Arboreally ironic

 No, I'm not sure if that is a word either. I'm running out of words, and we're not even into double digits of February. Today's word was 'arboreal' and I knew in my mind that I wanted it to be all about Psalm 1: planted by streams of water, bearing fruit wherever appropriate. But in the back of my mind was the growing panic that after tomorrow, there are only two words on the list (except for one that I'm saving for half-term). 

So, there I was earlier, doodling away about putting my roots down deep into words, knowing fine rightly that I haven't read a thing since January and you can't drink from an empty cup. Isn't that the expression? If somebody has a good word for that, do let me know tout de suite!

So, I am somewhat abashed as I trail upstairs to bed now. And I am taking my Bible and 'Leaving for America' with me. So far in 'Leaving for America' nobody actually goes to America. I'm also beginning to wonder if there really is anybody living next door to his big house, or if there is even a big house at all next door to his big house.

I'm teaching in school at the minute, instead of supporting teaching. Our fourth teacher out of a department of nine has tested positive. I'm a bit slaughtered. You can probably tell. So much for my glorious white space of January. Here's a tree, an aspirational tree, an arboreally ironic aspirational tree. Normal service may be resumed shortly.

A weekend

Prince Charming and I had breakfast together this morning (it was still Saturday when I started typing this!) to the sound of Radio 4 while our mostly adult children slept on. It was the start of a good day. When boys emerged, one studied and t'other helped me clear childhood clutter toys. In my head there will be one room completely cleared and completely cleaned each 2022 month. Forward, I suppose, but methinks this first room is going to be greedy for some February!

Not all 'in my head' things come to pass. In a new Meadowplace order, we are realising that these mostly adult children of ours have minds of their own which must be respected. So the blast to the coast after lunch was just the two of us. This is recently new, and we are adjusting! We did nonetheless love breathing in the last of the daylight all the way from Ballintoy to White Park Bay and back. It's not so far, but being in week 4 of a six week ankle recovery time, it's far enough! It transpired over Christmas that we have four front steps and not three. Who knew?

And here is some progress thus far. The sock was doing well until it became clear that I couldn't really go on knitting joyful rounds indefinitely. So now it's stalling. Fortitude needed for the next bit, or just some concentration. Both of which sound like a lot of effort! The second panel of Mum's tree blanket is nearly finished, though. Size 4 clogs for scale. The book is a proof copy of Francis Hagan's latest novel. FH is novelist and poet, psychotherapist and local English teacher... in the school where I work! Leaving for America is a poignant and increasingly teasing tale, written with Shakespearean scope and beauty. I have to read it very slowly. And this chromebook is my chromebook, to paraphrase the Bard himself.

 Can I tell you about the bags? The red one is A4 size which is perfect for the pattern for Trees. It was bought for its size at a craft fair that I must have gone to with my mother in 2002. I only know this because I got it to keep my first antenatal notes in. It hadn't been used since 2004 when it became redundant after the second now mostly adult boy was born.

The little white one, book-sized but also perfect for sock-things, was bought in July 2019 in a gorgeous bookshop in Germany, as you might have guessed. That was our last time out of a UK country (except for the quick drive across The Border that I had to do last Saturday - which was another quite nice day). We were on holiday with three friends and stayed in a centuries old watermill. One of the friends is a German teacher, and she did translate the Nietsche for me. I can't quite remember it now, but maybe you'll work it out!

I do hope that you might be having  a lovely forward-looking weekend, full of breath and joy in whatever makes you smile. I hope she won't mind me quoting it but the hardest working woman I know, who has an enormous heart full of big pain-won faith, said this, crowning my good day, forward...right out the door, to the barn with prayers God will overwhelm you with His blessings this year. This entire year. XO

First weekend in September

Here is the Hurricane Tree. It's right outside the kitchen window, and above it's outside Mattman's bedroom window which is where we stood ? years ago when Hurricane Ophelia blew through, relatively kindly as it turned out. We thought we could track the strength of the storm by how bare the tree would get hour by hour. It didn't! So here is the tree in the first weekend of September. I imagine month by month bare is exactly what it will get. And I am really very happy to see the first few orange leaves and to feel that different coolness in the air and to hear the crisper rustling in the branches that whispers Autumn. Is it too early to get the pumpkins out?

