.<br /> </p><p>My daughter wanted a conservatory. Luckily for her, the owners of twenty years ago followed the home-improvement fad of adding one. However, they were more ambitious than most homeowners who squeezed in a small glassy nook along the patio. The conservatory matches the length of the kitchen and living room, with a deep bay area and two different exits to the outside. <br /><br />I have plans for this to be the 'teenage hangout room' when the kids brings friends over in the future, possibly doubling up as extra sleeping space in the summer months. Ideally, I'd like to put a proper roof on it to make it more usable in cold or hot weather, but owing to its size, I'm not sure I can afford that.<br /><br />For now, the conservatory is acting as a box room, stacked up with the things that we haven't figured out what to do with yet. However, I've kept enough space clear for a sort of nest with the old papasan chair and two recently-gifted giant beanbags. When the sun comes out, it warms up quickly into a luxurious respite for us: cuddling down into the beanbags even as we bask in vitamin D and listen to birds sing... The cats are loving it.<br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaepIc2JDQ7QsS_OpLITX3DRiGRGhnDsdwtcxZsPTAy4Zwmdh5iOz6xDQlQ4GemIkA0sPAtHGTUa9Stecydudk561fcSFaViU3pK8NILrvRS_4xWIPkHawzZBNwnHdP7rX9wpEGPvA-4/s2736/P1050130.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaepIc2JDQ7QsS_OpLITX3DRiGRGhnDsdwtcxZsPTAy4Zwmdh5iOz6xDQlQ4GemIkA0sPAtHGTUa9Stecydudk561fcSFaViU3pK8NILrvRS_4xWIPkHawzZBNwnHdP7rX9wpEGPvA-4/w400-h266/P1050130.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br />The cats are also loving the garden. The flat had a rectangle of grass with no undergrowth for them. Here, we have shrubs galore. Two owners back was a lady who was passionate about exotic gardens, and her legacy is a small fortune in landscaping and lots of different plants.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gxiQJt7wbvTfHMvLmVxLz3fOVf-AWoi60zhrVWTQQQNlJvt9OjaEnilc6g_YDHE2LhLNxU550RNDnfV58CijJtPQ5v4qsqhABHZYhXgA82wYNHrcIvSAUQ4oPcPCQUNBH2l39blVzuQ/s1504/P1050162+%25282%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1504" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gxiQJt7wbvTfHMvLmVxLz3fOVf-AWoi60zhrVWTQQQNlJvt9OjaEnilc6g_YDHE2LhLNxU550RNDnfV58CijJtPQ5v4qsqhABHZYhXgA82wYNHrcIvSAUQ4oPcPCQUNBH2l39blVzuQ/w400-h266/P1050162+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></p><p><br />As far as the mogs are concerned, they like eating the ornamental grasses (and then being sick), and the retaining wall that runs up the side of the garden makes a perfect secret tunnel for them behind the plants.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCeTQWiqYH6Ki5JiaivaHlJRtIVOKKoNqlIHCN0R5FxxNU9OwQ0bZCKFCE3iFMwDWUPeTnISI8gwiapIJeT8W0jVbtZX0f0j_ChOHP6rknya3BiYjYRpYliQKyIh6OXz8aSnQVE4d9pM/s2736/P1050107.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCeTQWiqYH6Ki5JiaivaHlJRtIVOKKoNqlIHCN0R5FxxNU9OwQ0bZCKFCE3iFMwDWUPeTnISI8gwiapIJeT8W0jVbtZX0f0j_ChOHP6rknya3BiYjYRpYliQKyIh6OXz8aSnQVE4d9pM/w400-h266/P1050107.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /><i>I </i>like that they can't get out. Cars don't have to slow down for our hamlet, and they whizz by at 60mph. In our cats' younger days, we could never have lived here. Now that they're old and arthritic, they've no interest in trying to climb the fencing. Though Trog does keep eyeing up the pergola....<br /><br />There's a child's swing on the pergola, which I wasn't expecting the previous owners to leave. My two love it, even if it's a lot tamer than the swing we had in the States. We still have that swing, but there's nothing in the garden with the proper height for it. That's one wish we didn't get, but we're more than willing to make this concession. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ9OlE8GacsXxsAgrvNlOsw6UpuNz_3wyd3Fc9x-7rF2Ffh5WLDY30eif8gMM9HHOa4oPLaYwkgvPlddnklLH99bazY1rj0mUpAKubAKzRzbIzjnJxA4-CMT7LQ9hpJfp6ds4RFTxyKw/s2736/P1050101.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJ9OlE8GacsXxsAgrvNlOsw6UpuNz_3wyd3Fc9x-7rF2Ffh5WLDY30eif8gMM9HHOa4oPLaYwkgvPlddnklLH99bazY1rj0mUpAKubAKzRzbIzjnJxA4-CMT7LQ9hpJfp6ds4RFTxyKw/w400-h266/P1050101.JPG" width="400" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>If I were a fictional character, seeking refuge in Cornwall after a heartbreak, there would be a country lane running from our house to the sea. In reality, nothing that close to the coastline is in our budget, but we're only a few miles from the coast, tucked away from the worst of the summer traffic. Our house is semi-detached rather than a self-contained cottage, but the building is a century old—thankfully much modernised in the last four years—and when we moved in we found a box-file containing the information on all the previous owners.<br /><br />For most of my house's existence, it's been owned by women: a widow and a spinster who held it for almost fifty years until both had died; another who retired here at the beginning of the century and only sold the house when she had to move into a care home. I like knowing that. Knowing that it's been a home to women, to older women who've loved and lost. Their feet wore the grooves in the hallway's stone steps, and now mine will deepen them.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3ybOxinU_O3Z2YqyglGp8BkWEnCZeJ6hbPXVXz0jzQgnwdXOhLJujdA4zgo9sDz1cVLmpNVT0nMkUNYydV2peIeyHuAKTDrYRRs49s9wrc7ylrUZskBA5GywLH6moK8UBUQdS_GLP8g/s1818/IMG_1054.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1818" data-original-width="1818" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3ybOxinU_O3Z2YqyglGp8BkWEnCZeJ6hbPXVXz0jzQgnwdXOhLJujdA4zgo9sDz1cVLmpNVT0nMkUNYydV2peIeyHuAKTDrYRRs49s9wrc7ylrUZskBA5GywLH6moK8UBUQdS_GLP8g/w400-h400/IMG_1054.jpg" width="400" /></a> <br /></p><br /><p><br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-89703251310023336062021-01-16T17:06:00.001-05:002021-01-16T17:06:26.139-05:00Lockdown Hiatus<p> First lockdown of the year! It's somewhere between lockdown one and two. Unlike lockdown two, the schools are closed. Unlike lockdown one, the nurseries are open. Which meant I was supposed to go to school while the children stayed home.<br /><br />Actually, I'm classed as a key worker, even if I'm only a student teacher, so I could have got provision for the children, but as they've been getting some stress issues lately, I opted to defer my course for six weeks so that I could stay home with them (and catch up a bit on research, etc.) </p><p>And unpack! We've settled pretty comfortably into the new house, but we've got a lot of boxes of the archive-or-delete variety as well as a steadily increasing to-do list. We also had our first houseguest, as the kids' Dad came over to spend new year with them. Because of pandemic rules, this meant he spent five days self-isolating with us, before taking a mail-order test... except the test didn't arrive until the sixth day because the center would neither post them in advance nor over the new year, and then he had to wait until the seventh day for a result.</p><p>But it meant he got to spend time with the kids for the first time in almost six months. It also marked a huge breakthrough for the two of us, just to co-exist. Granted, we didn't talk about anything too heavy, and we avoided physical contact for almost his entire stay (we did hug goodbye at the end) but we were able to have a conversation, make eye contact and accept help from each other, which is more than we've been able to do for the past couple of years.<br /><br />I think having the house helped me a lot with that. I kept joking over Christmas that it was the "First of fifty!" It's plausible that I'll live another fifty years <i>and</i> that I could live in this house for the rest of my life. I don't have to, but I could. All my life, I've lived with the expectation that I'd be moving in another few years. There's something very intoxicating about digging in.<br /></p><p>This gives me a vision of my life beyond the kids again. I used to think that when they left home, I'd still have my husband, but when he left me, I struggled to picture my life without the children. Now I can see myself growing old in this house. I don't quite understand why, but that's comforting. I feel more secure with that vision.</p><p></p><p>At any rate, it's let me face him again, and in this pandemic world we live in, it was really useful to actually have another pair of hands around. It would have been a lot harder to clear everything out of the flat without him, and he got our wifi set up so we can do Zoom etc in just about every room now. Definitely handy while we're all locked down!<br /><br />He went back at the beginning of this week, so it's just us and the cats now. Home.<br /><br /><br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-68771674622123286422021-01-01T17:43:00.000-05:002021-01-01T17:43:29.072-05:00Goodbye to a Year<p>2020 has ended. A year that's been weird and hard for the entire globe. A year in which I've been very very happy. A year in which my life aligned with a man's and we grew closer than we ever intended. But now it's 2021 and on Sunday, he moves to Leeds and I stay here.</p><p>It's the end of our relationship, if not so much a break up as the point where our lives diverge. We knew from the start it wouldn't make sense for us to do a long distance relationship. It's not as if he will be back in a year or I will follow him later... I am taking root and he is taking wing. </p><p>Yet for 2020 our lives ran in parallel. <br /><br /><b>Love in the Time of Corona</b><br /><br />The pandemic is a terrible thing, but all bad things work out well for somebody, and that's how it panned out for us. Yes, it was a pain at times (particularly with the whole driving fiasco), but really, I only moan about Covid-19 restrictions because that's the socially acceptable thing to do. They haven't stopped my life from flourishing. Had my dream been to run a pub in Sheffield, that would have been a different matter. But my dream was to work with pre-schoolers in Cornwall. My life has progressed in a year when so many had to put theirs on hold—or saw them shattered completely. I'm grateful for that and humbled by it.</p><p>It also meant my boyfriend stayed down south almost a year longer than intended. It was supposed to be a fairly casual relationship, where we would go out on a ramble somewhere every one to two weeks. Instead, we bubbled up and he became his own part of our family for the past six months. He met my parents, I met his Mum, he was there for me during the driving issues and for the move. We've had long conversations about difficult parts of our lives, supporting each other emotionally as well as practically. </p><p>He's also cooked dozens of meals. As the person who has been responsible for dinner for the past 20 years, I cannot begin to tell you how exciting it is to watch somebody cook for <i>me.