Acceptance

My mum has gone on holiday today. She and Antony flew down to Heathrow yesterday and today they have boarded a plane which will take them to Barbados. They will then cruise around the Carribbean for two and a half weeks, soaking up the sun and living life to the full. She phoned me on Tuesday when I was feeling so poorly that I had to ring off. Her last words were that she would ring on Wednesday morning before setting off for Manchester Airport. She did indeed ring. I, however, did not answer the phone. I was confined to my bed and couldn't be bothered to talk. The farmer was at the mart all day which didn't help.

Thinking she might have rung me from her hotel at Heathrow today, she didn't. And now I feel like shit. I feel like the Father of the Bride where Steve Martin never had chance to say goodbye to his daughter after she got married. They haven't taken mobiles which in my mum's case doesn't matter anyway because she only vaguely knows how to use it. I speak to her about every other day, sometimes every day. And now I am missing her. I have grown out of wanting my mum when I am poorly but just to know she is there is always a comfort. It is always nice to pick up the phone and hear her voice, her soft and gentle tones as she says, "love you," before hanging up.

My mum and I have a wonderful relationship. Since moving to Northumberland, we have really learnt to appreciate each other. We understand each other; she goes on a bit and I switch off. There are times, however, when I wish she would understand Amy. She doesn't. Never has, never will and never seems to make the effort to. It is sad but I guess my mum was brought up in an age where autism wasn't recognised; where support wasn't offered; where research was kept for things like terminal illnesses rather than brain disfunctions. I have of course given my mum books to read on the subject and print outs from the internet, I have talked to her about Amy's difficulties and about how best to tackle them. But my mum wants to see Amy in the way she sees her other grandchildren. Like "typical" children. When Amy flooded the kitchen the other week, my mum's reaction to the news was, "what's wrong with her?" What more can I say.

Of course, Grandma is the bee's knees in Amy's eyes. Grandma knows not to buy too much chocolate and never offer fizzy drinks; she knows not to let Amy outside near the road or walk through the house with a felt-tip pen. But doesn't that occur to "typical" children too? Grandma doesn't know not to leave the toilet roll on display or a pair of scissors within reach; she doesn't know not to take Amy to a child-packed park or introduce her to an overweight stranger. This is when Grandma can't handle autism. These are times when Grandma loses it and when I realise it is time to switch back on.

My mum has two grandsons from my brother who are twelve and ten years old and a granddaughter who is two. I have mentioned Precious in a previous blog, a most adorable little angel who is as bright as a button. The grandsons are also extremely bright, sporty, well mannered. We are indeed blessed with a beautiful family. My brother finds it hard to understand Amy also. His boys play football and cricket in the road. Admittedly, it is a culdesac and fairly quiet but the point still remains that Amy has no road sense and for all the years we have tried to teach her, it just will not sink in. Amy draws on the walls, still. We tell her not to, we tell her to use paper instead. But Amy sees paper on the walls, all around the house, mine and Grandma's. We tell her not to use scissors unless she is with an adult, i.e. me or Grandma should we be at Grandma's house. But she sees no harm in a quick snip here and a hole or two there.

I doubt my mum will ever understand autism or indeed Amy. It worries me sometimes that she cannot accept her granddaughter's disability. Perhaps she will not accept it. But it can happen to anyone. We do not know how our children will be born but we do know that they will be loved. And for that I am grateful. "Love you, mum."

Woe is me

Bugger, I thought I had got away with it; the dreaded cold. It usually comes around Christmas time and I spend all day trying to remember what a turkey dinner tastes like. This winter, it has waited until now. I think just about everyone I know has had a cold and fortunately for them, got rid of it. Now it's my turn. For some reason I never lose my appetite even though every thing tastes of nothing. Resorting to bed, trying not to watch daytime television, I watch the clock. Why is it, when one is feeling poorly, the hours during a school day fly by. Before you have managed to close your eyes and have that much needed rest, it is 3.30 in the afternoon and your peace is shattered. And then one finds oneself wishing ones life away, desperately wanting it to be 9pm when peace may once more be resumed.

Bugger. I hate feeling like this. I don't have time to be poorly, I have too much to do. I become even more unsociable than I am usually. And if you knew me personally, you would understand that that was not a good way to be. Roll on next week, when I hope to be feeling better. I had a bad cold once that lasted eight weeks. It just clung on for fear of missing out on something. People got used to seeing me with a tissue in my hand, probably wondering if it was my soothing blanket. The worst thing is, that without doubt, my husband will catch this cold and be a bear with a sore head, then Amy will no doubt catch it and have to stay off school. So all in all, rather a miserable time in the Jigsaw household.