I'm also very very very happy that my little pear tree has THREE pears this year. It has only ever had one pear per year, and that only twice. So this is a rich harvest indeed. I am very excited. I am less excited about the potential broccoli harvest. Mattman and I joined the home produce enthusiasm over Lockdown, but I have to admit that growing food has never been my success, and if we get one head of skinny broccoli, we will count ourselves lucky indeed.

And because of a blessing in my school's timetabling on Friday, Prince Charming and I got a walk all to ourselves on Friday, and it was sublime. A bright blue sky sort of a day with coast and tides and blackberries and muddy paths and languid cows and fields of corn. It was good to be right out of the city, after two weeks back in school with masks and visors and a circuitous one-way system, and to walk far and wide with lungs full of clean and healthy air.

And so, fine blogland folk, blessings on your September. Here's what I'll be at:

What I'm reading: Psalms; Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo; Lilies for Gretchen, finally.

What I'm making: a tartan mask for my Scotland loving about to be 80 years of age father; Cushla's Comfort, a blanket in a secret colour; the Hookery Shawl, which only advances by six rows a week at my Hookery Crochet group which has been meeting in Zoom for six months now.

What I'm doing: getting used to us all being back at school (see Psalm 91); still thinking about signing up for an online course, deadline this Thursday; outdoor swimming in Belfast Lough with Jordanstown Lough Swimmers, and wondering if I can keep that up into October...

Happy Autumn  (let's all be like trees flourishing in the house of the Lord, whether we're back there physically or not, and whether they grow out of our heads or not) x

 

Stables and trees

 

I've been thinking about books this morning. This is a fairly common diversionary tactic for me, but now more than ever is there need for good books! I was listing in my head, as I ate my porridge, the books that were precious to me. I was thinking about Wendy Erskine's Sweet Home with all its illustrations of East Belfast life that manage to be illustrations of lots of life. She signed my copy at the book launch. And she used to be my head of department when I worked in her school. So lots of precious between the covers of that one.

And then I thought of Jostein Gaardner's not quite yet seasonal A Christmas Mystery. Definitely a book I'd want to throw in a bag of books to be saved in the event of a house disaster but obviously after my children (and Prince Charming) were safely out! I was trying to remember the end, and don't read on if it will be a spoiler, but Elisabet wonders what she'll do when all the others' roles are fulfilled and she decides that she'll bow her head under the lintel of the stable door, and she goes in to meet the Christ-child for herself. (Doesn't she?)

It strikes me today how very easy it was for Elisabet and the shepherds and the kings and the everybody to meet Jesus. They didn't have to book their place in advance, worry about how many of them would be inside or about how many households they represented, make sure everybody had a mask, that all hands were sanitised, and that there was enough ventilation. I'm very confident there was enough ventilation.

And what I think about all that is that today it is still very easy to meet Jesus. In fact, God is all over the Internet in these days of online church. Our local church is taking a return to the building very slowly and carefully, but my goodness, what an array of creativity has emerged. From services to a reading of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and amazing resources for all age groups. Prince Charming's Live Worship is there too from our mostly tidy book room! Have a look here, if you have any more time in the day!

We are less than two weeks from the return of schools here in Northern Ireland, and plans are still coming through from our Department of Education. One leading city school has this just this morning announced that face masks will be mandatory to protect staff. We'll all have different opinions of this, but I'll confess this house reassured by any strategies that acknowledge the need to manage fear as much as the virus.

I'm so grateful in These Strange Times that it is still easy to meet God. Easy to lift up His Name. Easy to call on His Name. And so worthwhile, since I do fully believe that history, even covid history, hinges exactly there.

