Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 79: Winnie the Pooh Day

“I don’t feel very much like Pooh today," said Pooh.

"There there," said Piglet. "I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Today is Winnie the Pooh Day which commemorates the birthday of A.A. Milne, who was born on 18th January 1882. Milne wrote the Winnie the Pooh books inspired by the childhood adventures of his son Christopher Robin. The first book appeared in 1926 and they've been loved for their gentle whimsy by children and adults ever since.  

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 79

Winnie the Pooh Day

Who doesn't love Winnie the Pooh? And who doesn't love having something to celebrate? So let's celebrate Winnie the Pooh Day! Here are a few ideas of how...

• Read the books!
• Eat plenty of hunny... 
• Put on your Big Boots and go on an expotition...
• Play Pooh sticks
• Make up a hum...

Happy Winnie the Pooh Day!

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 14: Winter Fun for Children and Your Inner Child

The trees have mostly lost their leaves to the recent winter storms, and I find the drifts of them irresistible to sift through. I search for choice beautiful specimens to bring home, like a child picking up shells on a beach. Today I was inspired by the different shapes to make some leaf rubbings, something I haven't done since my schooldays. Early winter is a good time to take leaf rubbings as there are plenty of fallen leaves to choose from, yet they are still fresh and pliable - later in the season they can become too dry, crumbly and fragile to use for leaf rubbings.  

If you would like to make your own leaf rubbings, choose freshly fallen leaves (or even pick some green ones from plants or wildflowers - I managed to get a good result from some Japanese anemone leaves from the garden). The best leaves to use are not too soft, with a clear shape and some prominent veins for texture (tip: often the veins stand out best on the back of the leaf rather than the front). Wax crayons work best, but you could also use coloured pencils, charcoal, or soft graphite pencils. Put the leaf on a hard, level surface such as a table top or a tray. Put a sheet of paper over the top, and then rub the crayon or pencil over the paper to reveal the shape and details of the leaf beneath - experiment to find the level of pressure that works best. Let your inner child have fun! Later you could cut out the leaf shapes and use them to decorate your home.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 14

Winter Fun for Children and Your Inner Child

Remember all the fun things you used to do as a child during the winter? Share them with your children - or re-introduce them to your inner child! Have fun!

• Take leaf or bark rubbings
• Make a big pile of autumn leaves - and jump in it! Use the leaves to build forts, or labyrinths.
• Play Poohsticks
• If you're lucky enough to have snow - enjoy it! Make a snowman, have a snowball fight, make snow angels, write your name in the snow, make snowcastles (like sandcastles), catch a snowflake on your tongue, stand outside in falling snow and try to catch snowflakes on a dark-coloured background so you can see their six-sided crystal structure
• Put on your wellies - and jump in every puddle you see!
• Toast marshmallows round a fire
• Go tobogganing or ice skating

The 'C' Word, Part 2: Three Weddings, and a Burial

Wedding Number One:
In the summer of 1985 I attended a wedding as the 'plus one' of a platonic male friend. At the reception afterwards, I was pleased to be asked to dance by the Best Man, whose blue eyes had caught my attention. We danced and talked and danced again, and I was happy when he asked for my phone number. To my delight, he rang a few days later and we went on our first date.

Wedding Number Two:
In 1991, reader - I married him!

Yes, I met T at the wedding of our friends Kevin and Ann, and six years later, Kevin was T's Best Man at our own wedding, in the little village church in which my parents had married. By then, Kevin and Ann had a three year old daughter and another on the way. Our friendship with Kevin and Ann was so close that they asked us to be guardians for Rachel, Charlotte and (in time) their younger brother, Michael, in the event that anything untoward should happen to the two of them. Until T and I moved to Wales in 2000 we spent virtually all our spare time together, like a big extended family (Kevin and Ann were originally moving here too, but ultimately decided to stay on Essex).

