Seems Like A Lifetime Ago

Well, he agreed. My new-old friend whom I told you about previously seemed unfazed when I asked him if I could post about our short-lived romance. Twenty two years is a long time ago to reminisce but his memory seems to be so much better than mine and apart from giving me ammunition, he's reminded me of a very happy time I spent when I was only 18. He was about 21 at the time. I worked at a petrol station back then, just a few evenings a week earning a little pocket money to subsidise my college studies. He lived a few miles from the petrol station and made a habit of filling his car up on a regular basis, usually the nights I was working. It kind of dawned on me when he left a rose on my car one night, that this guy fancied me. There has only ever been two men in my life who have bought me flowers; my first husband and him. I'm going to call him Sam, as I want to protect his privacy.

I don't recall the first night Sam asked me out but I obviously said yes. I drove to his house after work and gave him a goodnight kiss. It must have been about 10.30pm, which in those days was early evening to me; now I am usually tucked up in bed with my fleece pajama's on and my teddy bear hiding under my arm. However, the romance had started and I was on cloud nine. He had a nice car too, and back then that mattered! The eighties were very much a status decade, the years of Dallas and Dynasty, giant shoulder pads and big hairdo's, not forgetting pedal pushers, yuppies and filo-faxes. Oh, they were the days. His family were lovely, still are. I grew fond of his parents right from the start, decent people with big hearts. They welcomed me into their family with open arms and I never felt uncomfortable whilst in their house. It wasn't long after Sam and I got together that his family moved house, a posh, tree-lined street in a beautiful and respectable area. I felt proud to be a part of his life. We went to pubs and nightclubs, a far cry from my life today, and he remembers me vividly in a yellow cotton dress, quite revealing if I remember. Fortunately, he has no photographs! I felt safe with Sam. He always wanted to hold my hand, lead me, ask my opinion first rather than making the decisions himself. He appreciated me and always seemed determined to please me. There was many a night I would be at his house when he would follow me home, just to make sure I got back okay. I guess you could call it love.

One of our favourite haunts was a local wooded area, a tranquil little road which led to a derelict old manor house. We were guaranteed privacy and as I remember, that was where we did most of our courting. We talked in those woods, about anything and everything. He tells me that the area has since been bulldozed and turned into a golf course. Not much privacy now, just far too many balls. I remember his fascination with a set of semi-detached properties being built on a main road; his idea was to buy one and for us to live in it. The houses are still there but the road is like a speedway now. This I wasn't sure of and I then began to realise just how serious this lovely man was about our relationship. Yet I was only 18. I wasn't ready to settle down with someone. I wanted to live, explore, not the world particularly, that was too ambitious for me, but to get to know myself better than I did. It was in the high days of my squash playing. I wanted to go places, literally, with the team I was currently playing for. Then one day we went to a park, my memory fails to recall where it was but I remember him mentioning we could get engaged.

From then on I knew things had moved too fast. In the short space of time that I had known Sam, we had fallen in love and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. But there was a difference. He wanted to do it right there and then. I wanted to do it in about five years. I was young and confused. A part of me wanted to make the relationship work yet a big part of me knew that I wasn't ready. The timing was all wrong. For one, I knew if I went home and told my parents that I had got engaged, my dad would probably have had a ducky fit! I just wasn't mature enough to have a committed relationship. And so I broke it off. He may not believe me, but I was as upset as he was. He was the safe option. I wanted danger and excitement. What I do remember is getting home that night and crying. Crying for the life I wanted, and knowing that I wasn't ready to live it.

Sam couldn't let go. There were many times I would be on my way back from the squash club and I would suddenly find myself being flashed at in my rear view mirror, a car desperately wanting to attract my attention. I knew it was him. I wanted it to be him. Most nights I continued home. Some nights I would pull over and we would talk, just for a short time. There were even some nights when I would be disappointed because he hadn't followed me. But when he failed to follow me for a couple of weeks I knew that he had given up on us. And I had to move on. Twenty two years later, I am more happy than I have ever been. Perhaps if Sam and I had stayed together we would have been happy too. But my life would have been so different; no lambs, no fields, no farm; and most importantly, no Farmer and no Amy. Who knows what lies around the corner for us? We go through life, struggling with the bad times, sailing through the good, and we get to our destination realising that life had its reasons. The path of our existence carries on; we just have to hope we have stayed on it.