I felt rather proud with myself over the weekend, however. I managed to connect the Nintendo Wii. It's great fun. Amy and the farmer had a round of golf last night, in our sitting room. It went on a bit as Amy kept "hitting the ball" too hard and the farmer, thinking he was Britain's answer to Tiger Woods, kept hitting it into the 'rough' and on many occasions, 'out of bounds'. I bought Amy the High School Musical Karaoke game which she loves and is able to sing along to with a real microphone, rather loudly, pretending she's Sharpay, her favourite character. So between the two, we should be multi-millionaires with yachts the size of Northumberland and fans falling at our feet.

Oh well, think I shall go back to bed. And dream.

Tidy Up

I have been tagged by the lovely Eurodog, a very wise blogger who is extremely handy when it comes to tips on dogs. Incidentally, her meme was about dog pee. I could almost taste it as I was reading her blog. However, some great advice was received, as always.


The meme is to do with household maintenance, I think. I was a little unsure whether I had to write about dog pee but as I really do not know much about it, apart from when Sparky has the odd accident, I thought it best to write about something else. My subject, therefore, is about cleaning and tidying up. My domestic talents do not stretch very far. In fact, they do not stretch at all. So here goes:


1. The more mess you make, the more tidying up will need to be done. It is therefore advisable in my opinion, not to make any mess at all. However, if you are like me, mess comes naturally to everyday living. Finding something else to do, i.e. writing a blog, having sex, watching Neighbours, is an excellent distraction, not particularly in that order.


2. Make your bed as soon as you get up. That way you will not be faced with the previous night's activities every time you walk into your bedroom.


3. Keep children's toys in the shed. When your child wants to play, either bring one toy out at a time or alternatively, put child in shed.


4. Encourage your husband to pick up his dirty underpants together with other items of clothing from the floor. Teach him how to lift the lid off the laundry basket and reassure him that this particular task is quite easy once he gets the hang of it.


5. Clean the toilet each time you have used it. Toilet brushes are very simple to use and make it easier to remove any excess turd mess from the pan, rather than allowing it to dry and stick.


6. Keep all animals, children and husbands outside when new kitchen has been installed. Sheds will suffice.



My sister bought me a plaque a few years ago which I have hung up in my kitchen. It simply reads, "My house was clean last week, sorry you missed it".


I have always been known to be untidy. I make no excuses apart from the following:


i) I am busy.


I cannot think of anymore just yet. I will, however, make a point of keeping the new kitchen in pristine condition and have already given orders to my dear husband should he enter the house in sheep caked wellies. We have an outside tap used for cleaning outside footwear and I will be directing him to it daily. The dogs often come barging through the kitchen door, covered from head to paw in either badger poo, sheep poo or mud from the fields. They too, will find themselves outside in the Northumberland fresh air much more often than they will be allowed to snuggle up by the cosy Aga.


Unusual for me I know, but I am now going to tag five fellow bloggers. Please do not feel obliged to do the meme but it is good fun all the same: Cathy, Frog in the Field, Casdok, Preseli Mags and Snailbeach Shepherdess.

My book

Having patiently sat in front of my "on it's last legs" printer this morning, I fed through sheet after sheet in order to print off part of the first chapter of my book together with the synopsis. I have spent the last week and a half giving this part of the book a thorough edit until I felt almost happy enough to parcel it off. I read through it over and over, realising that if I kept on changing it I would eventually need to re-write the whole synopsis. I have entered it into a competition with a view to receiving some feedback and hopefully being nominated for a prize. The latter is a lot of wishful thinking but one has to start somewhere. I like the story. I like my main character and have enjoyed editing the first 5,000 words. Writing about what I am most interested in is obviously at significant factor but taking the time to research my subject, often without my control, I have been able to really appreciate the woman who leads us through twelve months of her unusual life.


I felt quite proud as I passed the large brown envelope to the cashier asking her to send it 'Recorded Delivery'. She was even pleasant to me which made it all the more enjoyable. I gave the envelope a little kiss after I had sealed it, asking for a stroke of luck to come my way and perhaps a publisher or an agent to read my work with keen interest, desperate to make contact with me. My dad used to call me "Dilly Daydream" when I was a little girl.


Admittedly, having written the synopsis, I am now finding it easier to tune into my story, knowing what will happen in each chapter. It did change of course, several times before I was satisfied with the final draft. And after the new year, I decided to introduce a love interest for my main character, determined not to make it mushy or indeed explicit. I am hoping my mum will read it one day together with other members of my family and then realise that I am not a nun but am indeed a woman of the world. We never discuss things like sex and other such indulgences so as you see, I need to keep the sexual tension to a minimum.


But of course the story is not really about sex. It is about things that go bump in the night. And that certainly does not cover the subject of sex. In my life anyway. I have thought long and hard about the content of the story, getting to know my characters, becoming familiar with the house in which my main character lives and of course researching various aspects of what will actually make the book tick. Religion features highly, as does death, together with terminal illness. Hell, when you put it like that it sound utterly depressing. I suppose a lot of it is quite morbid, but we all enjoy a bit of variation in our lives and as several of my characters have already entered their next life, I think it might just make for interesting reading.

