If I have to do the weekly shop (which is Mr HB’s job, on the basis that ‘I spend too much’), I like to go first thing – I didn’t during lockdown, of course, as the early hours were a time for vulnerable folk to shop. Driving out the village at 6:20am always feels a little exciting – so much of my life is house and child-bound and yes, I might be awake early, but getting out of the house is another story.
It’s still our first year at the new house, so my spirits rose as I passed a tree in full blossom on the side of the A7. The Japanese have it right with hanami, a tree full of flower is something to take time over, celebrate.
Yesterday was Blossom Watch day. Grateful to be on trend, for a change.
The sun came out and
we were allowed to have people over in the garden and
they could be from another local authority area and
I made gluten free vegan brownies and
the kids played with nerf guns and
I hate toy guns and
I didn’t care and
I made tea and
Mr HB made coffee and
we bitched about stuff and
we did the crossword together and
we laughed and
we looked at the tadpoles and
the tadpoles are getting bigger and
they are moving around more too and
kids all played really well together and
later on we went down to the river and
it is really beautiful here and
today it is cloudy again and
I feel tired but it’s the good sort of tired and
I am so lucky to have had such a lovely day.
Moving from a small village surrounded by countryside to, er, a small village surrounded by countryside, I thought a lot of things would be the same. But the longer we live at the new place, the more differences I’m seeing. Now we’re into our first Spring here, there’s lots to see.
The deer don’t just hang around in the winter – we see them all the time. At the old place, I would see deer sometimes – it was exciting that day we saw one on the way to school – but there are definitely more where we live now.
And I used to love that day in Spring I would drive out of the village and see lambs in the fields. Now, they’re just a walk away. Down the hill, up again, and there they are: cute little wriggles of Spring joy.
The wind has been what I believe is known as ‘blowing a hooley’ these past two nights. March is coming in like the proverbial lion, roaring through the trees behind the house as we lie cosy in bed.
You say you wonder how much quieter it is on the other side of the street. That it’s like being in bed on a ferry, or with the dehumidifier on.
I say I wouldn’t swap our house with any of the others around here. I couldn’t believe we found a new build with a view of trees over a valley out the back. It was the main thing that made me sure this was the house for us.
The wind pushes itself through the branches. I cover myself up with the duvet and the blanket, and drift off into peaceful sweet sleep.
Oh it must be Spring. I’m busy!
I like to be busy, but not as much as the average … person? Person in the UK? Person of my generation? ‘Busy’ doesn’t take long to develop into ‘stressed,’ and ‘stressed’ has developed into psychosis – only twice, and a long time ago now, but… I don’t have the option to push myself like other people.
What has been particularly wonderful about this year, as opposed to other Springs, when I was busy with the kids, or busy with work, or busy writing things no one was interested in, is that this year I’m busy with paid, creative work. Sometimes. Other paid work has to fit around the writing, not the other way round.
Meanwhile, the children have to fit around creativity AND paid work, and are no doubt feeling very hard done by!
It’s raining again, and can I just say I’m relieved?
That week of February this year when it was ‘only a jumper and not even a scarf’ warm was so much creepier than the week last year of ‘snow, all schools closed, no bread left in the shop, icicles a metre long’ WHICH WAS THE SAME WEEK OF THE YEAR I MIGHT ADD.
Since Saturday we’ve returned to stinging rain and wind chill of minus 7, what I have come to expect in the first week of March.
When I do drag myself out for a healthy walk, I’m all too happy warm up in a bath. I’m lucky to get to do that. Nothing like coming home, running a bath of clean, warm water, sinking into bubbles and covering the pages of my new book with wet fingerprints.
It’s Easter Sunday, and he is risen.
I don’t realise that I hold a strong faith, until this rolls around again, and I clear my diary to come to Church on a Friday, and then twice on Sunday – including the early service in the garden, where the birds make more noise than the children and we share communion on dew soaked grass.
He is risen.
I don’t pretend there aren’t other paths and I would fight for your right to follow whichever one you want. For me, knowing that Jesus suffered physical and mental torture means that he walks with me in my tinylife.
He is risen.
Acknowledging this cycle: birth, death and everything in-between, in a Springtide when the world regenerates itself, reminds me to keep going – one foot in front of the other.
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
I had decided we were going for a nice walk. Got the map out and everything, planned a new route. As we drove out of the village, spatters of rain started to hit the car windscreen. Mr HB and I looked at each other. Maybe we should do a shorter walk, in a wood, or something?
The rain intensified.
OK, let’s go do an indoor activity instead.
The kids were delighted.
After the fun, but expensive, indoor activity, the sun was beating down. I was gritting my teeth as we drove home. The little ones had a water fight, but I still wanted my walk. So off I went on my usual round from the house. A nice circular 4k. You know the one, if you live here.
As I reached the furthest point from the house – the heavens opened.