T and I were married for 17 years, and I thought we were pretty happy until he dropped a bombshell and left in 2008. Since that day, he and I have been in (mostly cordial) irregular contact, yet I had not met - nor wanted to meet, to be honest - his new wife, Sawittree.

So when I received an invitation to Rachel's wedding it brought up mixed feelings. Firstly of course, excitement and happiness at the wonderful news, and pleasure at the thought of sharing my beautiful Goddessdaughter's special day. But also... Sawittree would be there. Younger than me, slimmer than me. On T's arm. That brought up less pleasant emotions. Anxiety, insecurity, apprehension, and a lot of the grief and anger I thought I had processed and left behind by now.

Hmmm.

Luckily I had a few months to prepare myself - firstly by making careful plans to ensure I would be looking my best and hence feeling as confident as possible, and secondly by continuing to work through my feelings about T and Sawittree.

I'm not sure why or how it happened, but at some point before the wedding, I realised that actually, I don't care what T or Sawittree think about me or how they see me. I am now happy in my own skin, at peace with who I am, loved by and in love with IB. Perhaps enough time has elapsed, perhaps I have moved on, perhaps I am a different person. But something has shifted, healed and it is time to move on. And how symbolic that this closure manifested via the wedding of the eldest child of the couple whose own wedding was the starting point of my life with T? And what better symbol of 'new beginnings' than a wedding? The significance seemed staggering when I made the connections.  

Wedding Number Three:
Rachel's wedding was to be held in Maldon, Essex, so IB and I travelled up from Wales the night before and stayed with my sister and her husband in Kent. The weather was still searingly hot, and although we left in plenty of time in the morning, traffic snarls at the Dartford Crossing meant that we weren't as early as hoped by the time we'd arrived and parked the car. Walking through to the High Street, we arrived at the church with about 15 minutes to spare. But to my horror, it immediately became clear I had brought us to the wrong place - the church I had assumed the wedding was in is now a Heritage Centre and was buzzing with stalls selling arts, crafts and jam! Rifling through my bag in a panic I realised I had not brought the invitation. I asked one of the stallholders for help and she explained that there were two churches that the wedding could be in, either St Mary's or All Saint's - but they were at opposite ends of the High Street! This was now beginning to resemble a scene from 'Four Weddings and a Funeral', and my chances of arriving looking cool, calm and serene as I had hoped were fast melting away. I had the name 'St Mary's' in my mind for some reason so off we headed as fast as we could through the crowds of Saturday morning shoppers, me tottering in unaccustomed high heels. We finally arrived at the church to find no one outside and the door shut. Tiptoeing up, I opened the creaky old oak door as quietly as I could, expecting all eyes to turn on the latecomers... only to find the church completely empty. The wedding was, of course, at All Saints, at the other end of the High Street. 

At this point something in me stopped worrying and just decided to go with the flow. It was blazingly hot and humid, my feet were killing me and we had clearly missed any chance of arriving in time for the wedding. We sat in the church porch, while I changed into the flat sandals I had mercifully thought to stow in my bag and discussed our options. IB said to me, 'You are always running round after everyone, trying to keep everyone happy. Just let go of that, and accept things the way they are.' Which was true, helpful and a very liberating perspective all at once. We decided to walk - slowly - up to All Saint's Church, wait outside during the service and get some photos of the bride and groom when everyone emerged. I realised that though I may have missed the wedding service itself, all I really cared about was seeing my beautiful Goddessdaughter happy, enjoying her special day. But then as luck would have it, just as I'd changed back into my posh heels we spied some other latecomers at All Saint's Church and crept in behind them. Mercifully it was during a hymn and we slid quietly and gratefully into a vacant pew.

It was a truly lovely wedding with Rachel absolutely radiant in a gorgeous dress she had designed herself, and her new husband beaming and handsome. As we filed out at the end of the service, I spotted T and Sawittree shading themselves under a tree. IB and I walked over to say hello, and I was quite taken aback to be greeted by T as 'Darling', which I certainly wasn't expecting. That said, it made me think I couldn't be looking too bad for an old girl!

