List for a List

I am most definitely a list person. They help me think, get through the day, give me an indication of what I need to do. Some might say, one can tell a persons character from their lists. I'm not sure what mine reads like but here's an example of one I have on my desk right now:-

wipe dining table
dust sideboard

clean Kitchen, spray plants
brush & mop floor

hoover thru, lounge - dust & tidy up

clean toilet & sink

clean bathroom, mop floor

tidy Amy's room & hoover

dust, hoover guest room

change bedding

clean mirrors

All because my mum is coming today. She's only staying until Sunday but she's a stickler for cleanliness and constantly looking round my house, pointing out cobwebs and asking for marigolds. She doesn't mean to interfere, I think farm living is just so far from her world she can't understand how we are able to live on a daily basis with dust, walked-in sheep muck and two dirty dogs. Not to mention the Farmer's clothes, my humongous piles of washing and the permanent mound of untidiness which gathers height every time she comes up.

I so look forward to her coming. The house gets a spring clean, the Farmer gets his boiler suit washed and the dogs get shut in the boot room instead of being allowed to roam into the lounge and climb onto the sofas. Every time she comes she has a suggestion to make about an improvement she feels is needed to the house. This time it will be the shower in the bathroom. She mentioned it last time I saw her, "why don't you have a new power shower and a decent cubicle?" she asked, instead of the filthy shower curtain and the drip you call a shower, she thought. We are quite happy with the shower we have. Well actually, that's not quite true. Of course she's right. Mum's are always right. But it's my house. And it'll have to be my idea to get a new shower. Doubt the Farmer will suggest it, he might need to use it if he did. I feel another list looming.

Holly Tree

When it snowed the other week, I tried to get creative with the camera. Wanting to get the best shot of our lovely holly tree outside the back door, I got up close and personal. My intentions to have holly leaf in the foreground creating a beautiful and seemingly professional photograph didn't quite go to plan. Here are the shots I took:-





I was wondering about the camera. I know a work man should never blame his tools but I really do ask myself if there's more I can be doing with the digital equipment I currently use. Is it really necessary to own these flashy zoom, digital lens, weird and wonderful contraptions that you need to be a weight lifter in order to carry round. This camera wasn't cheap, around £150 as I recall and for a small, fits-in-ya-pocket device I thought that was money well spent. I'm not looking to win competitions, I think that might be for another life time, but I would like to take better shots. I enjoy taking scenic photos of the farm land. We live in such a beautiful area where one can see for literally miles. Here's some photos I took recently of a view from my back terrace:-





It wasn't a clear day when I took the ones above so the view wasn't as good as it could have been. The Farmer owns an old fashioned Canon camera, not digital but with a huge lens and he prefers to use that. However, he has talked about a good digital and if I can find the right one, that doesn't break the bank, maybe I'll see about getting him one for his 60th. So long as he lets me use it too.

It's all in the Mind

Before I begin, just want to point you in the direction of Amy's blog, accessed via my side-bar. She's written a lovely story but I want you to bear in mind it's all her work (I've corrected some spelling mistakes!). She has no concept of time, which perhaps in some cases, isn't a bad thing!!

I woke up at 4am. Not unusual for me, but it seemed my mind refused to close down. Thoughts were racing at such a speed I couldn't concentrate on getting back to sleep. It seemed the furthest thing away from my mind. I lay there, staring into space, a million stars above my head when I suddenly thought about writing a blog post. As the office is at the other side of the house to where my bedroom is situated, I made the decision that rather than waking up the household I would remain horizontal and continue to think. I couldn't even write my thoughts down because I had no paper. I thought about why it suddenly felt so important to stay where I was; why didn't I feel compelled to tread the floorboards and seek out the night's activity. Perhaps all I needed to make me feel compelled was right there. In my mind.

I was drowning in information, being jet streamed into my over enthusiastic thoughts. I felt I could swallow up the Internet and remember every thing I learned. I could read a thousand novels and recall them word for word. Nothing and no one was coming between my mind and me as we bathed in the best post ever written. Perhaps it had been my dream to write so well that it would captivate the uncaptivated or dazzle the undazzled.