</i></p><p>For New Year's, we arranged to have one day of 2021 together. It was freezing up on Dartmoor, but we layered up to explore the geography around Haytor. Ice caused us to fall on our backsides several times, and mist kept blowing in and out, but we climbed rocks and scrambled down crevices without breaking our necks. It was perfect. A very 'us' sort of day and adventure. A day to carry with us as we face a busy year. </p><p></p><p>At the end of our walk, I drove him back to our starting point. I took the bag I had left in his car, we hugged and kissed in the dusk, then I got back into my car and drove away across the moor and home to my family. <br /><br />I may miss him terribly, yet I am where I belong.<br /><br />Our lives will cross again in the future. His parents live down here and he loves the countryside here—we've agreed that if nothing else, we'll meet up for more moor and coastal adventures. However, there's no point in waiting for each other. 2021 will bring its own adventures to each of us. I can wait to hear his, but I won't to live mine.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUxQ14vDSgEUe0uLfRDCFLY-Zwn9-brmofMdTQjHE4VlI0iBC5IceOGzWD_Y9ae3feTFYACTnrOZiY8ybvuyvnKCZy9KrgeqeGDMwNSF5TOvtyYokYEKRAQWRjJ3zG9x1qZ8PflyFkUY/s2736/P1050071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUxQ14vDSgEUe0uLfRDCFLY-Zwn9-brmofMdTQjHE4VlI0iBC5IceOGzWD_Y9ae3feTFYACTnrOZiY8ybvuyvnKCZy9KrgeqeGDMwNSF5TOvtyYokYEKRAQWRjJ3zG9x1qZ8PflyFkUY/w400-h266/P1050071.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-12715786430199235072020-12-18T11:06:00.002-05:002020-12-18T11:06:45.858-05:00A Promise<p style="text-align: center;"> When my marriage ended, <br />Legal professionals took thirteen years, <br />Of memories, love and hopes, <br />And they turned it into a figure, <br />In pounds sterling.</p><p style="text-align: center;">So I took that money, <br />And I bought a house. <br />Now I will fill that house, <br />With memories, love and hopes.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6KqZIH0LAD2ztRWsFZhrlZ0VJcCE41c7PEmU0w9Dr7JvZWjY2LrgvFW0pfFVOISxxK6g9vLubvq1kgCwi4qu7O5-amzqTl6rY1aSeATqQx0Jysh-rwhxBFnZczMTTgc-QcErcZZVz3s/s2048/image0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx6KqZIH0LAD2ztRWsFZhrlZ0VJcCE41c7PEmU0w9Dr7JvZWjY2LrgvFW0pfFVOISxxK6g9vLubvq1kgCwi4qu7O5-amzqTl6rY1aSeATqQx0Jysh-rwhxBFnZczMTTgc-QcErcZZVz3s/w300-h400/image0.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-46518745993850591742020-11-15T17:21:00.000-05:002020-11-15T17:21:00.442-05:00Insanity Week<p> I need to stop referring to what I'm doing, in-self deprecatory fashion, as a "training course." It's a postgraduate degree, and it's a lot of hard work that is not made one jot easier by pandemic limitations.</p><p>The pandemic meant I was late starting my first placement in a nursery, so that the first week ended up being the same week our first written assignment was due. Said written assignment is supposed to be reflecting on how I've implemented what I've learned so far in my work with children. It's not meant to be done after just a few days of working.</p><p>So I knew I was in for a tough week... and then at lunchtime on Monday, I got a call to go and pick up my son as somebody in his school bus bubble had tested positive for Covid. He had to self-isolate for two weeks.</p><p>That was how the school told me. My son got the news when a teacher entered his computer class and told him to gather all his things and leave immediately. "No time to explain." I suppose her thought was not to mention Covid in front of the whole class. My son's thought was that I had died or something similarly cataclysmic.</p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--></p><p>Anyway, according to current British rules, the rest of the household did not have to self-isolate unless my son developed symptoms, so I was faced with the dilemma of whether to leave him home alone for eight hours a day or to delay my placement for another two weeks—not impossible, but it would make it harder for me to complete the course.</p><p></p><p>Then on Tuesday, there was a positive test at my placement and the majority of children and staff had to self-isolate.<br /><br />When the dust settled, I'd had discussions with all parties and arranged that I would stagger my day against my daughter's school day. From Wednesday: </p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I walked my daughter to school in the morning, then I spent a couple of hours at home—in theory, keeping my son company, but in practice hogging the laptop as I worked furiously on my assignment. </li><li>Mid-morning, I'd get my son to help me prepare dinner partway and instruct him on how to cook it, before leaving for work. Ostensibly, he could now use the laptop for his school work; actually, I'm pretty sure it was more like 15 minutes checking in on school stuff and then five hours of terrible video games. </li><li>I'd spend my work day with three other staff and a handful of children, constantly looking for ways anything I did might be relevant for my assignment. <br /></li><li>My daughter would get picked up from school by her friend's dad who would drop her off at home. Both kids then got to enjoy quality sibling time / unfettered screen-time until I got home.<br /></li><li>It was only Thursday that I had to call ahead and tell them to get dinner on, in the end. Wednesday and Friday I made dinner, but that was the only nod to domestic duties before I went back to writing.<br /></li></ul><p>Nothing else got done. I spoke to nobody. I didn't do housework. My brain was completely taken up with coursework, insomnia kicked in... but we had a couple of wins: </p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>I got my assignment submitted whole <i>hours</i> before the deadline of midnight on Friday. I'm highly dubious as to whether it'll pass muster, but the people marking it know my situation, so I'm not going to get kicked off the course either.</li><li>I got home Thursday evening to find dinner (fajitas) on the table. The chicken was cooked perfectly, the tortilla wraps were warm, and everything was dished up waiting for me. The kids got bonus pocket money this week for that.</li></ol><p>Anyway, I spent most of Saturday in a daze... I snapped out of it briefly at 2pm and did some laundry, and then sank back on the sofa again. Slept like a <i>log</i> last night, so today, I met up with the boyfriend for a quick walk, despite the wind and the rain. The kids were allowed a duvet day.<br /><br />This is, I hope, as hard as it's going to get. I've got a long way to go on the course, but from this point on, I'll have more direct experience to draw on. Not to mention, the kids and I have figured out some of the balancing act between my work needs and their school needs, which will make life easier going forward. </p><p>My son hasn't displayed any symptoms, so we're optimistic that he hasn't been infected—as of Friday, his entire year bubble has to self-isolate now, which extends his home-learning by a day. The first wave didn't really take hold in the south-west, but this second wave is hitting us harder. I still hope this week was the hardest we'll have, but it won't be the last time we have to improvise. <br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-81797260834782191822020-11-01T17:34:00.002-05:002020-11-01T17:34:44.110-05:00Passing The Test<p>Haven't posted mostly because I've been snowed under with coursework, and any time leftover was focused on the kids and their schools. Now, England is about to go into another lockdown... but that's not what prompted this post. No, <i>this</i> post is about how I passed my driving test on Friday.</p><p><b>Too Late for a Spoiler Alert, Huh?</b> <br /></p><p>It was third time lucky... I failed one at the end of September and another in the middle of October. The first time wasn't too bad. I actually drove perfectly competently for 40 minutes, and then right at the end I was asked to reverse park at the test centre, I let myself get flustered and forgot to check my mirrors before starting backwards.</p><p>That was a classic mistake of mine, so while I was annoyed at myself, I was actually heartened that I had kept calm and relaxed for the bulk of the test. I just had to watch it when I did get nervous, remember to take a moment and bring it back. I could do <i>this</i>. </p><p>Then I took the second test, and five minutes into it, I approached a roundabout in the left lane when I was turning right. That's a major fault, automatic fail, and we went straight back to the test centre... but the worst thing was I didn't even notice I'd done it. It took me awhile to realise we <i>were</i> going back to the test centre, and I knew I must have failed then, but I couldn't figure out what I'd done.<br /><br />That took a severe hit on my nerves. If I could make a mistake that I never normally made and have no idea, how would I ever pass this?</p><p>Fortunately, everything held together the third time. It was raining and traffic was heavier than usual, as everybody drove back north from their half-term holiday, but I held my nerve. For the most part, the traffic worked in my favour, as I had to keep stopping and waiting for people.</p><p>The manoeuvre is always the danger zone for me, the point when I'm going to get stressed and forget my mirrors as I did on the first test. This time, I was asked to do the easiest one, pulling over on the right and reversing two car-lengths. When I finished that and we carried on with the independent drive, I knew that the most likely outcome was now a pass.... I just had to finish without that roundabout moment. </p><p>It wasn't a roundabout that nearly did me in; it was my mask. </p><p>A Pandemic driving test involves wearing a mask and driving with the windows open, even on as wet a day as this was. (And that's after the examiner hands you a wipe to disinfect the steering wheel, gear-stick and handbrake.) As we headed towards the A30, I felt a tickle in my throat which I now have to assume must have been a fibre from my mask. The first couple of coughs were an embarrassment, and I nervously assured the examiner (who never commented) that it was just something in my throat rather than a sign of illness.</p><p>For most of Devon and Cornwall, the A30 functions like a motorway: there's no stopping, and you merge onto it from a sliproad at 70mph. As I entered the sliproad, I realised the cough was persisting and this was about to be a really bad idea. I merged into the traffic, while the cough grew steadily more violent and tears started streaming from my eyes.</p><p>Knowing we wouldn't be on the A30 for more than a minute or two before exiting again, I tried to ask the examiner if I could pull over and take a drink after we came off. He couldn't understand me through the coughing and thought I was asking to pull over now. I managed to get across my actual intent, but I was seriously worried that I wouldn't be able to see in a few more seconds, at which point I would have no choice but to put my hazard lights on and stop on the hard shoulder.<br /><br />Thankfully, I did not get to find out whether or not this would have failed me. I made it to the exit ramp and whatever was in my throat cleared as I went down it. The examiner checked if we needed to make a detour so I could stop, but I told him it was fine and we continued back to the test centre. I half-expected him to leap out of the car and away from my symptomatic self as soon as we stopped, but he calmly stayed seated. The minute between the test ending and "I'm pleased to tell you you have passed," was possibly the longest minute of my life.