My mum said she will buy it anyway.

I told myself not to mention the kitchen in this post because I am sure by now you are all bored stiff by hearing about it, but, they have brought the installation date forward. Knowing it was clashing with the lambing, they have booked us in for the 25th February which means, all being well, we should have a nice newly fitted kitchen by the time lambing starts around mid March. I won't tell you I'm excited.

Techno Todd

My purse feels rather empty right now. I ordered and paid for the kitchen on Saturday, quite pleased that they had not decided to include any hidden extras before presenting me with the final invoice. Changing my mind about the colour of the worktops thankfully did not add any costs and the multi-coloured tiles I have also ordered were relatively reasonably priced due to another discount. Work should start on 17th March, all being well. It is cutting it a bit fine as our lambing season usually starts around the 20th. The farmer pulled his face but I am eager to get this room renovated so I agreed with the date and all was put in place. Of course, it is the week approaching Easter weekend which means the installers (plumber/electrician/anyone else) will bunk off on Thursday afternoon until the following Tuesday. They have assured me 100% that the kitchen will be finished in those 4 days (Mon-Thurs) leaving just finishing touches like the tiling for the following week. Neither myself or the designer thought about Easter when we were booking dates. I am hoping for a cancellation in between so that they might come sooner but I won't hold my breath. The sale has enabled a welcome discount so it is not surprising that they are as busy as they are. A good sign, I always think. Let us hope so. Perhaps you would all keep your fingers crossed and send positive vibes for an earlier installation!

Sparky had her final visit to the vet and is now proudly running about with no bandage and few restrictions. We are a bit anxious about her going on the quad bike but it has to happen sooner or later. She is a sheep dog after all. She has no fear of the tups and enjoys sidling up to them, having a sniff then running round the field, barking extremely loudly in the hope that they will lift their heads and run away. As yet, the tups couldn't care less about Sparky's presence. I worry that if she carries on they might just lose patience and teach her a lesson leading to more vet's bills looming on the horizon

Amy has decided she wants to be a hairdresser when she grows up. Do they still earn a fortune? Or is it a myth?! She has lovely shoulder length hair with a curl and a kink and she loves putting bobbles in and Alice bands. I even let her wash it herself these days, then I stand for ages while she sits at her dressing table admiring herself, letting me dry it. She is desperate for me to grow my hair but I prefer it short. Bobbles simply will not go in. She has several of those styling heads, where the hair grows out of the top. I used to have one of those when I was young. er. I wonder what the qualifications are these days for a hairdresser. I suspect science is involved somewhere and perhaps the gift of the gab. She has certainly got that so if she does well at school I can't see a problem. Providing the customer does not speak or at least says nice things to her I really would not trust my child with a pair of silver scissors. We might find another Sweeney Todd on our hands.

Due to my lack of technical skills I am very embarrassed about the fact that my mum kindly bought Amy a Nintendo Wii for Christmas and as yet I haven't connected it up. The farmer can only just manage to use the Sky remote so there is absolutely no point asking him to do it. I have looked at the destructions several times and just cannot work out what goes where. Sounds familiar... I will have another go this week when Amy isn't sat on the floor waving the remote around asking, "have you done it yet?" Why do these things have to be so technical and complicated. I therefore ask, does anyone know what to do? It's still in the box. I haven't even got past page 1 in the set up manual. Help would be very much appreciated.

My Water Baby

In view of the recent bad weather and the potential flooding crisis, my daughter took it upon herself to pour water onto the kitchen floor, from a tea pot. Two border collies, unable to escape a soaking, ran about the room, wondering why their "human sister" had decided she wanted to go swimming in the kitchen. The farmer in the lounge, myself upstairs in the office, both of us thinking the other was supervising, carried on with our tasks in hand for just half an hour before I made my way downstairs out of curiosity to see what my husband and my daughter were doing.

My husband, completely collapsed upon the sofa, watching football, sat up and told me he did not know where Amy was. He had not seen her for half an hour. I then moved into the kitchen only to fall flat on my arse. The water, all over the kitchen floor, was approximately half an inch deep. "I want our house to flood," my innocent 8 year old uttered. "Oh my God, what have you done?" I asked, my tone a little frightening perhaps as the child scarpered.

The mop came in from outside, filthy and frozen and we gathered several towels, frantically throwing them onto the floor. The dogs were put outside while both the farmer and I got down on our hands and knees to clean up the water. Amy, meanwhile, went to her room under my instruction, put her pajama's on and came back downstairs to apologise for the mess. I tried in vain to explain to her that flooding the kitchen was wrong.