Jeremiah 17:7-8 

But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him.

He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.

World Book Day

I have been really interested in all the talk around World Book Day this year. From my little spot in the social media circle it seems to have come from folk called The Curiosity Approach and they had these excellent words earlier in the week.

I certainly remember all sorts of "mummy homework" when the boys were at primary school. I usually heard about them the night before the sock puppet/Christmas angel/pirate outfit/book day costume was required, although my particular brand of Life with Boys acknowledges that said homework could have been a long established requirement! Nonetheless, for us, World Book Day was definitely more of a dressing up stress than a celebration of story. Bravo to anyone who pulls it back to its roots.

Apparently its roots lie under the mighty UNESCO oak. They wanted to "promote reading and a love of books". The Curiosity Approach's article also cites research that describes one in eleven UK children who do not own one single book of their own at home. In a school like the one where I work, that number would be one in eight. What shocked me even more was the idea that children who did have at least one book at home had in fact, on average, 51 books. That's some jump.

On Thursday (World Book Day) the small group of 16 year-old boys who are in my English class got their January exam results. They are all boys with a history of failing in English. Most of them went up two or even three grades from their summer result. Do not take this as a sign of my teaching prowess: for only three of them was this enough to get them over the pass line. We're pushing on hard to the final exam this summer.

I took them cake on Thursday and a huge bag of books from our shelves. I think we have safely more than 51 books in this house. I think I can safely guess that my school boys do not. I took all our picture and short story books that were not babyish. We ate cake and read. One of them apparently said that he had just read his first book. I had this picture up on the screen. It's from this quite fabulous book. "If at first you don't succeed, have some cake." Hopefully it will work every time! All prayers for them (and me!) would be greatly appreciated!

The Hair Project

Well, here I am on my first school night of the real New Year! My lunch is made, my clothes are ironed (if not entirely dry, yet), and I know where my school bag is and I'm pretty sure my school key is in the bag and if not, sure I might not need it tomorrow anyway...

Above we have the results of this summer's Grow Your Hair project. Mattman loves his hair long. His school however requires hair to be above the collar. Always a sad day when it has to go! He does have a very sympathetic hairdresser who spends the whole time muttering about schools and their impact on individuality. I think you sign up to these things in full understanding when you take the place! There is however a school nearby that allows sixth years not only to grow their hair, but also their beards. Not that either of my blond(ish) boys will have to worry too much about that!

I knew that Mattman has been just that bit taller than me for a while now, but it was interesting to see the evidence this morning! I didn't realise before just how similar our hair colour is. They're funny young men, my two. I have ignored all recent articles on Radio 4 about screen time this summer and allowed them to fry their brains utterly on the Goldbergs and Sheldon and How I Met Your Mother and that ridiculous dance thing. Not to mention the Evil Box and Fortnite. That said, they have without complaint, question or concern mopped floors, emptied the dishwasher, cooked meals and ploughed through school revision booklets when asked, so maybe they know themselves that screen time has its limits.

And so to bed. Must set an alarm. Are there batteries for the alarm clock? Will there be traffic in the morning? Who will I sit beside at Break? Where did I put my school mug...

Advent Ending

My Advent began with a huge sense of expectation. What did I want God to do for me? Do for me this Advent? That turned into a greater sense of chastising challenge when the nothing transpired within the usual time-frame from an application that I had made. Was God my Father Christmas to deliver a list? I could only offer myself, like Mary, as a servant. Still believing that nothing is impossible for God, but thinking not this time. Then mid-week mid-Advent, an email came, followed by an interview, following by an offer.So, my Advent ending is a happy one, full of wonder that actually God heard the deepest desire of my heart, and blessed me.

This is Prince Charming's favourite Christmas song to sing, and he does sing it beautifully. There is a short burst of him on farcebook! (His band is called North.) I have been crocheting a snowflake for every day in December: some I give away, some I use on present wrapping, the rest are yarnbombing my Jacob's ladder- shall try to get it looking respectable enough to post! Snow is a bit of a theme- all wishful thinking thus far, with crisp frost giving way to cold rain this afternoon!