<br /></p><p> <b>A Weight Lifted<br /></b></p><p> It's hard to explain the impact of that moment when I passed. In many ways, this test has been twenty years in the making, since I started lessons in 2000. The driving test was always the part of moving back to the UK I was most scared of... I've dreaded it for years, finding it hard to believe that I was actually capable of it, even after a decade of driving experience in the US.<br /><br />Successfully driving over here, before my US licence expired, gave me a confidence for it which evaporated almost completely after the second time I failed. I began to wonder if I had been reckless in bringing the family to Cornwall instead of somewhere where reliance on public transport would have been a more viable option. <br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Not being able to drive was impairing the kids' lives, preventing us from doing so much. We relied on my boyfriend aka our support bubble for proper outings or we'd have to squeeze into the back of my parents' car with our masks on. I always dreaded a situation where my son would need to come home from school early, because I wouldn't be able to pick him up.<br /></li><li>After my second failure, I had to turn down a school that was willing to take me on placement as a trainee because I couldn't get to them by bus.</li><li>We're still waiting for a date on the house, but we couldn't have moved, because I wouldn't have been able to get my daughter to school. I was bracing for a situation where we carried on renting while our house stood empty.<br /></li><li>In order for me to practice driving, my parents had to drive half an hour to my place, mask up to sit in the car with me as I drove around for an hour plus and <i>then</i> drive half an hour back to their home.</li><li>Errands either had to wait for a day when my boyfriend / support bubble was visiting, or I'd have to haul my parents out again. Some things just got put off indefinitely in hope of passing my test.</li><li>I was never certain of when I could retake a test... Both times I failed, I had to rebook for months down the line and then check the website every couple of days for any earlier slots to come up while dreading the possibility of everything being closed again (or one of us coming down with Covid symptoms within two weeks of a test.) Luckily, my local centre has been assiduous in opening up new slots whenever they could—probably fearing another backlog in lockdown.<br /></li></ul><p>I felt I was letting everybody down, I felt trapped into this dependency on others instead of being able to forge my own life. I was terrified of another lockdown coming, removing the possibility of even taking the test and limiting further the help available to me.<br /></p><p>I owe a lot to the tireless support of my boyfriend through this time. Instead of meeting me halfway for a just-the-two-of-us exploration of some wild spot in Dartmoor, he was driving all the way here to take the whole family out. He was the one who took me to all of my tests. He gamely sit outside the test centre in his waterproofs while I drove, then afterwards, we'd go to Tesco and buy their largest Toblerone. (It was never Driving Test Day but always Toblerone Day.) This week, he got roped into a two-day family road trip during a severe storm just so that I could give the kids <i>something</i> resembling a holiday.</p><p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTJanMp_NdILnmvhCRvonDM0I3mpVSRx0Vr8Db_ZvnRNp_27AdwsnlxxLc_FA0CwPx96qVXSF6X3B1dCOskl7fnfYfyP3l_cYaGlyqcbK6kk-xj416hSCuECFEbeEttjRV899aZLgMBM/s1288/IMG_20201029_091959.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1288" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTJanMp_NdILnmvhCRvonDM0I3mpVSRx0Vr8Db_ZvnRNp_27AdwsnlxxLc_FA0CwPx96qVXSF6X3B1dCOskl7fnfYfyP3l_cYaGlyqcbK6kk-xj416hSCuECFEbeEttjRV899aZLgMBM/w400-h300/IMG_20201029_091959.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, everything was closed, but we were going to enjoy the beauty of the far south, dammit.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>My boyfriend is doing an online course of his own and will be moving North for the practical element of that in the new year. I had started to get genuinely scared of how I was going to manage without him... The past few months would have been survivable without him, but they'd have taken a significant toll to our mental health. Now, thankfully, I <i>don't</i> need him, and I can let him go to the rest of his life without a qualm. I'll miss him a great deal, of course, and I'll always be grateful for what he did for us this year.<br /><br />Still, here and now, my little family is going into lockdown with a new sense of freedom. I can drive again, and that means we can move, I can progress my career... everything we really <i>need</i> is open to us. As uncertain as the future is, this whole Life Reboot thing is working out.<br /></p><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-33652402697210979242020-09-06T17:00:00.000-04:002020-09-06T17:00:01.531-04:00First Day of School<p> My son's first day of secondary school was on Friday. (I got a big spot on my nose in what I assume was maternal sympathy.) The big milestone for us is that he's now responsible for getting himself to and from school. No school run for me!</p><p>He was adamant that he didn't want me accompanying him to the bus-stop, but they were starting late that first day, so I over-ruled him. He wouldn't be taking the usual bus, and I was afraid his bus pass wouldn't be accepted. As it was only year 7s and 12s going in, I was fairly confident that there wouldn't be any other pupils at the bus stop to see his maternal shame.</p><p>Just as well I went, as the usual bus was late. Eventually a completely different local bus turned up, one that doesn't normally come through our village. I talked to the driver who agreed to stop at the school <i>and</i> accept the bus pass. We waved my son off, and I proceeded to be wildly anxious. </p><p>I sent a hasty email to the school explaining that he might show up late, and he sent us a gloomy text from the bus but didn't respond to my later texts. I took this to mean he had made it into school (where phones must be switched off) and fought against the urge to helicopter-parent the hell out of the school phoneline. Thankfully, in due course, somebody replied to my email saying he'd arrived and was with the rest of his form.</p><p>As per his wishes, we didn't meet him at the bus stop at the end of the day. Instead, he called us on his walk home so that I could put the kettle on. And then again, to let us know that he was having to wait for cattle being herded in the road. At that point, my daughter charged out both to meet him and to see the herding. They came home, as complacent and satisfied with themselves as you'd expect from pre-adolescents, and we all had a cup of tea.<br /><br />Tomorrow my daughter starts back as well. My son will walk down to the bus stop bright and early, and she and I will do the shorter walk to the village school by ourselves, which will be odd. Even odder when I collect her in the afternoon, and we have to wait almost an hour for him to get home. Another new routine for me to devise and the kids to groan about! <br /></p><p>Along with back to school stress, we've managed to get a last gasp of summer holiday this week. I gave the kids their first experience of rowing on Tuesday, and then my boyfriend took us to an indoor rock-climbing gym on Wednesday. Today, we took Granny (and Grandad and the dog) out for a coastal lunch for her birthday.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsETm3UWZud7ofVQFMmqqiHUvQDEWiZQMyEYwlzD3g3qLE2_czmLt_w24FvPRqUW-tSMRYlqlig5ec-W8XTTi7OhiUgXIZAuyadI3kBTOcW6QCrRQvE4Lo12N8puoQQ4UHYL17UEwuTY/s2048/rowing1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsETm3UWZud7ofVQFMmqqiHUvQDEWiZQMyEYwlzD3g3qLE2_czmLt_w24FvPRqUW-tSMRYlqlig5ec-W8XTTi7OhiUgXIZAuyadI3kBTOcW6QCrRQvE4Lo12N8puoQQ4UHYL17UEwuTY/w500-h375/rowing1.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><p>Life has felt pretty good this week... At some point soon, <i>I'm</i> going to go back to student-hood, as well as the kids, but I'm determined to keep up the adventure side of things.<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-84650961702507314862020-08-31T05:36:00.000-04:002020-08-31T05:36:29.321-04:00Must be harvest-time<p>So after a chaotic few weeks of slogging through administrative treacle, things are suddenly coming together.<br /><br /><br /><b>1. Driving Test Booked</b><br /><br />Firstly, I finally got granted an emergency driving test... for the end of September. Having to wait another month is crushing—not least because jobs have been popping up that I can't apply for—but at least I <i>know </i>instead of vainly hoping. Now I'm just dealing with the stress what-ifs of failure or a return to lockdown.</p><p>It's still embarrassing having to explain to various people that I can't drive at the moment. Everybody is too polite to ask, but I know the obvious assumption is that I have had my licence revoked. It was amusing when it was just my neighbours seeing the L plates, but when I'm talking to somebody in a more professional capacity, I don't want them assuming I'm a reckless driver! It's very awkward explaining the US licence though, since that requires further backstory. I'm still working on a nice pithy wording for that.<br /><br /></p><p><b>2. Back on the drugs</b></p><p>After a last minute hiccup of <i>losing my prescription</i>, the pharmacy managed to produce some ADD medication for me this week. A few days in, and I've got killer insomnia while my productivity's through the roof. I expect this initial dramatic effect to wear off, but it's pretty weird right now. Instead of being drowsy and having to push myself through the to-do list, I'm restless<b> </b>and keep finding more stuff to do. </p><p>It's not a magic bullet, so I still can't multi-task, and I keep forbidding the children from talking to me while I'm on task, but I can <i>stay on task</i> without my brain fogging over after half an hour. Meanwhile, I'm averaging about four hours of sleep a night and my eyes are burning holes in my head, but I'm not yawning and nodding off throughout the day. Nights are hit and miss: I'm only sleeping a few hours at a time and then struggling to get back to sleep, so I'm firmly routining my body clock and hoping that will settle. I've got a follow up call from my doctor in two weeks to decide how it's going.<br /><br /></p><p><b>3. Return of the Course</b></p><p>Out of the blue, on Friday<b>, </b>I had a phone call from the early years training course I'd applied to, chasing up some outstanding documentation. The following day, they offered me a place for September conditional on the receipt of my last reference. As I had given up hope of that, this is incredible news. I'm a little concerned about how it will go due to the last-minute-ness of it all, but in these pandemic-times, that's going to be a recurring theme. It's a full-time (funded) course though, so I won't be working much if at all this year. As it turns out, it's probably just as well I couldn't apply for any jobs.