The mind is a wonderfully powerful tool we possess. Where would we be without it? Imagine a child as they learn, their brains like sponges as they soak up information on a daily basis. Their minds will be in constant overload as thoughts and imagination are continually channelled; as emotions begin to take form and ideas start to emerge. Many of us have our best ideas during the night, when sleep has been disturbed, or in some cases, not even achieved. Being able to see inside the mind is impossible yet how do I describe that to a child who thinks literally; a child who sees every thing in pictures, in her mind. I was asked about the appearance of the mind, is it big, is it squidgy, is it the shape of a heart or a circle. It's just there, was all my 4am-highly-intellectual thoughts could muster up. It's just something we all take for granted.

A Family's Home

I have lived in my current home for nearly eight years, sometimes feeling I have been here all my life. My husband, on the other hand, has been here all his life. Born and brought up in the same house, played as a boy in the same garden, worked from the age of 17 on the same premises. But it seems to be more and more common these days to buy a property, renovate it then sell it on, potentially making a profit in order to start the process all over again. Buying property at the moment doesn't seem quite the tempting option that it once was, even though word is it will get better. I would love to buy a derelict old barn and turn it into a high-spec family home, but my reasons would be slightly different from those we know as an investment. I want a family home to be just that. A place where a family can live and breathe. Where they can support each other and find a new definition to unity. Money is of course important, especially in this current climate, but happiness cannot be bought.

It came to light today that the house I spent only 18 months of my life in, the one I will always regard as my dad's favourite, is once more on the market. After my dad's passing, mum found it increasingly difficult to stay in the family home, for obvious reasons. The people who bought that house only seemed to have one thing in mind when viewing; building an extension, renovating, altering this and that, what can we do with the garden. My mum sold the house for peanuts. We were all so disappointed at the time that she wasn't prepared to hold out for a better offer, but she was desperate to move; desperate to start living again and prove to the world that dad's immeasurable strength carried on through her.

Not long after the new owners moved in, so did the builders. We noticed a huge extension to the side of the property, electronic gates and various other changes, some of which had, to be fair, made an improvement. But it was clear that our lovely home, the one in which dad so loved, was gone. It was our time to move on, to accept that bricks and mortar mattered little compared to that of the wonderful memories we would always have. So now, a few years on, the house and grounds look quite different and the current family are also moving on. If they get the asking price I will eat my piano, but if they get near to it then their investment has been a huge success. But I doubt they will have the memories we possess; twelve years of love within those walls will always belong to us, as will the monkey tree in the front garden which my dad adorned with fairy lights each Christmas.

I don't want to go back there now. I don't want to see that beautiful home being sold to yet another family, perhaps with further plans to make alterations. I have my own memories and my own photo's, ones which can never be altered or extended. Ones which I shall keep within my heart, only to add to the new ones from my "own" family home.

Off for the Chop

If it hadn't have been so nippy this morning I might have been tempted to don my little red bikini and show them how it's done. Up to my calves in mud, I slid from one pen to another in a desperate bid to separate red spots from blue. It's market day. And I'm not talking about selling ya melons. A hundred and thirty faces looked at me as they made their way to the holding paddock, before being loaded onto a wagon to meet tomorrow's dinner plate. It isn't a job I enjoy doing, especially when it's raining, but it's a job that has to be done if we are to make a living. There are of course many other ways to make a living but we have chosen this one and be it a way of life, it rarely fails to put mint sauce on the table.

Sheep do like to stick together, their instinct to stay within the flock is quite impressive albeit particularly frustrating when one of them decides the chop isn't the best way to go. I found myself, on numerous occasions, waving my arms in the air, pleading with stubborn woollies to go this way, then that, before loosing my temper and telling the Farmer he could find someone else in future. Of course I didn't mean it, I secretly enjoyed myself as my wellies continuously lodged themselves in squelching shit and I visioned myself looking like a drowned rat. Molly did a grand job. Without needing to be instructed, she is clever enough to direct her flock which does make the job a lot easier. I think she deserves extra mint sauce.

Sparky however, yelped from the house. Seemingly untrainable we have to leave her indoors when tending sheep. She has a terrible habit of biting them and one day she might just go a little too far. I feel sorry for her, having to leave her inside, but perhaps soon she might follow a command. We were hoping to have two trained dogs to help with the sheep but Molly does the job on her own for now. It might have to be that Sparky goes away for a while to be trained professionally, she's so highly strung it's proving rather difficult for the Farmer and I.