Old Friends Become New

You often hear about old friends being reunited after many years apart, whether through chance or a determination to search. It happened to me the other day; an old flame to be precise. A lovely man I knew 22 years ago when I was still a teenager. I was having one of those nostalgic moments on Facebook, playing around with the search for friends facility. I put his name in, amongst others, not ex-boyfriends I might add, and hey presto, there he was, not changed in all that time apart from some sophisticated grey hair around the temples. Still the same smile, vibrant eyes and smart clothes. It felt like another life had come to the surface; a memory once forgotten yet still etched in the midst of time.

So I contacted him. I was pretty confident it was him by his photograph but I didn't want to seem forward. And when he emailed me to confirm it was indeed him I felt rather pleased with myself. I have never been reunited, albeit in cyberspace, with anyone before. I felt that 22 years was a long time to have been out of touch, and both our lives have moved on considerably. We caught up a little, he reminded me of a little yellow number I used to wear when I was 18 and slim and I reminded him about the car he owned of which he thought was a Rolls Royce. Unfortunately, it wasn't. But it was a nice car all the same. I remember his family appearing stunned when he let me drive it. We only dated for about 4 months. But after 22 years, four marriages between us, one child (mine) and various addresses, I am looking forward to my new friendship with an old friend. I feel all grown up now. Yet I still felt 18 when I realised it was him. Maybe if he agrees, I will tell you all about those four months which obviously had a large impact on my life.

Charlie

Hello, my name's Charlie. I'm a pet lamb at Jigsaw Farm. My mummy doesn't have enough milk to share between my brother and me so my friend, Amy, keeps me topped up.

I like nibbling Amy's wellies. They don't taste as good as milk but when I'm hungry, anything will do.

This is my mummy. She's very friendly and has the same number as me sprayed on her wool. It's number 153. The Farmer sprays numbers on mummies and lambs to identify us and make sure we don't get separated. Sometimes Amy carries us back to our mummies if we get lost.

This is me and Amy. I love her so much, especially when she has a bottle of milk. She plays with me although mummy would rather I didn't mix with the humans. I don't really know why because they are so sweet.

This is me posing for the camera again. I'm very photogenic, don't you think.

I like playing tag with my friends in the garden. When we have had our milk, our mummies let us play out for a little bit before bedtime.

This is our mummies taking us to bed. We were all very tired after having lots of fun. It's great being a pet lamb and having the garden all to ourselves.

These are some of my other friends who live in the shed. They don't have a mummy anymore. When they are a bit bigger, they will be moved into another shed which will have its own garden.

I hope you have enjoyed my photographs. Now I have to go; mummy says I could do with a baaaarth.

A few pictures & Time for a Rant; haven't had one in a while!

The daffodils are on their way out now, they start to look untidy but this one still had some "zing" about it.

The best car in the world, in the Jigsaw's eyes!

Not sure what this wild flower is called, if anyone can help do tell.

On a walk down our farm road the other day I was stopped in my tracks when I came across this.

One of my pet hates is litter. I see no point in dropping litter on the floor when most of us have pockets, bags or perhaps a bin within walking distance. I find it disgusting, disrepectful and incredibly infuriating. When someone has had the cheek to drop litter on my land, my eyes tend to change from the hazel colour they currently are, to a bright, flaming red, and I begin to grow little horns on the top of my head.

Occasionally we get people in the holiday cottages who obviously don't ask questions about where their accommodation is situated. Perhaps it is not obvious to them that the farm in which they will be staying for a week, maybe two, does actually come with a farm-house, a family and animals. Some of the families who come to stay on the farm, a SHEEP FARM nonetheless, often have children who are afraid of dogs, the parents often not liking the four legged creatures themselves. Yes, we have experienced this recently. A very respectable family (I should add) who have a lovely brood of kids probably frightened of their own shadow. Desperately wanting to see the lambs, and feed them (ARRRGGHHH) but want absolutely nothing to do with my gorgeous collies, two beautiful dogs who wouldn't harm a fly (unless the fly was a burglar of course). So we have to keep the dogs away from them. And we have to put Sparky on a lead as she is rather friendly and likes to introduce herself. And what do the kids do? "I don't like it," until daddy picks them up and shoos away the naughty doggies. It? IT? I know who I would be shooing away. Tip to the dog haters: take your kids to Spain next year.