I took plenty of photos and then we made our way back to the car. We weren't expected at the wedding breakfast as the venue was small and the family party large, but we would be returning later for the evening reception. In the meantime IB and I went for lunch at what was one of my favourite pubs when I lived in the area, The Anchor at Runsell Green, Danbury. It was a beautiful summer's day and we sat outside the lovely old pub surrounded by flowers, enjoying a cooling breeze while we ate. Afterwards we took a meandering drive through my old memories, and I showed IB the church where Kevin & Ann married, the first house T & I lived in together, my paternal grandparents' house and the village my father had grown up in, the village where I went to school and finally the village where I grew up, Mountnessing. We also made an unscheduled stop at T's parents' house. I had always got on well with them, especially T's stepmother and although we'd spoken on the phone since T and I split, I hadn't seen them. By luck, they were in and we had a lovely though brief catch-up, and I was able to introduce IB to them.

At Mountnessing we had arranged to meet up with my Mum and Dad - who were in Essex visiting friends - at the home of an ex-neighbour. It was a little surreal as this meant we were in the house opposite my maternal grandparents' old house and diagonally opposite the house I'd grown up in (we had lived next door to my grandparents). Things became even more surreal when the people now living in what had once been my grandparents' house, invited us in to have a look round and see how the house looks these days. This was turning out to be more of a trip down memory lane than I had expected!

The house was at once familiar and not: some rooms had only changed a little, yet others - including a new extension - were completely different. It was not unpleasant though, as the family now living there are lovely and the house retains its warm atmosphere. Out in the garden there were also signs of time having moved on - plants and trees had grown or disappeared, new fences had been erected, and the patio and fishpond my grandfather had lovingly constructed is now showing its age and is in need of an overhaul! We also wandered down into the orchard next to the house - well, it used to be an apple orchard but now the apple trees and blackcurrant bushes of my childhood are all gone. But still there is the silver birch tree T and I planted when we buried the ashes of our son, Peter.

The tree now towers over me. Time has passed, and the sharpness of grief has dulled, yet it is still there. Suddenly all these ghosts of the past are too much, I am overwhelmed by it all and tears well irresistibly up. Luckily IB and my Mum are there to comfort me. I am held in loving arms and given time to cry, and breathe, and compose myself. More closure. We walk slowly back to the present together. Time to get ready for the wedding reception.

*****

The evening reception was as lovely as the wedding itself. The venue was superb. A live band played jazz and swing and people danced, young and old together. There was cake, and champagne, and pretty vintage china. The heat of the day abated as the evening drew on. I saw people I haven't seen in years and enjoyed catching up with them and seeing the amazing young adults their children have grown into. My parents and brother were there too. It was a very special occasion and I was so glad to have been a part of it. I was glad to have finally met Sawittree and put that particular anxiety aside. I was glad to reconnect with old friends. I was glad I saw Peter's tree, and both the continuity and changes in places I used to know so well. It felt like everything that was important to me from my years living in Essex had all come together, been revisited, acknowledged, and put properly away. Closure, writ large. Again.

And that was when the fiercely hot spell of weather finally broke. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed. But it all seemed part of the celebrations, Mother Nature's firework display. Deliciously cool rain fell onto warm pavement as we said farewell to the wedding party and made our way back to the car between showers.

I was exhausted. But so glad I'd come.

Scent Memories

I have written before on the way scent conjures powerful memories. Today I experienced that phenomenon again. Although it's happened to me many times before, I still find it amazing.

There are many plants I don't even try to grow at Halfway Up A Hill. They are way too attractive to slugs, and believe me, the slugs and snails here are voracious. My usual gardening strategy for ornamentals is to grow the things slugs find unpalatable, so that I only have to concentrate my slug-control measures in the veggie patch. Thus my cottage garden is filled with hardy geraniums, penstemons, lady's mantle, aquilegia, foxgloves, astrantia, woody herbs and roses, and I'm quite cautious about wasting my time and money trying anything else.