<br /><br />Despite the vagueness, I'm really, <i>really </i>happy about this. I'd been feeling very down about my complete failure to progress with the career stuff, but this is a definite progression. Not only do I get a vital qualification, but I'll be placed with different schools throughout the course, which will give me the local contacts I've been missing and, with any luck, might lead to a job offer for 2021. When I moved to the UK, I had a five year goal of achieving a steady job at a particular salary level. I feel like I'm on track for that now.<br /><br /></p><p><b>4. Et Cetera</b></p><p>Meanwhile, all the other variations on life are ticking over... like back to school stuff, particularly my son's switch to secondary school, for which the guidance keeps changing. But we've got a full set of school uniform now, he's got a bus pass and the information for the bus service laid on for this stage of lockdown, and since the government's last minute switch on facemask advice, I've got ten extra washable facemasks thanks to Amazon Prime. (He's required to have one for the bus and one for school every day.)</p><p>The house is pootling along at a quieter pace. I've had all the information on it to read through—including a wonderfully old-fashioned document from 1949, when it was converted from one detached property to two semi-detached. I'm told all the agreements in that document still apply, so I'm making careful note of my right to install a pipe in my neighbour's well (so long as it is not lower than his pipe).<br /><br />The main issue with the house is that the surveyors are all over-booked. I had one surveyor cancel on me this week "due to unforeseen circumstances" which is useful cover for all eventualities from "somebody died" to "we made a mistake we don't want to admit to." Luckily, I was able to get another one, but as they won't be able to survey the house before October, I <i>really</i> hope they don't find anything.</p><p>The sellers still haven't found a house, and as they'll have the same issue with surveyors as I've had, I now think it's unlikely we'll move before Christmas.<br /><br />And I haven't even mentioned dentist appointments, a car insurance issue (that turned out to be a glitch on their end)... Thank goodness for the bank holiday weekend! Despite the sunshine, we haven't really done anything with it, and I've spent a lot of time on the laptop. But it meant a three day break from phone calls and emails. </p><p> I think I'm caught up again.... We'll see what happens on Tuesday.<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-83220368076835562162020-08-13T12:50:00.001-04:002020-08-13T12:50:38.384-04:00ADD progression<p>The children's father has finally managed to get to England through all the pandemic insanity, so they've gone off with him for ten days. Against my expectations, he was able to get an exemption from quarantine... which I honestly find deeply unsettling, since everything I read on the government's own website indicated this would not be the case. We were prepared for a situation where he came to the UK, spent two weeks quarantining <i>with</i> the children and then went home again. I don't know quite why he was given more freedom, but it makes you wonder who else the regulations were waived for.<br /><br />At any rate, he's been left to his own precaution regime, and it's still going to be a weird and isolated break for the kids, but they get to see their father for the first time since February and they get a break from the four walls of our flat. <br /><br />I admit, I'm a little bit concerned about what I'm going to do with myself without human company for much of this ten days, but it's the first time since <i>March</i> that I've got a break from being Mum, that I've been alone in the house.... It's hot and sticky today with rumblings of thunder, so the first thing I did once they left was to strip down to my underwear and watch the documentary, "Howard", on Disney+. Nobody to whine about their turn on the TV or to be mortified at how much of my legs I'm showing!</p><p>(After such slovenly beginnings, I promise that I have put my shorts back on and am writing this to move towards productivity... or I'm procrastinating on putting the laundry away. One of the two!) <br /></p><p><b>A Video Call</b></p><p>Before all the worry over how the kids' trip was going to work, I was intending to post about developments in my ADD diagnosis. <a href="https://anembarrassment.blogspot.com/2020/08/losing-my-writing.html">The previous post</a>, about my brain and its ruminating, was supposed to act as context.</p><p>Right before lockdown started, I had made it to the top of the waiting list for an appointment with an adult ADHD clinic. At the end of July, I had that appointment via video call with a consultant. I wasn't warned that the call would be two hours long. A little too ironic... I did wonder if I had failed the assessment because I lasted the full two hours!</p><p>It was definitely a far cry from my American diagnosis, where I filled out a single-sided questionnaire. On that basis, my GP in the States merrily started me on medication a week later. (We had great insurance in the States, so nobody was deliberately cutting corners on my healthcare.)<br /><br />Doing this on the NHS in England has been a much longer wait, but it's also been more thoroughly done. They asked to see my old questionnaire for reference, but I filled out their standard one (multiple pages), and my mother had to fill out another one (slightly fewer pages) based on her memories of me as a child. In July's video call, I talked to a full psychiatrist who referred back to these questionnaires frequently. (I think it was November when I filled them out, so <i>I</i> couldn't remember what was in them!)<br /><br />The key thing the doctor brought up is that you would typically expect ADHD / ADD distractions to be external, but mine were internal. He theorised that the ruminating might simply be due to depression/anxiety, but as my symptoms pre-date the end of my marriage, I think ADD is exacerbating my depression rather than the other way around. <br /></p><p>While I didn't put it that succinctly in the call, I was very proud of myself—and relieved—for managing to stand my ground on that point, and not let my brain get confused by the new line of argument. We did discuss other options, such as the possibility that I'm on the autism spectrum, which I do think is entirely likely, but I was firm that my priority was addressing the attention issues.<br /></p><p>At any rate, the doctor believed my statements that this were affecting my life and was a concern when I was driving. He logged off, saying he would need to review his notes to be sure I met sufficient criteria for a diagnosis, and I went and collapsed on the sofa for the afternoon. <br /><br />A few days later, a letter to my GP was cc'ed to me via email, summarising the call in frighteningly thorough detail (right down to what I was wearing and where I was taking the call!). I have been officially diagnosed with ADHD, inattentive subtype (and social anxiety).<br /><br />The benefit from my US diagnosis here is that I have already tried a couple of different medications and was able to report their effects to the doctor. While I thought that the one I was using wasn't legal in the UK, it sounds like they can prescribe that for me, especially in the knowledge that I didn't have any side effects. The next step was a cardiac assessment by my GP, which I had on Tuesday, just to tick the right boxes before they prescribe me anything. <br /><br />Fingers crossed, I'll be on medication again by the time the kids are home. Lockdown doesn't really require a lot of focus, but the ruminating mind isn't helping the emotional state. <br /></p><p><br />The storms never broke, but clouds and showers have passed steadily across the sky and the temperature has dropped to something much more bearable. Time to go through the dutiful motions of adulthood: tidying up the laundry and eating leftovers for dinner... <br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-14816066977259361252020-08-08T08:43:00.002-04:002020-08-08T08:43:49.866-04:00Losing my Writing<p>I don't write as much as I used to. I miss it, and that's why I make the effort to keep up this blog, recording my progress in Life, but I don't write anything else anymore. I'll still get an idea for something I want to write, and I'll tell myself that when I'm at a loose end, I'll write it... but I never get the <i>compulsion</i> anymore. Instead my brain goes back to the things I don't want to write about, the things I'm trying to distract myself from.</p><p><b>Life with My Brain</b></p><p>Ever since I was a child, my brain has enjoyed words. It would fixate on things, and words were a way of articulating the obsession. My brain ruminates, thinking repetitively and often unproductively—at absent moments, the same sentence can recur to mind for years at a time, like an in-media-res first line of a story. It's nothing profound or clever. Take a preadolescent example: "She screamed." This was simply the trigger for a pleasingly dramatic imagining of <i>why</i> she screamed. What led her to the traumatic situation? How did she escape? The general events remained the same each time, as I fine-tuned the dialogue and struggled to achieve a satisfying ending (always the most elusive part of the process).<br /></p><p>As a child, I built fantasy worlds and dreamed up epic stories that I kept in my head. As an adult, I learned to touch-type and discovered the joys of writing out and sharing my feverish thinkings, both fiction and philosophy. (Unlike many writers, I don't enjoy writing by hand... I'm slow, awkward and ultimately self-conscious with a pen.) </p><p>For my entire adult life, my primary hobby has been writing to the internet, I'd gleefully delve into the minutia of a TV show or book series with likeminded fans. I'd write longform (very longform!) pieces on whatever I was currently passionate about. I'd collaborate with other writers, indulgently sparking off each other. I'd record my life, for friends, family and my own memories.</p><p>Often, this worked to get the words out of my brain. It didn't necessarily make it any more productive as it would just switch to a new rumination, but it gave me satisfaction that I'd expressed my feelings.</p><p><b>The Dark Side of Rumination</b></p><p>Psychologically speaking, rumination is often a consequence of depression and anxiety,<b> </b>where you will worry about something <i>you can't change</i> over and over again. When I did a cognitive behavioural therapy course at the beginning of the year, that taught us to distinguish between productive worry (when you can address and solve a problem) and rumination (when you can only dwell on what's wrong). We learned coping mechanisms to distract us from the rumination and push through it.