2015: Struggle and Serendipity, Pomskizillious and Gromphiberous

Oh dear. I really wanted to blog more regularly in 2015. Things went OK until June when life sort of... took over. 2015 was a good year for me, more or less. The downside of it was a lack of time and money. Up until the middle of the year, I wasn't by any means feeling wealthy but I had just about enough and was even paying instalments towards a late-summer holiday. And then I was suddenly struggling. In a short period of time I lost two clients who no longer needed my services due to changes in their circumstances, and at the same time got hit by a couple of unexpected bills. All of a sudden I was no longer floating along serenely, I was struggling to keep my head above water, sinking lower and lower each month. Luckily, the story has a happy ending. My lovely sister (with whom I was going on holiday) lent me the money I still owed on the trip until such time as I could pay her back. And I managed to find a new job, working a couple of days a week in a jewellery shop (which I love). It was still a difficult few months as I was working three jobs over a six day week without much to show for it except exhaustion and a gradual easing of my debts. At the same time, IB was having employment dramas of his own and we were seeing very little of each other. I am happy to say though, that I am now solvent again, both job situations have settled and I have managed to re-jig my working week so that I get two whole days off. The storm has abated and we are back on an even keel - for now, anyway!

But those were the difficult times. In between them 2015 gave me many beautiful experiences and memories, lots of good times with the people dearest to my heart and also new and wonderful friendships. Which is really what I wanted to come here and write about...

Some of the highlights for me were finally reaching what has often seemed like the very distant shore of 'Acceptance' following years wading through the swamps of 'Denial', 'Bargaining', 'Anger', and (seemingly interminable) 'Grief' caused by my divorce. Yes, to anyone making this journey themselves, you will get there in the end. I promise. 

Then there was my magical trip to Glastonbury in the spring.

In June by pure chance I ended up making a visit to the beautiful Rheidol valley, which just happened to be one of the rivers featuring in the folktale we were due to work with at Dragonrise Witchcamp later in the summer. The weather was perfect, the river was beautiful, but more importantly what I learnt about the river that day ended up being an important part of the work we did at camp. Such wonderful serendipity!

Trip to the Rheidol Valley

Dragonrise itself was fabulous. I should have written a whole report as soon as I got back, but the notes I jotted down to recall the 'flavour' of camp after returning will have to suffice: 

Dragonrise

The sound of children laughing under the oak tree. 

The swell of grief for the rivers. 

Butterflies in the meadow by the stone circle. 

The serenely flowing brown Borle Brook. 

The fey whispering, bubbling in the woods. 

Talking, crying, laughing, dancing with Rheidol; picking wildflowers with Her. 

Making magic potions. 

Singing, singing, singing. 

The dance of the Salmon. 

The Rivers and the Mountain. 

Owls and woodpeckers and swallows and buzzards. 

A river of stars in the night sky. 

A circle of smiling faces in a fairy-lit yurt. 

Extraordinary magic. 

"The sun is shining... I'm so sexy! this is my tree!" (translation of birdsong!)

Holding space, drumming a heartbeat while the magic swirls around us. 

The moon through the trees.

"The journey doesn't end when the river meets the sea"

Brewing Magic Potions at Dragonrise

At the end of September, we took our much anticipated holiday to Gozo. I fell in love with the place. It's kind of wonky and quirky with a definite attitude of 'manana', but that fitted perfectly with my desire for a laid-back, relaxing holiday, which was exactly what we got. There is also a sense of timelessness from the ancient land beneath your feet, a sacred, magical place... I cannot put it into words. Victorian nonsense-poet Edward Lear also gave up, describing it as "pomskizillious and gromphiberous, being as no words can describe its magnificence". The Arabs named it 'Ghawdex' which means 'joy'. And I jotted down a few more notes which tried to capture the essence of the place: 

Gozo

Water reflects ripples on stone walls.

Bougainvillea petals on stone.

Lizard sunning on the wall.

Cooling breeze.

Turquoise pool, sand coloured stone.

Clouds drift over in the blue, blue sky.

Dragonfly darts.

Rustling palm fronds.

Coffee and olives and tomatoes.

Splashing, laughter.

Big yellow butterfly, hovering black bee.

Pomegranates and carob, prickly pear and loquats.

Azure sea, ancient land.

Slanting shadows and the sound of crickets in the fields.

Gozo

Other highlights this year have been lovely birthday celebrations with friends and family, a trip to Kent to stay with my sister, making new friends, a wonderful extended Christmas with the family and the addition of two kittens to the household, now taking the feline headcount to six. I am definitely becoming a mad cat lady!