But this year, a friend gifted me with some clumps of mixed seedlings that had self-seeded in her polytunnel. An eclectic mix of dill, cornflowers, tomatoes, nasturtiums, morning glories and French marigolds. I planted them with minimal protection, with a 'They'll either thrive or not' attitude. The dill was the first casualty, succumbing to the sluggy hordes almost overnight. The tomatoes were probably passed on a bit too late to produce much of a crop, but to my amazement they haven't succumbed to blight yet either, so if we're lucky enough to get an Indian summer they may come up trumps. The nasturtiums, cornflowers and morning glories are romping away. I haven't grown either of the latter two before but all three are now added to my list of slug-proof plants worth growing again. The French marigolds - which from past experience I fully expected to be razed to the ground in short order - actually seemed to be doing OK, and even when the slugs tracked them down, a brief slug-control patrol in the evening seemed to be keeping things within acceptable limits. The bright orange of their flowers looked wonderful with the brilliant scarlet nasturtiums and the glorious blues of the cornflowers and morning glories. So far so good.

Unfortunately the slugs stepped up their attack on the marigolds and today I finally had to admit defeat and pull out the last remaining marigolds after their main stems were severed overnight. I salvaged as many flowers as possible and brought them back to put in a jar of water. At least they will brighten the kitchen windowsill for a few more days.

I stripped the leaves from the stems, and the scent released by the crushed foliage brought memories flooding back. At the age of twelve I was given a small patch of ground outside my bedroom window as my first garden. At a summer fete in the village I bought a tray of French marigolds - I think they were actually the first flowers I planted there. Suddenly I was twelve again, digging over the soil in that small patch, earthy hands carefully tending the marigolds, a chamomile plant, some mint, and the 'Wargraves Pink' hardy geranium, bought at the same village fete and from which I still have a cutting to this day growing against the wall of the workshop.

I hadn't thought of that garden for a very long time, but the smell of marigold leaves brought it all back so clearly. How amazing that our senses can do this for us. Our bodies and brains are such wonderful things!

P.S. I know the photo isn't actually a French marigold, it was the closest I could find!

The Scent of Blackcurrant Leaves

Warm sun on my back, I brush aside the leaves to find the hidden treasure. Hanging in shining black clusters, the big juicy sweet/tart berries soon fill my basket.

As the distinctive, tangy scent of blackcurrant leaves fills my nostrils, I have my own Proustian moment. I am transported back to my childhood, picking blackcurrants in my grandparent's orchard. For me it is the quintessential summer memory. In amongst the currant bushes, gobbling down most of what I pick as the sun shines and Nanna, Mum, my siblings and I chat companionably, picking, picking, picking. The currants will be turned into pies, puddings, jams and some will be frozen so we can enjoy the taste of summer even during the darkest of winter days.

This summer, my own neglected blackcurrant bushes are sprawling in all directions, overgrown with brambles, bracken, nettles and bindweed. Yet still they give abundantly, and we shall have jam and wine and currants in the freezer to enjoy for the rest of the year. My hands are scratched by brambles and my legs are stung by nettles, my shoulders turn red from the sun. Yet still I keep picking, just a few more, just a few more... and still there are enough for me, and the birds to enjoy.

Eventually the basket is full and I extricate myself from the thicket, thanking and blessing the bushes for their bounty. I make a mental note to give them a good pruning in the autumn, and tidy up all the brambles and other weeds that have grown up around them.

Wonderful, luxuriant blackcurrants that give so generously despite my neglect. Wonderful memories of childhood summers. Wonderful sunny afternoon of harvesting.

Real Gold

My Mum's wedding bouquet was yellow roses and mauve freesias. She still loves these flowers today.

Today my parents celebrate their Golden Wedding Anniversary, 50 years together.

This afternoon, they will re-take their vows, with my Uncle Jack, who married them way back in 1960 reprising his role as officiant. Tomorrow we will throw a big party for them. Fifty years of happy marriage is worth celebrating!