</p><p>My life has generally been very sheltered so my rumination was almost never on bad things. Even when I went through difficult periods, my brain was at least as likely to ruminate on more pleasant fantasies or trivia. I could sit at my laptop, writing my obsessions and escape the worries of the real world for a little while.<br /></p><p>It was only when my marriage ended that my brain fixated on the source of my depression and anxiety. For over two years, absent moments have triggered thoughts of him, what-if memories, anger at others and loathing of myself. True to the habits of a lifetime, I've tried to write the ruminations out of my head, but everything's failed. I've kept a private journal for myself, I've poured my heart out on this blog and I've cried on the virtual shoulders of friends. That gave me some satisfaction for six months or so, but I became disillusioned as I grew aware that neither my feelings nor the situation were changing. </p><p>I stopped writing, and the feelings bottled up instead, until I had to vent either to friends, or on here, or—far worse—in desperate emails to him that were met with either silence or mortifyingly short and trite responses.<br /></p><p>I still have to vent occasionally, but I'm getting better at distraction. It keeps me out of depression holes and allows me to function relatively normally. I've started to view myself as a happy person again. But distraction also doesn't change the situation or my feelings about it, so that's still what my brain returns to.</p><p><b>Death of an Author</b></p><p>That's why I can't write, and it's also why (or perhaps one reason why) I never quite feel like myself anymore. I've lost a few associated habits too. For example, I always enjoyed doing jigsaw puzzles which helped focus my mind in its ruminations and work through writer's block. Doing a jigsaw puzzle now is liable to put me in a funk.</p><p>I'm not quite sure if I need to redefine who I am or wait until something <i>finally</i> takes my brain to a different track. Either way, the right path is to carry on going through the motions of Self-Care and Progress. They have a real effect, even if my motivation is sometimes forced.<br /><br />There are days when I don't care. I just miss writing,<br /></p>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-8525440993586194162020-08-04T16:40:00.001-04:002020-08-04T16:40:44.197-04:00Bad News and HopesAlong with the good news in my life, there's bad—or at least, worrisome. A global pandemic does rather shift the relative view of 'bad news'.<br /><div><br /></div><div><b>Driving Delays</b><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After passing my theory test, I got back in touch with my driving instructor to prepare for my practical. Those tests were due to reopen on 22nd July, so I was hopeful that I could take one within a few weeks. But that date came and went, and the website wouldn't allow me to book a test, saying first priority went to those who had had their tests cancelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>I talked to my instructor about it, and he told me that there was a backlog of 210,000 tests nationwide that had been cancelled during lockdown. While tests had reopened, not all examiners were back at work, due to shielding, childcare, etc. I had assumed that it would work like the theory test, but I hadn't given thought to how the practical test was inherently more difficult to safeguard against covid.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(For those wondering what pandemic driving lessons look like: I'm learning in my own car, so my instructor and I have to both wear
masks, and I have to deep-clean the car beforehand. This is doing
wonders for my car interior which had not seen a vacuum cleaner since I
bought it.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Only a third of the cancelled tests have been rescheduled so far, and my instructor's best guess for when I might get a test was September / October.<br /><br />I had never seriously considered that I might not be able to drive for months. That I might not be able to drive by the time the kids go back to school, i.e. when I can go back to work. That I might not be able to drive when we close on the house... <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The effect of this is to write off our summer. We can't really go anywhere, so we're basically stuck in the house for the next five weeks, going to Bude once or twice a week. I'm going to have to analyse the bus timetables and see if I can work out a daytrip somewhere else, using connecting buses.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm worried about how we can manage the move without the car. I'd like to move a lot of our stuff myself, but we can probably work around that. What will be more difficult is getting my daughter to school every day. She's too young to ride the bus independently, and if I escort her in, I'm likely to find myself waiting an hour for the bus back. The same goes for picking her up at the end of the day. This would make it all but impossible for me to work as well. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My best option is to find somebody she can carpool with or we might end up with a situation where we buy a house, but have to stay in our rented place until I've passed my test. Suffice to say, I'm now hoping for some delays before we can close.<br /><br /></div><b>Something to Pin Hope On</b><br /><div><br /></div><div>That's worst case scenario. Well, no. Actually, worst case scenario is that I have a bad day, fail my test, and can't get another one scheduled for months. But <i>best</i> case scenario is that I can get an emergency test as a critical worker. I was rejected for one earlier in lockdown because the focus was on people in healthcare. These days, there's a lot more attention on the school issue and getting the schools ready for September.</div><div><br /></div><div>The guidelines for schools are that children can't move across bubbles but adults can. So when I had a job interview recently, one of the available positions was working in a year 5 bubble in the morning and an early years bubble in the afternoon. Let's say someone in the year 5 bubble tests positive for covid: I would have to stay home (along with everybody else in the bubble), and the school would have to find somebody to cover in the early years bubble.</div><div><br /></div><div>In other words, supply teachers are going to be needed. I'll have to wait and see if the government is already thinking along those lines.</div><div><br /></div><div>I never heard back from that job interview, which makes me pessimistic. I don't think I did well: there was a moment when they asked what strengths I brought to Early Years Education, the most obvious of questions and one I know how to answer—and my brain just couldn't shift gears from the Special Needs conversation we'd been having before that. I'm pretty sure my reply was vague and generic.<br /><br />On the other hand, I have a habit of remembering myself as being more inarticulate than I actually was, and my CV covers that very question, so maybe that's just paranoia. But equally, I haven't been able to get hold of the online course I was supposed to be taking, and I have nothing lined up for September. It seems I'm no further ahead than I was this time last year.<br /><br />Random fun fact: a Montessori school advertised for a nursery assistant. The exact job I was hoping to find. But they're <i>too far away</i>. I'd need to move to a different part of the county, the local school isn't great—and I'd need to be able to drive. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's one of those things where the vision doesn't work with the reality. It's bittersweet... yet I don't mind too much. The kids like it here, and I like the life I can give them here. I like the life I'm giving <i>myself</i> here. <br /><br />So, yeah. I need to rethink the employment thing. I can carry on as supply, and I can probably get more regular work than last year if I stop holding out for early years. Maybe it's time to stop worrying so much about reaching the career goals I was working towards <i>before </i>my entire life changed. To be more open to the opportunities that are coming up in my new life.<br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH5_Y-khQ1l-JLwqFNVazQ3N1SbsWxge-lFUsdMjzQdBf1b8vDzNXQTWDvcqLsDTwqiVFJ17vE895QBj20M6d6nmOLf4vK54upTtUDuxzCXe5dCNEU4MGK3aQ1K3ok1kKlyDX8UQ9W2UI/s2736/P1040449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cats at twilight" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH5_Y-khQ1l-JLwqFNVazQ3N1SbsWxge-lFUsdMjzQdBf1b8vDzNXQTWDvcqLsDTwqiVFJ17vE895QBj20M6d6nmOLf4vK54upTtUDuxzCXe5dCNEU4MGK3aQ1K3ok1kKlyDX8UQ9W2UI/w400-h267/P1040449.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most importantly, my cats are still cute.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-64360777729525533632020-08-01T16:40:00.000-04:002020-08-01T16:40:46.342-04:00Eventful TimesLast weekend was eventful! (Is that why it's taken me a week to recover enough to write about it?)<br /><br />On Saturday, we went to see a house. There are, of course, pandemic rules for house viewings: <br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Only two people; no children.</li><li>Only fifteen minutes.</li><li>Masks and gloves must be worn; no touching anything. (The agent was permitted to open cupboards, turn on taps, etc.)</li></ul><div>I took my mother, because if you can count on her for one thing, it's to find what's wrong with something. I wiped down my passenger seat and she masked up to ride with me. The children gave me orders to do a video walkthrough so they could see everything.<br /><br />In short, the house was lovely. I really want a spare room so people can come and stay with us, but I'm trying to buy a four bedroom house on a three bedroom house budget. This house was far and away the best I've seen—its price brought down by a less desirable location but one that's convenient for us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because of the stamp duty holiday, we were buying in a competitive market, so I offered the asking price for the house as quickly as possible—the only thing I negotiated on was asking them to leave the cooker. It's possible the sellers would have sold it for less, but I would rather pay more than I strictly needed to than risk losing the house because somebody else offered the asking price.<br /><br />Somebody else did offer the asking price, which led to a fairly frantic Sunday of me proving my finances to the agents in every way I could think of. The kids' Dad even emailed them for me. I have to say, as much as I struggle with our estranged relationship, I'm inexpressibly grateful that I <i>can</i> count on him for this sort of support.<br /><br />Fortunately, while the other buyer was in a better position than I was, they wanted the house for a second home, and the sellers preferred to sell to somebody local. Once they were satisfied I could definitely afford the house, they accepted us, as announced thus by the estate agent:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, the bad news is... that you've got to pack everything up in a few months!"