The following morning while eating breakfast, the awful news report came on the television of which Amy watched with intrigue. "I want our house to flood," she said whilst munching on her beans on toast with cheese on top. Explaining once more about the atrocities of flooding to my daughter she replied, "are there anymore beans?"

As is the case with most autistic children, they have little if no concept of what we would class as the "real world". Their look on life is so far removed from that of a typical child that it is easy for them to be lost and forgotten about. Most children in a classroom will be classed as typical or perhaps normal. A general term which adds another label to an ever increasing ignorant society. Autistic children have a brain. They have a heart too. This picture is an example of Amy's heart. It is a house with the following words: "Please mummy, please don't tell me off and please forgive me. Please, I'll promise not to mess the floor again. I love you."

She drew it on her Thomas the Tank Engine drawing board after she had gone to bed. Bearing in mind that I hugged her, kissed her and told her how much I love her. I think she knew she should not have done what she did but to understand why flooding a house is not a good thing will be something that will take a while to sink in. If it ever does.

On many occasions, Amy has flooded the little toilet room by putting a full toilet roll down the pan. She finds it fascinating to watch the water seep over the seat and onto the floor. Most days she puts too much paper down the toilet in order to watch the water overflow. Flooding the toilets was one of the first things she did when she was diagnosed with autism. She would put the plug in the basin and run the water until it overflowed onto the floor. This happened on a daily basis. Staff at school still accompany her to the toilet today.

Many autistic children have a fascination with something. My water baby may grow out of it one day and I just wonder what the next obsession will be when she does. I wash at least two bath towels and a number of smaller towels everyday, not because they have been used after bathing or showering but because they have been used to soak up excess water.

My prayers and thoughts are with those who are at risk from flooding.

Crystal xx

Light

So many people are afraid of the dark. Unable to find their bearings, losing all sense of direction as they fumble about their own homes. It would seem more likely that, as our psychological thoughts are more pronounced during the night, we are able to misinterpret shapes which exhibit themselves around the room. Clothes which hang against the door for example, are still clothes which hang against the door, even though our mind can trick us in to believing someone is in the room; a grandfather clock is still a grandfather clock, when our mind may tell us it is a person standing in our path. Shapes and objects are what they were before the sun retired yet it is all too easy to think otherwise, once darkness has overwhelmed our space.


It is not uncommon to experience paranormal activity during daylight hours. I have written about several occasions when my attention has been required and I have felt a presence around me. I have visited many houses where I have seen another dimension to this life we currently live and where people have asked me to help them establish the existence of an astral they feel may be sharing their home. My own house boasts intrigue with its long history and many previous occupants. I have yet to find out all the identities of the people who have lived here before my own family and of course their demise of which I know has been mainly within these walls.


I look forward to the renovations of the kitchen taking place due to the energy that will once more emanate; fresh activity that can be fictionalised and incorporated into my book. An edifice acts as a video recorder, constant memories of life's events being stored within the flesh of a building. It is, however, more atmospheric should a spirit wish to visit in the dead of night, shining their manifesting torch as they present themselves to you, eager to pass on a welcome message or a comforting thought. It fascinates me even to this day, how a complete stranger is able to know my name as they speak, albeit from their astral plane.


I have no doubt that since my arrival on the farm, my husband has not given the passed souls of this residence a second thought, even those he was closest to. His Aunt and Uncle; his grandmother and grandfather; his mother, were all family members who lived here when he was born and went on to live here for many years to follow. I have of course introduced my husband to an open minded view of life, one where we can think positively about what lies beyond this current existence; is their really life after death? I do not like to think of my astral friends and loved ones as "ghosts" for I have always associated that word to have a more sinister meaning, as was the way I had grown up to believe. Beings with white sheets float about the stairwell saying, "boo!" and other such ridiculous enunciation with a quivering tone in the hope that we would all run away, petrified, determined to sleep with the light on.


It is possible in some circumstances to be physically attacked or hurt by a spirit, sometimes known as 'poltergeist activity' but we should be aware that this is quite rare and something we should not fret about. Poltergeists are often harmless, just wishing to attract ones attention, perhaps in some cases scare a little. Many harmless occurrences have been noted during my time living in this house, books falling off shelves, shoes being moved, doors opening and shutting. Hardly a day goes by when I have not experienced something, trivial as it may be, I never forget because if I did, what would be the point of the spirit returning to this earth plane?


My husband and Amy swapped beds one night when she came into our room complaining that she had been woken up by someone. The farmer kindly left his warm bed to allow Amy to snuggle up with me and get the sleep she so desperately needed. It was three weeks later when talking with friends about our fascinating home that he announced his unsettling night that time he had moved into Amy's bed. He explained how he had heard someone walking about in the room, quietly, yet disturbing him from his rest. Another occasion was just a few months ago when we had both heard a child ask for her "mum" from the top of the stairs only to discover Amy fast asleep in her bed.