Last night we watched some old home movies of their wedding and the early years of their marriage: the building of the home I and my siblings grew up in, family holidays, birthday parties and trips to the zoo. It was strange watching these old films, which I probably last saw as a teenager. This time, I saw them through new eyes. Looking back now that I am in my forties I could see my parents for the first time as a young couple, starting out in life, building their life and family together. I realised how hard it must have been for them sometimes with three small children, only my Dad working, money in short supply, literally building a house brick by brick themselves and turning it into a happy home. But I also know how lucky I am to come from a close-knit, loving family. That is worth more than gold!

So - golden years, leading to a Golden Anniversary today. Happy Anniversary, Mum and Dad. And may there be many more!

Interview

The lovely and talented Tori at http://gettingit-tori.blogspot.com/ has sent me the following interview questions:

1.~ Where did you grow up? Tell me about your childhood home.
I grew up in Essex, which is the county east of London. It's mostly the kind of place people travel through to get to somewhere else, and generally has a poor image due to it's industrial areas and the soulless 'new towns' that sprung up there to accommodate people from the bombed-out areas of London after World War II. If you give it a chance though, Essex does have another side - picturesque villages, thatched cottages, arable fields, willow-lined rivers, country pubs, lonely saltmarshes and big skies, due to it's rather flat topography!

I was lucky enough to grow up in a small village, in a house Mum & Dad built themselves (my earliest memory is 'helping' build the fireplace - I must have been about 2 years old). It was next door to my maternal grandparents. We had a large garden, as did Nanna & Granddad - their plot also included a wild and overgrown apple orchard (Granddad built us a treehouse in an apple tree!), which was a great adventure playground. It was a place that really fired my imagination - I used to make elaborate palaces for the fairies out of moss, twigs and petals, play at being a spy or a gypsy, talk to the trees, pretend my bike was actually a pony called 'Silver'... really, if I hadn't had to go to school it would have been the most idyllic childhood ever!

2.~What is something about marriage, about being in a committed adult relationship that you wish you had a better understanding of growing up?
I wish I'd realised that you have to really work at marriage and relationships. My Mum and Dad made it look so easy! Realising the fairy-tale ending actually requires compromise, compassion, empathy, patience, dialogue and plain commonsense would have saved me a lot of mistakes!

3. ~What is your day job?
I wish I knew! I don't have a paid job and I never know how to answer when people ask me what I do. In the past I've been a librarian, barmaid, children's nanny, accounts clerk, receptionist, switchboard operator, customer services assistant, typist, secretary, aromatherapist, and voluntary worker at a city farm. I stopped paid employment when I was trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant and it was thought my stressful job may have been part of the problem. Since we moved to our current home I am kept busy with the house, the animals and the garden, plus I do voluntary work one day a week. I also make & sell crafts (mostly Pagan-themed) including my papier mache masks - although it's by no means a living wage!

4. ~What is your favorite form of artistic expression (for yourself to create)?
I love to create things, but I have a real butterfly mind when it comes to artistic expression - I flutter from one medium to another, getting bored if I stick to just one thing. In the past I've been passionate about creative writing, poetry, embroidery, cross-stitch, mixing aromatherapy blends, candlemaking and glass painting to name just a few. More recently there has been mask-making, decorative painting, jewellery making, felting and clay modelling. And right now I'm having a blast writing my blog and playing with T's digital camera. My approach may be a bit 'pick and mix' but I have found that I need to have some kind of creative project on the go to keep me happy. The thing that usually gives me the most artistic satisfaction though is to create something beautiful and/or useful out of something that would otherwise have been thrown out as rubbish. I love to recycle!

5. ~What is a goal that you hope to accomplish in the next year?
I would love to get something I've written published - and preferably get paid for it! I would also like the opportunity to student teach at an overseas Witchcamp.

What fantastic questions - thanks Tori!

Want me to interview you?

1. Leave me a comment saying "Interview me."

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.

3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.