Meanwhile- may your Advent ending be a happy one, full of wonder and blessing.

Thanksgiving (early)

My goodness, at the risk of boring you: look, it's me. AGAIN! I was thinking about Ann Voskamp the other day. It probably began with the thought of all the Christian books I never finish, hers included. This is not a criticism of the book, quite the opposite. I'll start a really good Christian book, get to the end of the first chapter and worthily think that I need to put what I've read into practice before I can read on. And that's it for another dusty addition to the unread pile.

Talking of dusty unread piles of books, I am worryingly behind on my Alphabet of Authors with an exciting dash to come before this year's end! I have, however, read some fabulous things. I digress.

Ann Voskamp. I loved reading her blog. It was one of the first blogs I followed. And for a while I did try to post on Mondays a list of things for which I was grateful that week and generally. I have just checked. I got to 834 out of the target 1000 on 1st July 2013. That's more than three years ago. I wonder can I get through 166 before this year's end...

835 Three years and three days ago I went back to work five days a week for the first time in six years. Working as a classroom assistant was supposed to be an experiment in getting back to full-time work, but 836 it has been an easy and very family-friendly post and I am still there.

837 Despite the stormy seas, or should I say skies, of Alan's aerospace company, he is also still there, and for that we are all most thankful.

838 In the last three years both boys have moved from Primary to Secondary school, the same one- for which I am very thankful! Not sure how much Jo likes being accosted all the time with people asking if he is Mattman's brother...

839 Mattman has had a difficult time with bullies, but continues to grow in resilience and confidence. We have recently been praying out of Daniel 3 that there will be no smell of fire on him, no scars seen or unseen.

840 My parents have moved from their top of the hill, snowed in twice a winter house to a seaside apartment at the bottom of the hill. 841 My mother continues to cope brilliantly and stoically with the aftermath of a severe stroke, and 842 my father is still well enough to ensure that they can continue living independantly.

843 My brother is an absolute star; without each other's support the care of our parents would be a more stressful thing.

844 We moved back to a Presbyterian church around three years ago after six years of Prince Charming leading worship in a local Anglican-Methodist united congregation. We have been welcomed and loved and gathered into a wonderful circle of friends and fellowship.

845 Jo has lots of his research done for his Albert Einstein presentation, and 846 we are getting to the end of a fortnight of horrendously hard homework deadlines. But now he needs the computer. 154 to go. Might need some of 2017 too!

One Last More

This nicely constructed photo was taken today for facebook, where all is aligned and presentable. To the top right of this shot was a tent with camping chairs, homemade crochet blanket, scatter cushions and Trangia where we cooked our lunch in the hot summer sun. What you can't see are the wasps and boys begging to be allowed back inside to the cool and the X-Box.

One last more day of my summer holidays- I am back for staff days tomorrow."One last more" was what the boys always wanted at the park. One last more run around, one last more climb, one last more go on the rope thing that turns. We still say it now, mostly Prince Charming and I now that they are grown and cool and X-Boxed.

Last week we also experienced some sunny sun. It's not a summer requirement here in the Frozen North, and we do like to pounce on it with shorts and a determination to be outside. I dragged drove the boys all around Strangford Lough last Tuesday, starting our newly re-opened Aquarium. They have cleverly incorporated the area's Viking history into the first few rooms- Strangford is Old Norse for strong fjord. We were all of us, even the teenager, impressed. Exploris is right at the tip of the Ards Peninsula and the best thing to do next is to take the little car ferry across the Narrows to Strangford village.

This little ferry powers across the  lough. Because we were the lucky last car on, we couldn't see ahead, so we jumped out of the car to watch Portaferry surging away behind us. Prince Charming doesn't usually let us out because the crossing is so short, but the sunny sun was sunny and the holidays were coming to this end, and out we popped. Mattman was standing right in front of me, leaning back into a less and less frequent public hug, and I told him that this would be the last summer when he would be shorter than me. Another one last more!