<br /><br />I could have cheerfully killed him for that, but as there's a big gap between accepting an offer and exchanging contracts, I refrained from homicide. One in three house sales falls through after this point, so we're touching wood while the seller looks for a property of their own and while my conveyancer checks that there are no hidden issues with the sale.<br /><br />But for Sunday night, we could celebrate our own news, although the stress didn't end there. My brother and his wife were supposed to be having a baby on Sunday or Monday, but it wasn't until Tuesday night that they brought their son into the world. They're still all the way in the States, so I don't know when I'll get to hold my new and ridiculously cute nephew, but I'm officially an aunt again!<br /><br />Celebrations all round! And a much needed pick-me-up for the start of a summer holiday where I wasn't sure what we would be doing. Now, we've got a project to focus on. After the transatlantic move last year, this move of five miles down the road seems like a fun little time-killer—and when the stress hits, we have a steady influx of adorable baby pictures and videos to coo over.<br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-45159204397540118472020-07-19T07:34:00.000-04:002020-07-19T07:34:08.927-04:00One Step Forward in Going Nowhere<div>At long last, I had a theory test that did not get cancelled!</div><div><br /></div><div> I passed it on Tuesday and was gratified to get a perfect score in the multiple choice portion. After three months of rescheduling, I would have had no excuse for anything less than 100%, but it felt like a delightfully petty victory against... The Man. Or something.<br /></div><br /><div>Tuesday was also the day my boyfriend officially became our support bubble as he'd been away in Bristol for a couple of weeks. The test was in Barnstaple, an hour's drive away, which posed a number of logistical difficulties.</div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>How to get there? </b>My boyfriend gamely did the hour's drive down from Exeter first thing in the morning, but he left his car at the flat and I drove us to Barnstaple under the badge of my newly acquired L plates<b>.</b> (I'd love to know what the neighbours have made of those.)<br /></li><li><b>Would I be back in time to pick up my son from school?</b> My son was having a leaver's fun week at school including a sleepover, Tuesday night. We marched him to school that morning with assorted changes of clothing, a bicycle, sleeping bag and two packed lunches... and thus dumped him for thirty hours.<br /></li><li><b>What would I do with my daughter while taking the test?</b> Under pandemic rules, only candidates are allowed in the test centre. In fact, there was only one seat available in the waiting area, and I had to stand outside for ten minutes before I could go in. I don't know what would have happened if I'd taken the test six weeks ago and shown up with both kids and no responsible adult to watch them; instead my boyfriend was thrust into the intimidating role of babysitter for a nine year old girl. She had her school work with her, so they spent twenty minutes learning about Lord Shaftesbury and the child labour act in the car. After that, they found a cafe by the car park and got cake.</li><li><b>Face masks required. </b>This wasn't really a hurdle at all, as Mum has already made us two masks each, but I had to wear a mask the entire time I was inside the testing centre. I was only asked to remove it briefly to confirm my identity (and to prove I hadn't somehow concealed a phone or highway code inside it.) Most of the computer booths were taped off too, so I would sit two metres apart from other takers, and although I was assured that everything was wiped down between candidates, disposable wipes were left at each console if anybody wished to use them.</li></ul><div><br /></div><div>My test was at 11 and by 12, I had rejoined the others in a cafe where they had kindly saved me some cake. We now had an afternoon free of obligation ahead of us, and—no offence to that fair town—we had no desire to spend it in Barnstaple. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, we spent the afternoon exploring Welcombe Mouth on the north end of Devon-Cornwall border. The road down to the car park is an adventure in itself: it gives up on being a road altogether for the last 20 yard stretch, instead becoming a series of rocky steps... but we made it, and considered it well worth the car's suspension!</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Exploring rocks and sea" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXctUCpufqsy4EF4g_vHBUnXMV0mYgH-agCRbSbstp-ulQEo8YFC8FeO77YOz-C7IqSe_kMoqIwpXHKT4qJxFutLrt2iglzl9rUO4y8JyAyUsO6tyKNXJLgd-3r1txOhMkb6piD4-un0/w400-h266/P1040390.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Exploring rocks and sea" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring rocks and sea<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGNN9fUHvTijKU-7ovZuqi5uqt66VIaTSbVnNPdhBjp533ahq_x5a_WOcOcCaJQ8clwSSheInz60nrhAHdWpELOtGsn9agloBR8I94gIQ_j0NrYfXxUIYpezUILjnXlzcEn7nkeD0OSY/s2736/P1040412.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Footbridge between Devon and Cornwall" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGNN9fUHvTijKU-7ovZuqi5uqt66VIaTSbVnNPdhBjp533ahq_x5a_WOcOcCaJQ8clwSSheInz60nrhAHdWpELOtGsn9agloBR8I94gIQ_j0NrYfXxUIYpezUILjnXlzcEn7nkeD0OSY/w400-h266/P1040412.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The northernmost bridge between Devon and Cornwall<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeaKgQ_JhxQjXAnvnNysl1_SrEiaNHv5n_RFkcQ9kJTmgSjGTYdoJuFa5hxSTeLIYfCBfT7xcREnXJpEr1fGI64qojr_rl4xmjRSv7GDP2YdI6rCcQzAqzLhVsib-QnG3DGJPIQJGRZI/s966/IMG_20200714_144306.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Flowers on the cliffs" border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="724" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeaKgQ_JhxQjXAnvnNysl1_SrEiaNHv5n_RFkcQ9kJTmgSjGTYdoJuFa5hxSTeLIYfCBfT7xcREnXJpEr1fGI64qojr_rl4xmjRSv7GDP2YdI6rCcQzAqzLhVsib-QnG3DGJPIQJGRZI/w300-h400/IMG_20200714_144306.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marsland Valley flowers<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2BNQB49jE_8hPd9tb9zZFb04npUNZrLc0svTCTeau30lTVE_TijO4uEm2brsiHRy2cjTEE5PSYEBLISgpiN0so9FMYGBIYPILrCRB_yG8aipA54Cs8Z51w3yF7IawWGj_ajJpFwbXIk/s1288/IMG_20200714_145155.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Signing the guestbook in the cliffside hut" border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1288" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2BNQB49jE_8hPd9tb9zZFb04npUNZrLc0svTCTeau30lTVE_TijO4uEm2brsiHRy2cjTEE5PSYEBLISgpiN0so9FMYGBIYPILrCRB_yG8aipA54Cs8Z51w3yF7IawWGj_ajJpFwbXIk/w400-h300/IMG_20200714_145155.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ronald Duncan's Writing Hut<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLg5gYb2bsjg3SEP3ige825BXd3C5r8JDZ65fd2-_zeszrCr5vXFadYCAPYdnpc9LaiWN-D1xTeo0iwuH2SG1njVncVyB-WvyVTh9TF61rcFw4fI5FziRd3ST2oYzppWSIr-uQ0f5ow7k/s966/IMG_20200714_151315.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cliffside waterfall" border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="724" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLg5gYb2bsjg3SEP3ige825BXd3C5r8JDZ65fd2-_zeszrCr5vXFadYCAPYdnpc9LaiWN-D1xTeo0iwuH2SG1njVncVyB-WvyVTh9TF61rcFw4fI5FziRd3ST2oYzppWSIr-uQ0f5ow7k/w300-h400/IMG_20200714_151315.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scrambling around the waterfall at Welcombe Mouth<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAYSVP6Qxzb5EVZgNihtmgKkobelYA_98Jdf-FpARDp8KOwrtJv5afgBWVvxyr2jR9Mh0-uslVvgmv84OeWhv9XDnsUNxcK0wKawgPfidZwsT4fH3K7QLIk3zP6XYtpAn70M7rhO0Z3A/s2736/P1040422.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Stepping stones" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAYSVP6Qxzb5EVZgNihtmgKkobelYA_98Jdf-FpARDp8KOwrtJv5afgBWVvxyr2jR9Mh0-uslVvgmv84OeWhv9XDnsUNxcK0wKawgPfidZwsT4fH3K7QLIk3zP6XYtpAn70M7rhO0Z3A/w400-h266/P1040422.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on the stepstones just upstream.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>This bore out my decision to go with my boyfriend for our support bubble. Obviously, picking my boyfriend has some personal benefits for me, but I had debated choosing another family instead, so we could all have friends our own age to hang out with. However, with the driving issues, what we most needed was somebody in the car with us, so bubbling with one individual made more sense.<br /><br />Then again, with my boyfriend in Exeter, I worried that it would be more practical to find somebody in the village. But what a waste of a support bubble to make it somebody who we barely knew! We wanted somebody we could adventure with, somebody we could hug! This day out at a beach was far more valuable than any errand.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Not that we didn't do errands! We returned via Bude, dumping some cardboard at the recycling centre and then doing a drive-by for a house that had just come on the market. With a Stamp Duty (land tax) holiday in effect, I'm now looking at houses in earnest. Of course, so is everybody else... After checking out the area, I contacted the agent to view the house and discovered it had already gone under offer.</div><br /><div>That's probably going to be my focus for the next few weeks: watching the property market like a hawk. I've spent much of the weekend preparing a moving plan, making sure I know what needs doing and how much it will cost, so that I don't need to waste time when I find something I want to make an offer on.<br /><br />That and getting ready to take my practical test. Practical tests won't reopen until next week, with priority given to those who had their tests cancelled at the start of lockdown. I need some more lessons too, and those will also start next week. It might be optimistic, but I'm hoping I can pass by the end of July... I really don't want to waste the entirety of the summer holiday without a car.<br /><br />It does nothing for my brain either, knowing every day is going to be the same as the last. Tuesday was the last day I really felt alert. Since then, I've found myself lethargic... If I sit down to do anything, I get drowsy and if I do something standing up, I can't focus and end up staring into space. I need concrete goals to work towards: another driving test and a house would be stressful, but they'd also be definite steps forward.<br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-64772919266853615952020-07-02T15:44:00.000-04:002020-07-02T15:44:43.441-04:00The Bus: A Cautionary TaleThe end of last week was a bit traumatic. Mostly because we have a16 year old cat with a heart murmur who rarely leaves the garden and he disappeared. After 24 hours, we presumed him dead, we grieved, it was a whole process... and after 48 hours he turned up at the back door as if nothing had happened. <br /><div><br /></div><div>But the second most traumatic thing to happen last week featured a bus.<br /></div><div><br /></div>Just to review: <a href="https://anembarrassment.blogspot.com/2020/06/learning-not-to-drive.html">I can't drive!</a> So I was determined to catch a bus into Bude last week as a trial run. I know myself, and the longer I put something off, the more it becomes a Big Deal. If I didn't go the first week, I'd never get up the nerve to do it. The bus stop in Bude is a stone's throw from the beach which gave us the perfect excuse to go.<br /><br />I'd downloaded the app, checked the timetable and I knew we could arrive in town at 12:15pm and catch a return bus at 2:30pm. That would drop us back in the village just in time to collect my son from school.<br /><br />Thursday was the last day of the heatwave and there was a chance of storms as the heat broke, so I almost reconsidered. I didn't really want to carry rain paraphernalia with us<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><font size="3"><span style="font-family: times;">—</span></font></span>I'd rather be as light as possible for this trial run and had already decided that I would only bring swimming stuff for my daughter. 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table.MsoNormalTable