As blues and reds were finally separated, I opened the gate to make my way back to the house. Blues made their way back to the field and reds made their way to the wagon. The Farmer has his day at Market and hopefully comes home with a nice fat cheque. Of course that doesn't always happen. It would be nice to put a reserve on each one and bring home the ones that don't make it. I noticed how fat most of them were though, so I guess that's it for them. Goodnight Vienna, as they say in Northumberland.

Games of a different kind

I never did buy a new mobile phone after all the fuss. My brother had just the thing, a previously used Motorola which he no longer wanted. Glad to help out he passed it onto the Farmer who is rather over-joyed. I have to admit, it is a nice phone and perfect for the Farmer's needs. He's under strict instructions not to drop it in any water troughs. We'll see. I caught him playing Bratz Rock Angels on Amy's PS2, I guess there's hope for him yet. Technology isn't one of his strong points, he calls for help if the telly goes off, a potential panic that he won't be able to watch Sky Sports whilst he's fast asleep on the sofa.

I thought I'd have half an hour to myself. Feet up on the bed, A Place in the Sun on the box, and a sleeping cat beside me tucked softly in amongst my teddies. Such pleasures were had in Southern Italy as a couple of hopefuls paraded around run-down properties with a view to finding a miracle on their mediocre budget. The atmosphere in my home once more succeeded in its quest to gather my thoughts for me, turning them away from the current impressions which ran through my head. As has happened a few times before, I was shaken to another existence, literally. I thought, for a small moment, that my bedroom had suffered a slight earth tremor until I looked at the sleeping cat to find her in the same position, curled up around my rabbit's behind. It wasn't as obvious as other times but it shocked me nonetheless. Shocked as in "what was that?" rather than "I need a drink".

I now find myself in possession of a new camcorder. My determination at getting something on film in these ever increasing spiritual surroundings is becoming stronger. Of course, over the years I have discovered another dimension to this house of which I have previously divulged, but what was particularly bizarre about this occurrence is that only ten minutes previously I was thinking about a strange lack of activity these past few days. Thoughts and words, it really doesn't matter. If they want your attention, they will find a way.

Kid's Play

Having been unable to catch up with the house work, my home now resembles a large refuse site. In fact, that could be an insult to such a place. I am now beginning to feel like a scratched CD as I hear myself repeatedly saying, "this room's a tip". I dare say it will get no better, if not become worse as the week progresses as messy child has now broken up for half term. The February week-off is always one in which I try not to make any arrangements as the next holiday at Easter is guaranteed to buzz with excitement and hard work as lambs are born and the garden turns into a livestock field. I used to mind this at one time, back in the days of late father-in-law, probably because I had no say in the matter. It was put-up or shut-up and I, being the quiet type, would mutter under my breath as I opened and shut the drive gate for the hundredth time in the same day, "bloody sheep, who needs them anyway". But as the past two years have proved, we do need them. They are bread and butter, with a little slice of cheese. There have been livestock on this farm since it was built in 1750 and I doubt my influence will count for much. Apart from which, the Farmer loves his sheep, as do the dogs. And we can't upset the dogs now, can we.

But, with it just being the three of us now, holidays and home times are something we look forward to. It gives us a chance to be together twenty-four hours a day. A nightmare for some perhaps; a pleasure for me, now. Only, that good old R word that our family thrive upon has been disrupted; Routine. It seems Amy has decided she would rather be at school than have a week off. I was pleased of course, to learn Amy enjoys school so much that she misses it when absent. I was even willing to pretend to be a teacher for a day, sit down and do some homework. But then I thought about which lessons I could pretend to do and I became stuck. Maths is a long way from my mind, that's where calculators come in handy; my French is rusty and my Science is almost non-existent; Music and English are my forte so perhaps we could have a bash at those. But who wants to pretend they're at school when they're on holiday?

I then mentioned that some children go to Boarding school. After explaining what that meant, the idea seemed to appeal to Amy. Maybe I shouldn't have let it come across as a "permanent sleepover", one of those fun past times which Amy loves so much. There have been one or two conversations had with various friends about this subject for when she is older but I have always dismissed the idea, perhaps for my own selfish reasons. I couldn't have wanted anything less than go to Boarding school as a child. I hated school, particularly High school due to being bullied all the way through so I was more than surprised at Amy's enthusiasm. But for now, I think I'll just carry on being her mum. And a pretend teacher if that's what it takes.