Today, I'm counting my blessings again. Each year is different, some easier, some harder. On balance my 2015 was one of the good ones, the struggle outweighed by the serendipity. Thank you and farewell 2015, and welcome 2016. I wonder what you will bring?

Better Late Than Never

 

Mandrake showing remarkable restraint around Christmas decorations

It has been a while since I posted. For a large part of last year I was beset by technical problems. My computer decided to deny me access to my photographs, and I could neither upload nor download photos. Hence most of the photographs in newer blogposts have been recycled from earlier posts. I couldn't even share photos of our new kittens (well, new in Autumn 2013) - be warned, that will soon be remedied!

Then my email vanished into the ether when my email provider was bought out by a bigger company who promised 'nothing would change' and then promptly disabled the service with no warning, explanation or apology. Then I managed to get locked out of my 'alternative' email address when it prompted me to change my password then steadfastly refused to recognise either the new or old passwords.

My misery was compounded when my broadband suddenly ceased working. This was complicated by the fact that the account was still in T's name, as it had been set up some years ago as part of a phone package he had bought. The broadband was free (this was when they were trying to get people to switch to broadband) so I hadn't wanted to rock the boat by changing the name of the account holder in case I would have to start paying. IB and I tried everything to fix the broadband before finally having to get T involved. He very kindly investigated for us, only to confirm that it had been disabled as that tariff (i.e. free!) was no longer available. So I then had to search for a new provider. I got one arranged, but a couple days before it was due to start, there was a big storm during which the house was hit by lightning. Luckily, there was no damage except for the phone line which was fried (no I can't believe it either). That took 3 weeks to get fixed.

All in all, it seems like events were conspiring to keep me away from my blog. So it has been a lo-o-o-o-o-o-ong time between posts. But it is a new year, I am back and will be hopefully making up for lost time over the coming weeks.

In the meantime, kitten pics!!!

 

A sleepy baby Woodruff

 

Despite being from different litters, Mandrake and Woodruff are inseparable

 

The candle is much shorter these days, and Woodruff is much larger! I will have to take a new photo for comparison.

 

Woodruff being adorable.

 

Mandrake is always in search of fun.

 

Mandrake.

 

A bit older in this one..

 

 

Nearly fully grown!

 

And as you can see, they have settled in well with the rest of the household...

 

...which doesn't leave much room on the sofa for the humans!

 

Today

Chopping wood in the sunshine while the kittens play tag.

Watching the chickens through the kitchen window while I wash the dishes, elbow deep in suds.

The smell of woodsmoke from the range, sweetened by the hyacinths on the windowsill.

Upstairs, the older cats sprawl in patches of sunlight on the bedspread.

Snowdrops and crocuses brighten the world. There is birdsong.

Water drips from the roof. It will rain again soon.

Time for another cup of Earl Grey. Then lunch. Then off to work.

Today is unique, yet full of the familiar. Today is a day like and unlike every other day. Today is the one and only today. Just like yesterday, and tomorrow, and all the days to come...
 

Sun and Rain, Hope and Sorrow at Imbolc

Sunday 2nd February

After seemingly endless weeks of wind and rain, the morning of Imbolc was calm and bright. I donned a waterproof jacket and packed a small rucksack with a bottle of water, some snacks and a torch, just in case. I was on a mission.

Two days earlier, our two kittens, Mandrake and Woodruff had gone missing. We were beside ourselves with worry. Although by now 6 months old, it was very unusual for them to disappear for any length of time. And with the weather being so awful it didn't seem likely they were off adventuring when they could be warm and dry by the fire and the food bowl. We spent all day Saturday searching and asking neighbours to check their garages and outbuildings, but without any luck. We ended the day despondent and worried the boys may have been taken by someone. It seemed unlikely, but as they had both disappeared at the same time it seemed a possibility.

On Sunday morning - Imbolc - however, that possibility seemed remote, as Woodruff returned. Unfortunately he returned alone. After some discussion, we decided that IB would continue searching the immediate area around Halfway Up A Hill, while I would walk a circular route around the valley, calling for Mandrake in hopes he had merely wandered off away from familiar surroundings and got lost in the area.

Although there was a light shower of rain as I left the house, by the time I had walked to the end of the lane and begun climbing the first hill, the sky was blue and the sun reflected dazzlingly off the wet road surface. At the top of the first hill I had to stop to take off my rainproof jacket. Everywhere there was birdsong and the sound of running water. It felt like spring. Where the hill levelled out, water running off the fields covered the road and even the grass verges, and I had to tiptoe like a tightrope walker along the centre of the roadway where the water was shallowest in an attempt to keep my feet dry.