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mso-para-margin-left:0in;
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>and over the hedge into the allotment of an elderly gentleman who was beating the heat by gardening in skimpy underwear. It was mesmerising.<br /><br />Once in Bude, we crossed the river to the quay and recklessly had ice cream for lunch, before hitting the beach. This was busy, but not packed like the recent news pictures of Bournemouth and Dorset. We soon discovered that the sea pool had re-opened after some construction work, so my daughter spent about half an hour swimming there while I watched in raging jealousy.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmJ-YF7FQM66phXmdbULen-o7uQCPyOYE-qhZMC2feTgUi8g2XB9yPIjjVWadp3JBPLI46Jf8ubixxd3AhjO9RyBLTdrs0PjEjPDqWqX3FFviKYrOEV1EFmxnTMbzkrRsM-Lrt01zdkE/s4608/P1090746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Swimming and paddleboarding at Bude seapool" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSmJ-YF7FQM66phXmdbULen-o7uQCPyOYE-qhZMC2feTgUi8g2XB9yPIjjVWadp3JBPLI46Jf8ubixxd3AhjO9RyBLTdrs0PjEjPDqWqX3FFviKYrOEV1EFmxnTMbzkrRsM-Lrt01zdkE/w400-h300/P1090746.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We left at 1:30 so that she could dry off before the bus trip back and wandered around town for a bit, did some impromptu parkour and watched the trout in the river, but she was keen on getting back to the bus-stop early so that we wouldn't miss the bus.<br /><br />Ten minutes ahead of our departure time, the incoming bus rolled up and dropped off the passengers for Bude. All of them stepped down with due care for the glass all over the step: the bus door had shattered en route.<br /><br />The bus driver was making some phone calls, and the five of us who were waiting for the return trip came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to be allowed to take on passengers in that condition. Nor were we going to see some roadside assistance man turn up with a replacement door.<br /><br />Eventually, we got the information that a replacement bus would be coming, although as it had just left Launceston, we didn't expect to see it for at least half an hour.<br /><br /><b>Crisis Number One: My son would need picking up from school in half an hour.</b><br /><br />I sent a frantic text to my parents as a backup plan and then called the school, asking if they could let my son take himself home. After a bit of checking around, it was agreed that we were all fine with that.<br /><br />Although I lock the front door, I usually don't bother with the back: it's pretty safe in our part of the world anyway, and the builders see everybody coming and going. As soon as my son got home, he went round the building, over the wall into our garden... and found that the back door was locked.<br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->He doesn't have a phone, but luckily for him, around the same time, it suddenly hit me that for once I'd actually locked the back door before going out. More frantic text messages went out: to my landlord and to a neighbour who worked with the builders on site. About twenty minutes after my son got home, half a dozen people turned up to open the door for him. That night, the landlord ordered me a spare set of keys.<br /><br />Meanwhile, back in Bude....<br /><br /><b>Crisis Number Two: The Mysterious Case of the Cloned Buses<br /><br /></b>As well as the replacement 2:30 bus, there was a 3:20 bus. It had the same number, but it was the 'school run' bus and took a different route through different villages. You can see where this is going...<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The 3:20 arrived before the replacement bus. I did say the name of our village, as I gave the bus driver my ticket, but I was wearing my face-mask and perhaps that muffled my voice. Certainly, the bus driver later assured me that I never told him where I was going.<br /><br />I didn't worry at first when we took a different route... I know the local roads well enough to know that there are plenty of other routes back to the main road before our village. But then we got to the "I can see my house from here!" mark. We were across the valley from our flat, we could see the building on the hill top and we were most definitely going past it.<br /><br />When we finally got back onto the main road, I had my brief altercation with the bus driver, but my main goal was to get us off the bus before it drove any further away from our village. Instead of arguing the point, I let the bus driver feel the full weight of my displeasure by disembarking without a "Thank-you!"<br /><br />He said we should catch the return bus when that came along, but we weren't at a bus stop and I had no idea where the nearest one was. I also didn't know exactly when the next bus would be, but I did know we had either just missed it or it was almost an hour away. I toyed with the idea of getting a taxi, but according to my phone, we were three miles from home. I decided we'd walk.<br /><br />My daughter was horrified. She was hot and tired already from our day out and was utterly convinced that a three mile walk in this heat (in flip flops, no less!) was beyond human endurance.<span style="font-family: times;"> She didn't specifically protest, but she wept for the first mile. After we survived that without heatstroke</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><font size="3"><span style="font-family: times;">—it was still warm but the sky had clouded over</span></font></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><font size="3"><span style="font-family: times;">—she got over it and abruptly started playing "I spy." <br /><br /></span></font></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><font size="3">My main concern was that we would be run over since we had to walk directly on a twisty road where cars weren't expecting pedestrians. Fortunately, all we got were funny looks, both from cars and from cows and sheep who weren't used to seeing passers by. (My daughter had quite the conversation with one sheep behind a hedge who couldn't figure out who the mystery bleater was.) <br /><br />The threatening storms never broke either, although the clouds continued to gather. We went slowly due to the heat, so it took us longer than I expected, but we were able to call my son en route and let him know what had happened</font><font size="3"><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><font size="3"><span style="font-family: times;">—my daughter particularly enjoyed that</span></font></span> round of sibling one-up-man-ship. "You were locked out? Try walking <i>three miles</i> home!"<br /><br />In just under an hour, we crested a hill to look down at our village; the bus passed us a few minutes later. We stopped at the corner shop for some drinks and then pushed on home, finding the energy to break into a run for the last 100 or so metres.<br /><br /><br />Anyway, it's not the first time I've been caught out by a bus and it won't be the last. In some ways I think it was quite a good lesson for my daughter on recovering from public transport mistakes. Of course, it was also a good way to put her off the bus altogether, and every mention of taking a second trip into town has been met with a certain Look. <br /><br />Luckily, my son is more interested in giving it a try, so we'll do it again... with a little more due caution for the return journey.<br /></font></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-50257750782738213132020-06-24T17:56:00.003-04:002020-06-24T17:56:59.672-04:00One Year since The MoveToday was the anniversary of <a href="https://anembarrassment.blogspot.com/2019/06/the-move.html" target="_blank">The Move to the UK</a>. Not only have we officially lived in England for one year, but I think it's the first time this century that I've gone a full year without setting foot in the States. A new era, indeed!<br /><br />To celebrate, I want to write a bit about my children, who had lived their whole lives in the States before the Move. Legally, they have dual nationality, British and American. My 11 year old son identifies as British; my 9 year old daughter considers herself American. <br /><br />The most common question I get from people who don't know my children is what accent do they have? The answer is a hybrid. To British ears, they sound American; to American ears, they sound British. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that certain words and phrases bring out one accent over the other. <br /><br />To me, they sound like themselves; I can sometimes pick up on the American traces, but usually I don't hear an accent. After a year in the country, I think they've got more British, but I could be wrong. They have definitely picked up more Britishisms: my daughter's very keen on saying 'telly' for 'television.'<br /><br />Aside from their Dad, it's the food they (and I!) miss most. There's this one peanut sauce we used to buy and we can't get anything close to it here. We're currently on a quest to recreate the sauce ourselves... it's not going well. <br /><br />But British food is one of our favourite things about moving as well: we've finally got accustomed to having baked beans absolutely any time we want, but this year my daughter discovered the joys of cream teas (which I never once missed while we were in the States, but now the two of us will drop anything for a scone with jam and clotted cream.) <br /><br />Meanwhile, my son is going through a growth spurt and is a bottomless pit. To my despair, a peanut butter and jam sandwich is still his go-to appetite-fix, but by far, his favourite snack is that staple of a British bakery: a sausage roll.<br /><br />There was an extra culture shock here, as the kids had spent their whole lives in Suburbia. If we needed just about <i>anything</i>, we could probably get it from our local Target. If we wanted to eat or see a film, there were multiple options. There were museums, theme parks, actual parks, aquariums, zoos, etc, etc. If you went anywhere, you drove, because it was too far to walk and public transport sucked.