The most recent of my husband's experiences of which he remains open minded was a night not so long ago when he brought me a cup of tea in bed. It was approaching 10pm and I was sat up watching something on the television. As he moved towards the bedside table he began comically sniffing around. Although knowing why he was portraying such antics I questioned him. "I can smell smoke," he replied. "As though someone is smoking perhaps?" I asked. "Yes," was his answer.

Why, just last night as again I was sat up in bed watching the television, the cat contentedly lain upon my lap, the bed began to shudder. A few seconds of what felt like an earthquake sensation beneath my lower body. I reduced the sound on the set and looked around me. The cat continued in her state of unconsciousness while I asked out, should anyone have joined me to watch the magic screen. I went on to experience many corner of the eye moments, fleeting glimpses of what could have been a moving soul. I once more increased the sound, happy to share my space with a guest from afar.

A little treat for you!

I thought I would let you see the drawings of my new kitchen. They have been so expertly done that this is almost exactly how I envisage the kitchen to look upon completion. We chose red granite worktops and white ceramic sink. We are getting a good old fashioned farmhouse pine table and chairs to go in the middle of the room but will wait until the kitchen is finished. A terracotta tile-look flooring but not chosen yet, earthy coloured tiles for the walls and I have my mind set on a red wall over the Aga.





Dishwasher under the sink and the famous fridge to the right of it. As I have lots of items to display I wanted adequate glass doors in which to show off my heirlooms.




The green range represents our Aga which is currently cream coloured and far too dirty to show on here. Sparky's chair is currently situated to the left of the Aga where, as you can see, a new cupboard will be installed. Sorry, Sparky.

The display cabinet was something I wanted in order to make the kitchen look complete. In the same design as the units it will be in keeping and will again be a glass front double cupboard to show off some of our china, in particular, a tea set which belonged to the farmer's ancestors.

**********************

Amy had a friend stay over on Saturday night. I tried to keep the peace but spent most of my time trying not to listen to the girly banter which gave no resemblance to when I was a child. It is only when we have Amy's friends here that we really begin to realise how socially immature she is. Both girls were excited and happy to be together so I tried to stay out of it as much as possible. They had supper, played a few games, ran about the house screaming blue murder, had a bath, then played quite happily in the guest room where they intended to spend the night together in the double bed. As midnight approached and they were still chatting and playing I became the wicked witch of the North East and split them up. Amy slept with me in my bed while the friend stayed in the double. It did remind me of the many sleepovers I had with Ali when we were the same age. We used to stay up watching Ali's television, watching Betamax videos and chatting until the sun came up. One night I will never forget: it was 2am and we were still talking about what 8 year old girls talked about then, for us it was Charlie's Angels and Blue Peter (Ali will kill me for revealing our secrets). Ali's grandmother lived with her then and slept in the room next door. She knocked so hard on the wall in anger at our making a noise, that the lamp fell off the table and went out. That sent us into fits of giggles for, oooh, about thirty years. We still laugh about it today. Grandma Ella was a lovely soul. But I suppose needed her sleep, like everyone.

I feel that Amy is so lucky to have such loyal friends. This one in particular is terribly patient with her and tries desperately not to lead her astray. Living in such a remote part of the country, driving a car is an essential part of everyday life. I know at one time shanks pony was the only thing available but now that we are fortunate to have wheels to get us from A to B it becomes something of a necessity to own a car. Therefore, for Amy to have friends home it means a car journey. But it is so worth it, to see the child's face beam with pleasure when her friend draw up in their family car on Saturday afternoon is a memory to be treasured. I mentioned taking them both to McDonalds on Sunday but the friend pulled her face. "I don't like McDonalds," she said, much to Amy's disgust. Ham sandwiches won over. Saved me 44 miles worth of fuel and a fiver for the food. Not to mention a feast on junk for myself.

I don't believe it

I have spent hundreds of pounds over the last few years with the huge Internet retailer known as Amazon. I suspect we are all aware of this company, they sell just about everything, used and new. They are never a last resort, usually a first or second choice unless I am looking to buy something specific which I know can be bought elsewhere for a better price. My recent purchase was two hardback books and two printer cartridges. The books are the Miller's Antiques guides for 2008, I always require an up to date version and usually buy them at the beginning of the year. Having a £10 gift voucher for WHSmith I did think about going to the shop this weekend but decided on Amazon instead.

As I sat in my office on Friday afternoon, I could hear the dogs barking downstairs and realised someone had come to the house. If I am working I usually let them knock and hope the farmer is about to greet whoever it might be. This time, however, I had finished what I needed to do for the day and went downstairs to find out what all the commotion was about. By the time I had got to the kitchen, the dogs had stopped barking and all seemed quiet. No vans, no cars, no one.