Expert Consultations

About two years after Amy's diagnosis, the specialist "in charge" thought it unnecessary for Amy to continue receiving care from the special needs centre in which she had attended every couple of months for assessments. To be fair to the woman, she would have been highly qualified and no doubt experienced to be able to make such a life changing decision which would affect the family of the autistic child. Being inexperienced myself, I listened to what she said and tried my best to understand, some of her theories being a little confusing, however seeming sensible at the time. Knowing very little about autism back then I went along with her decision and happily told my family and friends that there was no need for Amy to be assessed by the centre, and welfare would be split between school in an educational environment, and myself as her full time carer. Having been fortunate enough to be assigned what I can only describe as the best support we could have asked for, school supervision is not an issue. But over the years I have felt often that a little support might have been welcome at home, just to get me through a difficult tantrum or an unusual phase. I have, of course, had advice from friends, not least blogging friends and websites, and of course invaluable help from school, but as Amy is now getting older I feel it is time to seek help from another source. Perhaps a back-up for, when I myself, may feel emotional or unable to cope.

The years have been kind to us. Living with my late father-in-law did make life difficult and looking back I wonder how sometimes I did not pack up and leave. Apart from my love for the Farmer, not to mention my love for the farm, this is Amy's home and so long as the Farmer and I can manage the farm, it always will be. There have been times when shutting myself away has seemed a good option, but reality has always prevented me from that space, a life where I have no choice but to look after a child with autism. As you know, Amy is my life; she would still have been my life had she not been diagnosed with autism. I feel I have managed on my own for the past four years, albeit with support from various sources, but there are certain areas of Amy's life which are now proving difficult for me to manage alone. The Farmer is a "man's man", as incredible as he is, he leaves the child care to me, perhaps a generation thing. And as my own family live 200 miles away I cannot call on them to babysit whenever I fancy some respite. To be honest, I wouldn't ask them if I lived down the road. I take my responsibilities seriously and without making a rod for my own back, I have built up such a strong bond with Amy that we almost understand each other. Of course, no parent will ever fully understand their child, we are all individual and deserve a right to live our own lives, but I think I know Amy pretty well.

The niggling feeling I have had recently made me somewhat apprehensive about my knowledge as a parent of a child with autism. As each day breaks, Amy teaches me something else about this incredible condition and I have come to realise that, even though I say I understand her, know her, bond with her, there will be issues arising in the future for which I will need support. Fortunately, we have a wonderful doctor. She listens; she hears you when you speak; she waits for you to finish; she makes suggestions, not assumptions; she is kind; softly spoken, and above all, a friend. She has referred Amy's case to a specialist. After all these years she agreed with me that it is necessary Amy should be under a consultant. Of course we will have to wait a while to be seen, our National Health Service is quite famous for it's waiting lists, but I have managed this long on my own so a few more months won't hurt. Our children deserve the best care; there are no exceptions. Ever.

Time Well Spent

It was one of those priceless moments of embarrassment the other day, when Amy posed the question as to why she uses more toilet paper than me, when my bottom is clearly much bigger. We were in the supermarket, comparing Andrex. I have been trying to stop her using half a roll each time she goes to the loo, all of which I end up rescuing from the U-bend when she realises the toilet has blocked. If I had a pound for all the times I have had to put my hand down a toilet I would be a self-made millionaire. All her life, she has been fascinated with toilet rolls. Personally, I can't see the fascination but there must be something worth a mention, for my daughter doesn't get excited for nothing. We used to buy charity toilet rolls but the last batch were somewhat rough on the rear end. I know we were doing our bit for the environment an' all, but if God allowed me one luxury in life, I would hope it could stretch to soft, strong and very long.

I do remember blogging about it a while ago but just to refresh your memory, we had a wonderful little box parked up in one of our fields a few years ago, commonly known as a Portaloo. Due to a collection of work men erecting a mobile phone mast, it was necessary for them to have somewhere to go rather than the surrounding bushes. An extremely useful idea if ever there was one, and a very convenient way to sit and read the paper, probably intending to have a famous skive. But for Amy it was a complete novelty. We spent many an hour trudging up to the field just so she could use said Portaloo. The smell when one opened the door was enough to fertilize the fields alone and the sight which met desperately averting eyes was indescribable. But, there she was, quite happy at this strange little box positioned on our farm. The last time we ventured to the alternative downstairs loo, I noticed someone had written on the side above the toilet; "Welcome to the T.U.R.D.I.S". It wasn't long after that I became fascinated with Doctor Who.

Love is ....