<br /><br /><div>Do the kids miss that lifestyle? Yes. But they've embraced the country more than I ever dared to hope. After a lifetime of flat landscapes, they spent the first four months commenting on the view every time we were on a hill. (There are a lot of hills here. We <i>live</i> on a hill.) <br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkI3azalIZK_TzpNUcGdCVwqHcBXW1PaePPrnNCBRB7Ebm08Sw376XeFgYq7o26M4cc9bpKMpOq6aJM_2989xPiLCQ8Ax1psY2AkJzWYqC1CjCf7aQLvTG0A54l1XENeZebN-pV4M9Y2U/s2736/P1040304.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Cooking sausages with a view" border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2736" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkI3azalIZK_TzpNUcGdCVwqHcBXW1PaePPrnNCBRB7Ebm08Sw376XeFgYq7o26M4cc9bpKMpOq6aJM_2989xPiLCQ8Ax1psY2AkJzWYqC1CjCf7aQLvTG0A54l1XENeZebN-pV4M9Y2U/w400-h266/P1040304.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adding sausages to a view<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>A bare two months into country-living, my daughter confidently strode into a herd of cows to shoo them away from the public footpath. (They were gathered around the kissing gate and the dog was refusing to go through.) When we first moved into the village, they didn't like my suggestion of taking the footpath through the churchyard to get to school. Now they walk past the graves without batting an eye.</div><br />That said, they still can't stand the smell of manure on the fields.<br /><br />There are a hundred little points of difference between their lives then and now, but I'll finish with one that came up recently. They didn't know that swallows migrated. These birds are the standard classroom example for teaching migration in the UK, but in North America, the monarch butterfly is the face of migration. (Most of the children in my kids' class have probably never heard of monarch butterflies.)<br /><br />A little thing, but they'll run into these little things countless times through their lives. My childhood was split between the two countries, and my knowledge of both is swiss-cheesed with little holes I don't notice until they come up. My children are going to have that experience too, and perhaps what I'm proudest of is how calmly and practically they handle each as it comes up.<br /><br />My kids. They're awesome.<br /><br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-33784710089683060062020-06-21T15:26:00.000-04:002020-06-21T15:26:25.058-04:00Learning Not to DriveWell, we've reached this mark. My driving licence expires today.<br /><br /><div>I always knew that I would only have one year to pass my test when we moved back to the UK. (I was a late driver, and I had not passed my UK test at the time that we moved to the US. I did get my US licence, but legally, I can't drive on that for more than a year.) <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I had a bit of trouble getting my provisional licence reissued, since I was honest and noted on the form that I had fainted ten years ago, which triggered months of medical red tape. Turns out I have low blood pressure, but then again... it's been <i>ten years </i>since I fainted.</div><br /><div>Throughout all of that, I kept telling myself that I still had plenty of time. I figured that I could comfortably sort out driving in the spring. In the UK you have to pass a theory and a practical test; you can't schedule the practical test until you've passed the theory. <br /><br />Once I got my provisional licence, I scheduled my theory test for April 1st. I was confident I'd pass at least the theory first time, and even if I had an ADD blip and do something that's an automatic fail, I could take the practical a few times before summer rolled around. <i>Nothing</i> to panic about.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I did not account for a worldwide pandemic.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Coronavirus vs. my Driving Licence</b></div><div><b></b><br />I usually try not to view things this way, but mine probably <i>is </i>a uni<span>que situation in the UK. I expect that in these times, the DVLA would be willing to give a six month extension to drive on a foreign licence... BUT my Virginia licence literally expires today. My particular status in the US meant I had to renew my licence every year. No matter how understanding the DVLA feels, I can't drive on an <i>expired </i>licence. <br /><br /></span></div><div><span>Virginia <i>has</i> been extending the duration of their driving licences due to the pandemic... BUT because I'm no longer resident in VA, I can't apply for an extension. (Could I fudge it with my brother's address? Quite possibly. But any situation that requires me to show a valid driving licence will be made much much worse if I acquired it under false pretences. Not worth it!)<br /><br /></span></div><div><span>So yeah. That took some explaining with my insurance provider last week, but now my premiums have gone up and we are a driver-less household! In rural Cornwall. In the middle of a pandemic.<br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, one of my criteria when finding a place to live was that the kids should have some independence, i.e. that they shouldn't be dependent on me to drive them places. We could have ended up in a lone cottage down a country road. Instead, we can still walk to school, we can walk to the corner shop and we're on a decent bus route—a luxury in Cornwall, where many villages only get buses on certain days. <br /><br />Our bus runs every two hours: learning to use it will be good practice for all of us. It's been fifteen years since I took a bus regularly. They have apps now!<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The other relief is the UK's new support bubble policy for single / single-parent households, which means I can have a designated person to sit in the car with me. We're probably going to bubble up with my boyfriend, who won't be available very often but who will happily take us out on day trips to reduce the cabin fever, which is what we'll need. We can use a bus for errands; adventure sites generally aren't on bus routes.<br /><br /><b>DIY Driving Lessons </b><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My latest date for my theory test (it's been cancelled five times so far!) is the 14th July. If it goes ahead, I'm not sure when I can take my practical or how I can get lessons. I've been in contact with my instructor, but they're still on lockdown without guidance on what they should do when they reopen. He has assured me that he'll do what he can. <br /><br />In the meantime, I'm going the self-taught route. Many people might do this through trial and error in practice, but me being me, this has meant a lot of googling and research. The show-me / tell-me questions are online, and they've prompted me to become very familiar with my vehicle handbook... but I still had to get a neighbour to show me how to open the bonnet of a car I've had for almost a year. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A YouTube video gave me a UK-test-approved parallel parking technique, which was easier than I expected, though I've not had the nerve to do it 'for real'. I <i>did </i>reverse park flawlessly on a shopping trip to Morrisons recently, and this is one of the greatest accomplishments of my adult life. (I can't really put it up above the kids, but it's got to be in the top 5!) <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I can't practice independently now, but my boyfriend has been informed that manoeuvring rehearsals will be part of our meetups until further notice.<br /><br />Learning to drive in a pandemic is currently under control. Becoming a driverless household is still going to be a challenge, if one that I'm much less afraid of than I would have been before we endured quarantine back in April. If we can survive not leaving the house for two weeks, we can survive a month or so of not leaving the village. For us, a new phase of lockdown has begun. Let's do this.<br /><span></span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684207784246972007.post-39224587454623145042020-06-21T07:32:00.000-04:002020-06-21T07:32:54.842-04:00Father's DayI'm finding Father's Day really hard this year. For the last couple of Father's Days, the kids have just gone off with their Dad for the day and I've managed to avoid thinking about it too much. Obviously, this year that wasn't an option.<br /><br />I do take responsibility for the kids living across the ocean from their father. Practically speaking there were no other realistic options for me, but it was still my decision to move back to the UK, so I place a high priority on their relationship and bridging that gap. Clearly, this is not going to be an easy day for him either.<br /><br />This year, the kids made a video to send to their Dad. They've been making videos for school lately, so this was a good way for them to get creative on their own project, but I was brainstorming ideas with them and helping them figure out some technical aspects. <br /><br />We ran into that typical parent-child collaborative issue where I had these ambitious ideas and they were reluctant to take on that much work and then I felt they weren't putting the effort in... and that led to me completely losing my temper with them yesterday morning. It was a nasty moment in which I realised that I was actually really stressed about this video. Why? Because I was afraid their father would blame me if it wasn't good enough.<br /><br />It's a depressing truth that a huge proportion of my self-worth is still tied up in what their father thinks of me. The fact that I don't know what their father thinks of me (because we deliberately talk as little as possible) does nothing to alleviate my general paranoia.<br /><br /><div>While this remains a problem with no obvious solution for me, I shouldn't take it out on the kids, and when my stress was taking all the fun out of their father's day video for <i>them</i>, I was defeating the entire purpose of doing it in the first place. So I sent myself to my room telling them I wasn't allowed out until I had calmed down.<br /><br />They did get the video done eventually, and while I have no idea what their father thought, <i>they</i> thought it was hysterical and got a real kick out of their own work. So I'm taking that as a success on that level and trying to convince myself that that's the only level I need to worry about. <br /><br />Other than that, family-oriented holidays always trigger the bereavement feelings. In retrospect, I probably should have planned something for today to take my mind off it. But I didn't, and now I'm in a circular grief/funk cycle, so instead I'll spend the day doing inefficient distraction activities and letting the kids get away with murder. Whatever works!<br /><br />One of my distraction activities will be writing another blog post. A more proactive one, now that I've articulated my current mood.<br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17636810253795766740noreply@blogger.com0