I opened the back door and apart from being whinnied at by Chi-Chi, I noticed a little card blowing in the wind near the step. One of those calling cards that delivery men leave to tell you they have left a parcel for you. As usual, they had indeed left a parcel and placed it in the coal bunker. Only this time, the careless, dozy idiot had dropped the box of books and printer cartridges into a bucket which was full of water! I lifted the box from where it sat submergered, completely gobsmacked that anyone could be so stupid. Taking the sodden cardboard box, dripping wet and falling apart into the kitchen, I placed it onto the draining board and pulled it open. The books inside were totally soaked. Printer cartridges might be saved but still, their outer packaging was wet. The two antique books which I have looked forward to receiving are now twice as big as they should be with pages stuck together.

Having tried to contact Amazon by phone and failing miserably due to it being constantly engaged, I have sent them an email complaining of the incident. I have requested a full refund and a courier to collect the damaged goods obviously at their cost. Having had to print off two sheets of returns labels, I will now have to find a suitable box to put the items into in order for their safe return back to the warehouse. Why do people have to be so careless? Is it that Friday afternoon syndrome, do you think? Was it annoyance at no one answering the door? I really do not understand. Perhaps my naivety shows but the stupid pillock could have used the front door instead.

Have recently heard back from Amazon and of course they take full responsibility. But they sent me an email which I cannot reply to. Therefore it will most likely be a bog-standard format which they send to customers who make complaints about damaged goods upon delivery. Bearing in mind that when you go to the Amazon site and click on "contact us", there are a number of options in which to use in order to get your message across, I suppose in a more efficient manner. But that does not account for impersonal customer service. Having had to fill out yet another form in order to instruct a courier to collect the books which have been temporarily placed in a Morrisons bag, I now have to wait in on either Monday or Tuesday, ALL DAY, for the white van man to arrive.

By the way, I am thinking of changing my name to Victor Meldrew.

Stale Air

Once more the aroma of tobacco smoke drifted into the room, overwhelming my thoughts as I tried to compose myself in conversation. From someone who never smokes and has no contact with a smoker, the stale and pungent smell of cigarettes began to emit from Jack's clothes. He followed my gaze as I looked beyond him, my concentration unable to continue while he carried on talking. I could clearly see the woman who stood behind him. I do not know who she was. I had no idea of her reason to be in my vicinity. Her features were that of an older lady, perhaps in her 70's. Her hair, grey and wispy, fell untidily upon her face, long strands almost covering her eyes. No makeup adorned her skin, just wrinkles appearing amidst a ruddy complexion, perhaps from outdoor living. She wore a turquoise overall, falling slightly below the knee. Small white buttons fastened, a collar turned over.

Jack questioned my distraction, turning his head to search over his shoulder into an empty space. I smiled at him. I wondered how he would feel should he have been able to see the woman too. I wondered if he had sensed the stale aroma on his clothes. Before my thoughts could be turned into words of intrigue, the woman had gone. The smell with her. My attention once more rested on Jack's story as we both made our way back through the house.

Upon our return to the lounge later that day, my hand reached out to turn the door handle. My strength seemed to have momentarily left me as I began wrenching, unsure as to why I could not manage the simple task of opening the lounge door. Being prevented from entering the room by an unseen force, I moved aside to allow Jack to try. Stuck fast he turned to look at me. Unable to see the woman yet feeling her presence, the same profuse aroma attacked me as I pondered for answers as to why my attention had again been sought. Eventually the handle turned. We were permitted to enter the room, followed by the gentle footsteps of a visiting soul. I have never appreciated the smell of smoke on one's clothes, the same smell that clings to fabric after standing outside to inhale their addictive fix. Yet it filled the room, bearing down on my shoulders, making me ache and feel heavy as I tried in vain to relax.

I turned to Jack. "Have you been smoking?" My thoughts were no longer as words fell from my mouth.

"Of course not!" he replied, astounded at my ridiculous question.

"I can smell smoke; stale smoke, as though you have just been outside for a cigarette."

"But I don't smoke," he assured me. Assurance of which I did not need.

Within minutes, the aroma vanished. Along with the presence I once felt had joined our group. The woman had succeeded in vying for my attention. The night before, she had also attracted the Farmer's.

Creation made easy

The high winds swept me along the A1 to Berwick as I went to discuss the plans for our new kitchen. The quote was almost what I had expected and fortunately bang on budget. A few alterations here and there but on the whole the design spec was just right. Amazing what computers can do these days, or I should say the computer operator. I sat in front of an incredible 3D image of my new units and it certainly impressed me. Bloody clever, is what I thought. Followed by bloody expensive. But, we have made the decision to renovate the kitchen, bringing it into the 21st century and out of the 19th; yes, it never did make the 20th. How my husband and his parents lived in that kitchen all those years I have no idea. I still get embarrassed about it when people come to the house for the first time and usually find myself telling them, "we are having a new kitchen," then I ask myself, when. With fingers crossed and wood duly touched, our new kitchen should be done in the spring. The lambing has interferred somewhat as it will be totally inconvenient to be up to our eyeballs in mess at that time, due to the fact that we are usually like a pair of zombies for three weeks and would probably have no time to offer our workmen the expected standard brew. On the other hand, the designer did mention it might just be possible to have it installed at the end of February. Not that I am building my hopes up, however.