Then next Tuesday, Jo will join his older brother at Big School. This has been his one last more summer as a Primary School boy. Goodness, how poignant has it all been! One last more cup of tea before bed, methinks- or maybe I should find some of my school clothes...

Here, where I type

I have no camera at all with me here, where I type. This here is just an anywhere here. It has a keyboard and a connection and a warm radiator at my feet with an open window at my chin. So I have comfortable heat and the benefit of uncold Spring air! Not my heating system in this particular here, so I shan't worry about the fossil fuels...


Here, where I type, there is a gentle buzz of voices and very soon I will cross the wide room to bring this week's order to shelves of novels. Here, where I type, if you could listen with that particular ear, you would hear voices of countries and characters and journeys from far and near. Although what is near to me here, where I type, may be far from you there, where you read. And what is far to me here, where I type, may be near to you. I'll think of that as I move the author beginning with S from the shelf beginning with D. They've probably had more than enough of Twits and Witches by now anyway.


So far today in my here I have been reading and scribing and encouraging and discussing and supervising and emailing and preparing, so this is a little hiatus of gentle buzz and gentle air before I order and tidy and then spend the afternoon downstairs in another wide room. There will be colour and fun and chat and the subliminal push to stay on target but to do it in so jolly a way that you will hopefully not notice that you are working at all.


And then another week will come to its abrupt end with a bell and a rush and a push and a drive home along the coast road listening to professional gardeners advising amateur gardeners on matters completely too hard for me, but their words will announce two days to me of not here, but there.

The last time I looked down and couldn't see my feet I was pregnant with a boy. This time I am not pregnant. I am a middle-aged, biscuit guzzling mother of two boys and daughter of two parents who works five days a week- school hours and term-time only- and who is hungry all the time. The disappearing feet were nonetheless a disconcerting discovery one morning this week in the shower.

For a few Lents I have deactivated my Facebook account. This is very easy and very, very effective. That is time you can tangibly retrieve and put to prayer or Bible reading. For another few Lents I have tried to deactivate my gorging on junk food to get me through the next chunk of the day. This has never been successful! I suppose endeavouring to put a spiritual slant on the fact that your clothes don't fit anymore is just not the right motivation.

I wish it was though. Those of us born into first world places and kind families push through into our earthly life with all good things on our side. And what do I end up doing? Bemoaning the first world problem that too much food in my belly means that none of the many clothes hanging in my wardrobe hang on me quite as roomily as they did two years ago. Clearly the fact that I now drive everywhere around my five square miles existence burning significantly more fossil fuels than I do bodily energy is not helping.

Before I went back to working five days I walked to and from their school with the boys, and cycled or walked to my evening library job. I did a little bit of housework everyday instead of collapsing onto the sofa at any given opportunity. I did spend some mornings praying and Bible reading too. I used to say that I didn't believe in exercise, but in an active lifestyle. It all seems very halcyon now!

I clearly need to practise some self-discipline. It makes me think of the verse in Hebrews, which I'd only ever considered as a rebuke to children or wrong-doers:

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. (Hebrews 12:11)

I think that the way I'm living now is a form of wrong-doing. I am not respecting the body God has given me; I am not respecting the privileged position I am in with first world abundance of food and fuel. I think that if I lived more gratitude and generosity I certainly wouldn't eat my way through the biscuit tin every afternoon after school, and I would get us out of the car a bit more. 

I just think that I'd manage that if I was more worried about the world, than about my girth. And I'm not sure I'd deserve any righteousness and peace that came out of dropping a dress size!

Advent Hope

Oh dear, I was so hoping to do my first Advent post actually on the first Sunday in Advent, 

but now I'm just hoping to squeeze it in before the end of Monday!

I am sincerely hoping to get my 1500 word essay finished tomorrow,

as I am also sincerely hoping to be ready for Thursday night's Advent event.

