And it's goodnight from her

Well, just two more sleeps in the house into which we brought our babies. And then we'll move to the house from which we'll presumably see them go. Wouldn't you think? God willing?


This has been our first marital home, the boys' only home, the third house I recall living in, and the second I have owned. On Monday I will have owned five cars and lived in four houses in my whole life.


It is a strange time. Exciting, exhausting, God-filled, and strange!


Thank you all for reading along with fraise lachrymose. Blogging has been a huge part of my life in this house over the last few years. Blogging coincided with my leaving full-time work and embracing the renaissance of the cult of domestic woman. Not that I was any good at it, but I did hug it happily!


There will still be fraise, if the computer survives the move. (If I survive the move.) I'm thinking more along the lines of A Partridge in a Pear Tree; bet you're singing that now!  That's what I got for Christmas this year- a partridge in a pear tree. The partridge (knitted chicken) came from MK, and the tree came from Prince Charming.


The pear tree, and the partridge, are coming across the road. The strawberry bed unfortunately has to stay. I'll be planting lots more strawberries along with us at By The Pear Tree, but they'll take a while to settle in. Maybe the strawberry analogy still works!


It's not such a lachrymose land, my land, anymore. Even given Mum's illness this year, Mattman's Big Test, Mum and Dad's moving last month, us moving this month. It has been hard work and it has been busy, but it's not so lachrymose as before. I think the difference is that maybe, finally, perhaps, I might be learning a little bit of faith.


Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.


Psalm 37 has been our story since February half-term. God speed with all your stories this weekend and beyond. We'll see you across the road- you might need to bring your own cup...

Safe to shore

Here's the latest from Rend, although huge as they now are in the States, maybe you've all already got your CD! Interesting spot of pier jumping towards the end. Alternative July activity for those not engaged in Recreational Rioting- our two national summer sports.


When I follow my link to "Leaving number 28", there'll be precious little to read. It's a precious time though. There will be pictures this week. For the strawberry archive! Before Prince Charming packs the computer...


For now it's all cardboard boxes and lots of Rend.

Celebrating St Patrick

Despite the fact that we are living in a box. A cardboard box. Life goes on! Homework has to be done- keep the pencil pots unpacked. Clothes must be washed, worn, laundered again- keep the clothes unpacked, and the clothes horses, the iron (ha!), the laundry baskets. Dinners must be made and consumed- keep the pots, pans, food, tea towels and kitchen sink.


I resist all attempts to pack up the boys' books. Mine are long gone, and I never resist pointing out the one tome that I could so happily have used right now, thank you very much, Prince Charming. Accompanied by wistful gazing in the direction of the cardboard mountain that is our dining room.


I will continue to resist until after Monday. We will be needing our dePaola, for goodness sake! And I know our felt St Patrick's brooches are at the bottom of the craft box at the bottom of the bed. Somewhere.


In honour of our patron saint, fraise has taken on his traditional colour. Yes, fraise has gone blue. I was at a truly fascinating talk last night by Tim Campbell, director of the St Patrick's Centre, in Downpatrick. He asserts that green became associated with Irish celebrations mostly after Irish immigration to America- post-famine obviously, but also prior to those disasters in the phenomenon of Irish Presbyterian emigration. Everyone missing the green fields of home in the midst of harsh American snow, and wearing their green shamrocks.


As it transpires, however, the colour associated with Patrick in his day was blue. It was a colour of the church and apparently also associated with one particular family who may have been his patrons.


So I shall be wearing blue on Monday. Not my only sign of rebellion. I have previously herein bemoaned the fact that our children never get any time off school for St Patrick's. Well! Now that I am working in an integrated school, and getting the whole day off, we are taking the strawberries out of school to go to the parade in the town of Downpatrick. Even before we got The Peace* Downpatrick was resolutely holding a cross-community parade, with all political symbols banned. Prince Charming and I have always wanted to go- though actually he played in a band once that was on a float in the parade, so it's really only me who really wants to go.


I would promise pictures, and indeed have identified the source of my problems as being cookies. I thought these were things that you ate in copious and gluttonous quantities. So now I just need to eat them all up. In the meantime I am leaving you with an apparently huge picture of The Land of The (sometimes tearful) Strawberries. It is all becoming increasingly emotional, and tears will be shed.


*The Peace. We do tend to talk about The Peace here in the Frozen North as if it was something we had caught, like The 'Flu. "Now that we have The Peace..." we will say. Secretly cynical, or perhaps just aware of how fragile Peace can be. Wishing you all peace in your land x