Snow People

After school closed on Thursday morning due to the heavy snow fall, I realised I would need to go in search of wellies and a little courage to venture out into the cold and wet. Like most children, Amy loves the snow and couldn't wait to get changed in order to start decorating the garden with sledge tracks and a big fat snowman. Or should it be snowperson. One never can tell. Anyway, here are some pictures of said snow creature together with some of my family and other animals. Despite my fear of snow, I had a smashing time. Enjoy!

Back to Life

During the past few days I thought I would remain in my bed, watching daytime TV forever. I'm not sure which thought made me feel worse; being bedridden or daytime telly. I haven't eaten chocolate since Saturday, have nibbled on biscuits and gorged on grapefruit segments as they were the only food that slid down my thistle-lined throat. My neck ached, as did my back and my legs, and my arms felt a heavy throbbing so as not to feel left out. The feeling of lethargy remains but I am slowly coming through the haze and able to see life waiting on the other side, hopefully without the sore throat and pajama's.

I hate being poorly. I have too much to do. Apart from having a house to run and an egg enterprise to get off the ground, I have a nine year old constantly wanting attention and a husband who doesn't know how to use any domestic appliance apart from the Aga. I missed an important meeting on Monday and have been unable to make up Amy's packed lunch leaving the gruelling task to the Farmer who almost starved the poor mite on Monday after waving her off to school with only sandwiches and a cereal bar. My daughter likes her food. She likes a hearty lunch which consists of four or five items of food and a drink so you can imagine her hunger when she returned later that day, only to completely raid the fridge before shrivelling down the nearest grid.

But it hasn't been all bad. My very undomesticated husband has looked after me. Fetched and carried and tried his best. He made Amy's supper on Sunday and Monday, the same meal both nights but nonetheless she was happy. Unable to go wrong with a jacket potato in the Aga he cooked a tray full which I have to admit were very palatable. Unfortunately, that's where it ends. I had no choice but to rise from my warm and welcome pit this morning in order to make Amy's lunch and start the washing machine that I can safely say is now in for a hammering during the next few days. And now, as I sit here and write this post, my throat still hurts, my bones still ache, but my head is impatient and I need to get back to normal. A visit to the doctor will have to wait until next time. I'm too busy to be ill any longer.

Through the Looking Glass

I was once more reminded of undying love, the kind that is constantly around even after the last breath.  There is so much within my life that points to him, many events of which I can confirm with sincerity, "he made it happen".  But whilst listening to my inner voice I tell myself over and over again, if only he were still here.  If only he could hold me like he did all those years ago; if only he could tell me he loves me for all the world to hear.  If only we could have that conversation about politics and education, about work and running the business.  I wonder if I ever wanted to listen, or did I just want to sit with him, proud and content.

He stood next to my bed.  I had tried previously to sleep but his presence was too strong.  I had asked him during the day to visit me, to remind me to write a letter of importance; and he did.  I opened my eyes, transfixed upon the darkness which surrounded my thoughts.  The distant aroma of cigar smoke encircled my senses.  I heard a shuffle; a movement of someone beside me.  My heart rate increased as I held out my hand asking for him to take it in his.  His beautiful touch against my skin was all I yearned for at that moment but he, being the wonderful man that he is, swept me away into his arms.  I awoke to find myself standing in a large room, a function type venue where many family friends had gathered. People from his past, those who had difficulty accepting his passing stood close, waiting for him to walk by. No smiles on faces, no voices in echo.  Drinks held yet untouched.  Daylight streamed through romantic palace windows, an open door revealed a lobby filled with silence.  He only had eyes for me.  A father's eyes, sincere and loyal; an eternity of unconditional love.

I did not cry.  I thanked him for his visit, for reminding me how special I am to him.  The tears which stung my eyes were tears of joy.  Yet I found myself sad upon realising my true surroundings.  The bedroom remained in darkness.  The cigar smoke no longer lingered in the air.  I was once more alone with my thoughts, and tears.

Bye, Bye, Bessy

The end of an era, the beginning of a new one. Bessy, in all her glory, roared onto the low-loader and out of the farm yard, led by a shiny new John Deere, escorted to a life of retirement in pastures new. The Farmer stood, silent and emotional, reminiscing about the past fifteen years with his friend. A friend he loved and respected, drove with into the night, sat in numerous fields with, as he shared his bait. A friend he fell out with once or twice; once when she needed 2 new tyres and twice when she broke down and cost the business a small fortune. He could barely look when she was driven down the driveway and onto the road, over the crossing only to disappear around the corner and out of sight. He felt guilty for letting her go, disloyal after she had helped him achieve years of crop yield, sad that this day finally arrived when he would have to hold back the tears and climb with dignity, into his mint-conditioned, spankingly shiny, one-owner and well below average hours, replacement tractor. We both know he would never have seen this day had his father still been calling the shots. And we both know that this day is a big deal for a sentimental, young at heart, middle aged Farmer.