I am hoping that Jo's cold and very sore nose will get better,

and that no-one will need a doctor this week.

I am hoping that we all get out to work and school

on time

for the rest of the week.

I am hoping that now that Jo's transfer test is over, over, over

he can get back to enjoying school,

but I hope that I will not forget to help him with his craft homework

tomorrow

and I do so hope I can do that and finish my essay and get

ready for Advent.

In which my bookroom reveals itself to be, in fact, a sloth

At least two years ago we had a Hungry Caterpillar calendar. Full of inspiration I photographed every month's picture come year's end with full and firm intention of blogging monthly on my reading accomplishments. Sigh. Here I am just about managing to mark last month's end, and what spectacular accomplishments do I present?

"A Woman in Arms" by Russell Braddon: The story of Nancy Wake. This is a book written for older children. Just about my level of intellectual endeavour these days! I have actually been much struck by my need to reawaken the little grey cells. Last week I decided to inspire myself to spiritual creativity on the domestic front, and virtuously took The Hidden Art of Homemaking to bed. I managed two paragraphs before conceding that I have a concentration span worse than either of my suns. On a bad day. This discovery has not at all been much dissipated by my being on a twilight course for work this month. There is the prospect of an essay ahead. An essay! I haven't written one of those in...

I digress. Low concentration. Nancy Wake. This is a story that needs read in adult format. Far too much Enid Blyton cavorting in woods, admittedly with machine guns instead of ginger beer. She seems to have preferred copious amounts of champagne. I was conscious the whole time of a darker, grittier tale beneath. A woman in her twenties, leading thousands of French Resistance guerillas in the months following D-Day? Much more to be unearthed, if I only had the grey cells.

I found the story in our school library. Somehow I have had the glorious fortune to have been assigned to helping there two periods a week. One hour and twenty minutes of tidying the shelves in what is a quite superlative collection. So I'm afraid there may be more young adult books ahead!

Finally views and snowy ones at that

 After three weeks of severe weather warnings and making sure each week that we have at least one tin each of soup and beans in the cupboard, we finally got some snow! It's been two years since our last magic carpet, and it's not much of a one at that- at least along this coastal stretch of a mostly inland lough!

 We were up and excited by 7.30 when it was a bit lighter than it looks here. Disappointed that none of our three schools had made the closures list, but I did get home at lunchtime- more to do with the severe lack of pupils than road conditions.

 I'm becoming fascinated by the tree outside the kitchen window. I sit and watch it before the light dies and wonder when it will manifest Spring. Not for a good while yet, I imagine, but it's a good thought. I don't usually struggle with January but this year's slight gloom will hopefully lift as the month turns. I was surprised when I logged on here to see that none of the blog posts in my head had ever made it to the blog, but that reflects most of my plans for the month really!

The reason why I can sit and observe my outside-the-kitchen-tree is that we gave in to the cold after New Year and moved our table from under the spectacular(ly freezing) window wall in to the warmth of the kitchen. Today was the first day I have been in the living room all week. Mostly now I move from table to kitchen job and back again. Usually with tea in hand. I do wander next door to the book room a bit more, I suppose, now that all the unpacked boxes of Stuff have been hidden in the spare room instead. Maybe that room will make a blog post soon. Probably in February....

Views and fun

 This was sunrise over East Antrim yesterday morning as we left for our respective schools. Glorious. Stunning. Colour-filled light that was coming into our world. The word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood.

 This was  lunch with a good friend today. It's exam week in our establishment which means half-days and a brief return to the halcyon days of having time to see people! That pate, folks; that pate is not the Giant's Causeway. That pate is worth tasting and it's worth coming to taste! Duck and orange, and the jelly on top is not a fat-based jelly, as Abel the French Moroccan owner-chef was at pains to tell us. Oh no, that jelly is proper fruit juice jelly. With slices of real oranges floating in its own nectar. La Table in Merville Garden Village, and here it is. Shame you can't hear the jazz or make out the legendary patisseries on the counter. That seat's yours...