Wait we must therefore do. I have lived in this house for six and a half years and due to my late father-in-law living here too, a new kitchen was scorned upon, after I was told the farm comes first. Of course the farm matters. It is what puts bread and utterly butterly on our table but as I do 90% of the cooking, together with 99% of the washing up I think I am entitled to have the kitchen I want. Bearing in mind I have included a dishwasher in the kitchen plans I would hope that the washing up will become minimal and perhaps even a chore which my husband will embark upon just once in a while.

We have a large pantry which contains two huge freezers, a tall standing fridge, washing machine and tumble dryer. It is of course very handy but I have decided it would be even handier to have a small fridge built-in next to the dishwasher. That way, whenever I make a cuppa, I can save time and energy by simply turning to my left to reach for the milk. Making a cuppa currently involves a trip to the pantry for the milk, trying not to let Sparky in as is usually her wont and bringing it back into the kitchen. The bottle then has to be taken back to the pantry, avoiding once more an excited dog as she desperately tries to sniff everything in the fridge while you are balancing the pantry door with your foot and shooing her out of the way. Gosh, life will be made so much easier by the arrival of a fridge.

Which leads me onto my mum. Of course, to have a fridge in the kitchen was her idea. I had been quite happy to continue our excursions to the pantry but she quite rightly spoke out and suggested that while we are having a new kitchen, we should think about having an integrated fridge. "But what about the other one?" I asked. "Keep it, it will be handy to have two." Do you think that could be what God thought when he created Man? "Now then, Adam. You should need them both at some stage. Perhaps I should give Eve two of something also. Can't have you two squabbling now, can we." If having two is good enough for Eve, then it's good enough for me. And now I shake my head in disbelief that I have become excited about a new kitchen. As undomesticated as I am, this turning point in my life is something that might just help with my culinary skills. Or maybe not. A shelf for cookery books was mentioned but as I do not own any I decided to go for a drop down telly instead.

The photo is Sparky on her favourite chair by the Aga. Unfortunately for Sparky, the chair will go when the new kitchen is installed.

A change in the plot

8.30 came and went. I helped Amy on with her coat, gave her the huge bag she takes to school and waved her towards the taxi. And while I was frantically searching for a pen to write her name in a new pair of tracksuit bottoms for outside games, something I should have done previously, the farmer helped her on to the taxi and kissed her goodbye. Off she went. I, in the meantime, stood poised, pen in hand, tracksuit bottoms on table, listening to the taxi drive away. I had sent my little girl off to school without even a hug or a kiss or a "have a nice day" and I felt awful. For about five minutes. Knowing Amy will not be in the least bit worried about my lack of early morning affection as she goes on her journey to meet her friends again and hopefully have a successful day in a routine environment.

I made myself a cup of tea, took it upstairs and sat on the bed. I watched "A Place in the Sun" for an hour and stroked my bunny rabbit. I also thought a lot. Thinking is something I have always done a considerable amount of. I am more of a thinker than a doer. I have thought so much recently that I have changed a rather significant detail in my book. A detail I hope will work. One which will require some research and possibly a chat with a vicar. Not sure I am too chuffed about that but if I want this book to be of even little success, I know it will be necessary. Providing of course, that when a vicar finds out what my book is about, they do actually want to talk to me anyway. Which, let's face it, could be a bit touch and go.

I spent such a long time before the holidays hand writing the synopsis. Knowing as I went along that certain parts would need further clarification, more attention to detail. I feel quite excited at the prospect of finishing it and doing what James Caan's character did in the thriller screen production of "Misery"; opened a bottle of champagne. Unfortunately, he was also tortured by Kathy Bates but hopefully that won't happen to me.

So the order of the day is less thinking and more doing. Write the book. Edit it later. Someone gave me that piece of advice and he is a successful author. If I keep changing my mind about the plot I will be sat here in another year's time, thinking about the doing. I know it won't happen over night. But it might happen in my life time. Writing about the paranormal world is a touchy subject. Some believe, some don't. Some want to believe, some have no interest. But if I can change someones mind about the astral plane, I will feel I have succeeded.

I wonder what Amy is doing at school.

A New Start

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE!

A few of you have kindly asked after Sparky; I would say with confidence that she is back to normal. The wound on her leg has almost healed and apart from having to wear a small bandage to prevent infection, she bounds about as though nothing ever happened.