His calls last night were ringing in my ears, "oh Bessy...oh Bessy". His love affair with Bessy is over. He will slowly begin another as the new version creeps into his life and finds a way into his heart. We now need a new name. Just so I know who he means when he calls me by a different one.

300 to count

This is my 300th post after 18 months of blogging. I can't believe I've been mixing in the blogging circles for such a long time, making friends and getting to know people from all around the world. I feel quite privileged that I have been given an opportunity to do something I love to do: write. Write about family and the farm, from autism to the paranormal, even about friends I have made in this wonderful world of communication. There have been some highs and lows, some moments of regret and moments of joy; favourite posts and ones I wished I hadn't published. And then there has been the information I've collected along the way, particularly about autism and living with its complexities; feedback received on the few extracts I have felt brave enough to post. I have been able to share photographs of my family and the animals, the farming calendar highlights, and my holidays. I have smiled at your comments and been grateful for your input. I have laughed with you, cried with you, felt angry with you and happy with you.

A new door which was opened to me in May 2007 revealed a new path for me to tread. Curious at first, I soon became a part of a small blogging community, slowly increasing my interest as I visited blogs from all walks of life. Introduced by a friend (you know who you are!) I realised that blogging was what my life needed, that one way to release the stresses and strains of everyday living. A way to share my hopes and dreams, my failings and downsides, my childhood and all the memories that came with it. Blogging has let me tell you about my beautiful father, a man who lives on within my heart, a man whom no longer shares our earth plain but watches from afar. I feel confident to express my love for my family, to show you how much my family mean and how much my father's love made everything possible for my dream to come true.

I have been able to communicate with authors, campaigners, singers and songwriters; Retirees, teachers, mothers and preachers. I have had the privilege to learn about your lives, to read your thoughts and your troubles, to answer your questions and reply to your comments. These past 18 months have been a journey which has prepared me for the rest of my life. They have taught me that we are not alone, we do not have to worry alone or cry by ourselves. There is no excuse not to share our good news or good fortune for there is always someone, somewhere in the world waiting to hear about it. There is a world of never ending opportunity beyond our open doors. The red carpet has been laid and we have been invited to walk with honour. I hope you will share at least another 18 months with me as I continue my wonderful journey, hoping I will continue to make new friends and acquaintances along the way. Thank you for your support throughout my past 300 posts. I couldn't have continued blogging without you.

CJ xx

Sky's the Limit

What an absolutely lovely weekend I have had. My sister came to stay last Thursday with her little girl, 3 year old Precious* and apart from there being one or two outbursts of "play nice" and "stop snatching", it's been total enjoyment. As you know from my previous post, we baked cakes which went down rather well with a hungry Farmer, and my sister took the girls to McDonalds for lunch on Saturday whilst I had a browse online. Oh, and booked an installation for a Sky+ box. Sister and I laughed and talked and thoroughly enjoyed each other's company. She's not having an easy time of it at the moment and needed a change of scenery and some fresh conversation. I think I cheered her up a little.

The new Sky+ box should arrive on Thursday, depending on the weather I suppose. I got passed to three different departments, all particularly pleasant and all desperately trying to sell me a Sky+ HD box instead which are currently retailing £49 plus £30 installation. The problem is that my monthly bill will increase another £9.75 and I just didn't want that. Not to mention the fact that I have no HD ready tellies in the house. So all in all, their wonderful sales pitch just had no effect. The third department were obviously determined that I got the HD but I stood my ground. We currently have six tv's in the house, three of which are connected to Sky but none of which are HD.

We are telly addicts in this house. As we don't go out much we feel it justifies spending a fortune on Sky entertainment. The Farmer enjoys the Sports channels, I enjoy the Home & Living channels (plus Watch & G.O.L.D) and of course Amy prefers Kids. And if there's something on that we all want to watch then we snuggle up in the lounge and listen to Amy talking all the way through.