And here we come to the most exciting one of all. This is Mags with her coffee buddy of Wednesday nights at Hookery. This is Darling Ricky. Retired when his Parkinson's became intrusive. Took up painting to fill his time, and donated anything he made to the Leprosy Mission with whom he and a small team from his church travel to the village of Hombolo, near Samaria, in Tanzania every Autumn.

Tonight his first city-centre exhibition opened, in the prestigious Engine Room no less. So here I am high on a night out of the house and one glass of wine and the sheer joy of seeing Richard Darling's work hung professionally on stark white walls instead of stepping over them to get to his sofa. His pictures show the rolling hills and fields of Northern Ireland; his homes and churches lean quirkily and protectively over the figures whose intricate stories he paints. His tight terrace houses display back yards of washing as if ceilings have been lifted from these private lives and we peek in. Through it all soars such a gentle love of humanity that it does take your breath away. Worth seeing, and worth coming to see!

Home from the wild woods

 Dark dawn. The rare treat of eating breakfast quietly by myself.

 New and interesting rock formations at Bloody Bridge carpark. Rabbits or benign sentinels of the hills?

  Looking down over Newcastle from the foothills of Donard.

 The wild woods. Not very wild at all. No bears in sight, though one young man had been quite spectacularly attacked  by a gorse bush!

 The carpark at Tollymore. Winning my Kitkat bet because the bus really was at the top of the last steep climb!

 And home to the Meadowplace.

 Where the chestnut tree has finally conceded that it needs to put on its Autumn outfit.

 And where we'll be putting on a bit more of an Autumn outfit inside to make the most of this old year in its last throes. Happy half-term!

Into the Wild Woods

No views today, sorry. I've been dubbing my boots and am packing my daysack for a walk in the Wild Woods tomorrow with school. I'll have views from here and views from there and cosy plans for half-term as the weekend wends its freedom way from three schools' gates to breakfeasts in bed and pumpkins.

We have two decent mountain expanses here in the Frozen North. I hesitate to call them ranges. Tomorrow I'll be in the Mournes area, though I think we're walking either Tollymore or Castlewellan Forest to break the Year 10s in. We also have the Sperrins and I am thoroughly ashamed to say that, apart from adoring my every high drive through the bleakly spectacular Glenshane Pass, I have never set boot thereon.

Tomorrow will be the first training walk for this year's Bronze Duke of Edinburgh group. I haven't been out on expedition walks since I was teaching full-time. I'm very excited, and have my gloves and hat and waterproofs and spare socks and will have a flask of tea.

I am also wondering if it would be very anti-social to read my book on the bus all the way there and all the way back....

Anne

I stayed in bed feeling cold-ridden and just plain tired this morning. Then when all the men came home they told me that there had been a video about me in church. Here it is! Maybe it's not just about me!

More on books later x

First Views from an Autumnal Meadowplace

I woke up in the spare room this morning. A beautifully misty morn nearly compensated for a night of bed swapping. I live in hope that one of us will grow out of this soon!

You just can't see the golden sky. But it was golden! There's one little pear on the one little pear tree out there.

Conkers are starting to fall from the chestnut tree up in the corner. Mattman wants to line his windowsill with them, and Jo is filling a vase.

Same view from my room, when I had re-united myself therewith. Can you see the cows? They were very quiet this morning. Obviously also enjoying the bodings of a fine day.

This is Mattman's new school route. He cuts through the university campus just below us which joins a little lane down to his new school. I drove him to the lane this morning. Heavy bags after a week of new routine are starting to take their toll!

And this is part of my new-ish school route. Next month I will have been a classroom assistant for a whole year.

The view coming home. Where the leafy suburbs open out onto Belfast lough and you bask in the splendour of a genuinely hot and sunny day. I went for a walk to the post box when I got home. I wore my shorts and a summer top. It was a pretty exceptional way to start Autumn!