As I walked, I called 'Mandrake! Mandrake!' hoping each time that I'd catch sight of his sweet, quizzical face peering from a hedgerow or thicket, but instead I was regarded only by stoical sheep and scornful crows.

Pausing every now and then, I listened intently for an answering miaow. Sometimes my ears would catch a faint sound and I'd freeze, listening hard, only to realise it was not a cat's miaow but the mew of a buzzard, not the chink of the bell on a cat collar but the dripping of water down a drain.

The road dipped down again into a shady, steeply moss-walled part of the valley where cascading waterfalls hurled themselves into the river below. By the time the road turned back uphill again and I emerged back into daylight, thick grey clouds were threatening the sun. 

'Mandrake! Mandrake!'. No sound, save the outraged barking of a distant farm's dog, and the harsh 'Cronk! Cronk!' of courting ravens wheeling in the sky above me.

As I took the turning that would allow me to cross back again to 'my' side of the valley, the horizon turned misty and I hastily pulled on my waterproof jacket, knowing the rain would soon reach me. It did, propelled almost horizontally by a sudden, fierce wind. I sheltered under some evergreens by a thick hedge but even so I was thoroughly soaked by the time the squall had passed. If Mandrake was around I hoped he was sheltering somewhere out of the elements.

The sun and blue skies and birdsong returned so astonishingly quickly that only the clamminess of rain-soaked denim against my legs confirmed that I hadn't in fact imagined the storm.

Another turning took me that little bit closer to home and my heart quickened. Surely this was where I'd find him. Close enough to home to be feasible, far enough away for him to have got confused and lost his bearings.

'Mandrake! Mandrake!'. But still nothing, and my pace began to slow as the possibility that I may not find him after all started nibbling at the edge of my mind.

Downhill again, this time to the little chapel by the river. Now I was feeling anxious. What if I didn't find him? What if he wasn't just lost somewhere nearby?  Unpleasant possibilities began to seem frighteningly more likely.

Just the other side of the chapel in a sheltered spot I came across a bank of snowdrops, the first I'd seen. I remembered an old tale that if you 'rang' the bell of the first fully open snowdrop you saw, Brigid would grant your wish. I said a little prayer to Her, thanking Her for Her gift in this sacred place of bubbling springs and rushing water, and 'rang' a snowdrop, praying for his safe return. Then another, and another. Please, Brigid, please. Let him come back to us.

Back up from the valley floor on the road that leads to the ridge of the hill. Slower and slower now. I don't want to return without him. I don't want to allow the possibility that Mandrake may never return. Up along the ridge. Surely from here, he will hear my voice and come running. But he doesn't come, and now all I can do is begin descending back down from the top of the hill to Halfway Up A Hill.

I return alone, face streaked with more rain. Rain and tears. Where is he?

*******

Today, Wednesday 5th February

No Mandrake. Not on Sunday. Not on Monday. Not on Tuesday.

By Wednesday IB and I are depressed and exhausted. We have run out of places to look, people to ask for help. Neither of us have slept properly since Friday night, tossing and turning and fretting through each night, rising to fresh disappointment each morning.

We return from work and sit in disconsolate silence sipping tea at the kitchen table. Woodruff miaows and I turn to tell him to hush. And realise it is not Woodruff miaowing at all. It is the cat at the catflap, the cat miaowing to be let in. The cat who is Mandrake.

And then he is in, he is back, and we are all falling over each other, cats and humans alike in a frenzy of joy at this longed for yet unexpected reunion.

He is starving. He wants food and cuddles and cuddles and food. Woodruff jumps all over him in excitement at getting his brother back. We laugh, and cry, and laugh again, and shower him with kisses.

He is back, tired and hungry, but he is safe and he is home. I could ask for nothing more.

Thank you Brigid. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

                      

   

Kitten Chaos

The two new kittens, Mandrake and Woodruff, are outside. Galloping madly in the autumn sunshine, tumbling through the woodpile, tearing through the long grass. Occasionally they barrel headlong into the huddle of foraging chickens and there is an uproar of ruffled feathers, outraged clucking and scattered hens. For a few seconds the kittens - who have learned the hard way that chickens can peck - are in subdued, deferent retreat.

Then the smells... and the sunshine... and the birds... and the blowing leaves!!! And they're off again, running, tumbling, play-fighting, and exuberantly exploring the wonderful wide world beyond the safety and comfort of the back door.

The warm kitchen is reassuringly only a cat-flap away.