As the Christmas holidays draw to a close and the decorations are once again taken down, I sit back in my red leather chair and reflect on yet another festive period, full of fun and gaiety, packed with laughter and jubilation, remembered with heartfelt joy and memorable moments.

Okay, so we laughed. Occasionally. We had fun. I think. Memorable moments? Lots of. And back in the real world, I cannot wait until Tuesday. At 8.30am the taxi will drive my eight year old daughter to school, I will retreat back inside what has become an incredibly untidy house and I will sit for at least one hour doing absolutely nothing. I will allow my brain to wind down. I will hope that the headache I have had for the last seven days will begin to subside and I will think about writing down the ideas I have recently had for my book.


I can honestly say, hand on heart, that Christmas Day 2007 was the best one yet. In my whole life. The atmosphere was perfect. I cooked a delicious dinner in my own time, played with Amy for as long as I wanted, kissed my husband and even got an "ooh, that's nice darling" when he opened his present from me. Boxing Day was similar. We had a good friend over for lunch and all was jolly and sweet. It was relaxing for us all, even Sparky was good. On the 27th however, it all went pear shaped. Amy and I made the journey to my mum's where my sister and her daughter were also staying. Excitement got the better of Amy and she became the child from hell. All I could think about was 'Ritalin', a drug given to Hyperactive children to calm them down. A drug which in my opinion, is a last resort. The other thing I thought about was a very strong alcoholic drink. For me, not the child.


Since then, I have counted down the hours until 8.30am on Tuesday 8th January 2008. We have had friends staying with us since New Years' Day which has been a welcome change but as I have suffered for the past 2 days with a migraine, I have had to retire to bed at 9pm leaving the farmer to do the entertaining. They have been wonderful. They have taken Amy to the beach, taken her for a drive in the car, played various games with her, taken her for walks with the dogs. And this time, I do not feel guilty. Just grateful.


I have thought about my New Years' Resolutions and have made quite a few. Some I will share with you, others I will leave for my husband's eyes only:


1. Spend more time writing and less time thinking.
2. Be more sociable.

3. Get the kitchen done. Steps already taken. Work hopefully starting soon.
4. Get fit. Lose weight.


I have no doubt, apart from the kitchen being done, the same resolutions will rear their head this time next year. When I was a little girl, I used to promise myself that I would stop biting my nails. My mum spent a fortune on "Stop 'n' Grow" which is simply a disgusting tasting nail varnish and is supposed to deter you from biting. Of course it never worked because I still bite them. My dad often promised me money or a present if I didn't bite them for a whole week. I never did have any willpower. I sometimes sit having a conversation with someone and find that once they have gone I have to raid the first aid drawer for germolene and plasters due to the skin I have unconsciously picked away at. Some people smoke, others drink. I am a self confessed cannibal.


I should find out how much my new kitchen will cost on Wednesday. Something to look forward to. Spending money has always been something I am good at, so my husband tells me. Coping with mess however, isn't. Does anyone know where I can buy a magic wand?

Amy's Birthday!

Happy Birthday to my beautiful Amy. She is eight years old today and I still can't work out where those years have gone. A time for reminiscing about labour pains and dirty nappies, getting no sleep and feeling as though the world is against you. But considering the last week I have had I would much prefer to write about the wonderful child that I brought into the world at 2.47pm on Monday 3rd January 2000, weighing 7lb 11oz. After coming to terms with the fact that I had actually given birth to a healthy baby girl and not an elephant I sat up to see a huge male nurse sat between my legs with a knitting needle and a rather strange expression. That was when the fun started. It suddenly hit me that this motherhood lark was indeed for real and I had to grow up very fast indeed.

I had lived and done most of the things I had then wanted to do. I had, however, no idea that my life was to take the biggest turn it would ever take as I was given a swathed baby as my reward for the 36 hours of labour that I had since endured. Life as I knew it, became life as I know it now. Wonderful, rewarding and full of love. Unconditional love. More love than I ever dreamt I was capable of giving or receiving.

During the first eighteen months of Amy's life, we moved three times. I tried hard to create a family unit, give her the mum and dad she would one day look up to. But it wasn't meant to be, not with her own father anyway. Fortunately, the farmer was waiting around the corner, offering us that security and a trusting father figure.

I could go on all day about the last eight years. So much has happened. Good, bad, traumatic, ecstatic. But I think I have told you so much since I started blogging that I really don't want to repeat myself. What more is there to say? You all know Amy is my life. She is my world. She is my one and only child and I would do anything for her. So I just want to say that as my daughter celebrates her eighth birthday today, laden with gifts, I celebrate eight years of a life changing experience and I look forward to the many more which are undoubtedly to come and which I will have the pleasure to blog about.