With only 6 ewes left to lamb, it isn't necessary for me to stay in the shed until 2am. We always get "stragglers" at the end, a few sheep that have no desire to be tied down. My bed is warm; my pj's are a welcome feel against tired limbs, and the Farmer smiles, knowing another lambing season is virtually over and a little respite can be seen on the horizon. I cannot believe Anna has worked for us for almost four weeks. She has once again become part of the furniture and when we have to present her with her final pay cheque on Sunday, I will be very sad to say goodbye. I wish so much that we could keep her on permanently. If I had my way we probably would. But the accountant keeps reminding us that employees are a luxury we just can't afford right now. Many years ago, this farm employed three full time men, each working to earn enough money to feed and clothe his family. But farming was profitable back then, there was always enough money in the pot to ask for help. Now, profits remain low whilst invoices need to be paid and in the meantime, a family still has to live.

Of course it's not all doom and gloom. All my life I have wanted this life style and now I have it. So money or no money, my dream came true. Each day that dawns reminds me of all those dreams, all the time I spent staring into space, thinking about what if's. Having conversations with Anna has brought back my twenties, she herself only 22. What a fast life I led, and what a loner I became. I had few friends apart from other couples my first husband and I used to spend time with, and I spent two years living on my own after my divorce. But life wasn't tough, I had a good job, a nice car, plenty money in the bank. Yet now I have more riches in my life than I could ever have wished for. It goes without saying that one of those dreams was to have my dad drive up to the farm, get out of his car and give me one of those incredibly squeezilicious hugs he used to dish out. But as I lie in my warm bed, fields full of healthy lambs, potential profit skipping about the rugged land, I smile; a big Cheshire cat grin just like the wonderful man that made my dream come true.

And so what is Love? It is only these past nine years that I have truly come to understand the definition of this powerful word. When I will die for someone, reach out to the moon for someone, even pick up a spider for someone. All my life I have experienced love more incredible than life itself, from my parents, siblings, my husband, and of course Amy. But when my head touches that pillow, when my body has become so relaxed that it cannot move a muscle, when my eyes close and my mind sees a blank space, I can tell you I have found love all over again. And those little baby baa-lambs can skip, hop and jump to planet Mars if they wish, so long as they do it quietly.

Dog in a Boat

Some of you may remember I posted about Sparky's possible introduction to motherhood back in December 2008. You may also recall that we missed the boat. Looking back, we may have even been in the wrong port. However, good news is that Sparky is now in season and we are just waiting until the imminent day in which her sire will give her a jolly good seeing to. She met him on Tuesday afternoon. Not the best first date to witness as both animals sniffed each other's back end, growled with frustration then parted in a huff; the sire to further sniff the daffodils and Sparky to continue annoying me with the tennis ball. Wrong balls, I tried to say, but the words just wouldn't come. Another four or five days may see our rampant collie find love, if not permanently, then at least for an hour or so. Being new to the breeding myself, advice has been sought and information has been found but I wasn't prepared for the mess all over the kitchen floor.



The dogs sleep in the boot room but we do let them roam into the kitchen when we're in the house. For the past five days I have walked round both rooms with a cloth. I have threatened to buy a packet of sanitary towels or at least some extra large knickers. And as I mop, the Farmer tells me where. One of these days....

We hope she will be receptive this time. She's a fine collie and is in perfect condition right now. However, we have her best interests at heart (as well as our wallets) and we promise that we won't dare force the issue if it isn't meant to be. We have been told by an expert breeder of working collies, that Sparky is one of the nicest looking bitches he's ever seen. He has also told us how trainable she is. So I had an idea, and it didn't hurt before you ask. I will teach Sparky how to use a mop. And the cooker. And while I'm at it, I'll show her where the kettle is too. I'll keep you posted on what happens. Who knows, this weekend I might have some positive news rather than just a tale of two dogs that sniff each other's butts.

Novel Inspiration

I have often mentioned my dad in my posts; my love for him pours through the thoughts I have as I feel him near me, his beautiful smile forever etched on my mind. All my life I wanted to make him proud of me. I wanted him to see me as someone other than just his daughter; perhaps a woman of achievement; a person who had found success. Yet throughout the 31 years of physical touch, he only ever saw me as me; CJ, the dreamer, thinker, the middle one. It is during the past few years that I have come to realise these thoughts may just have been assumptions. I have got to know my dad, I have been fortunate enough to learn about how incredible he was, how amazing his life appeared to many. He was a person of few words, a man who did not need to say much in order to get his message across. I don't remember him ever telling me he was proud of me yet I know, after almost 8 years of his passing, that he was. He has shown this to me on many occasions since and I feel one of those occasions was the other night when my surroundings became all too familiar.

It can often be frustrating, however comforting, to know that this house holds many secrets I may never discover. But I knew there was something else within my space recently when the leather recliner creaked a recognisable sound as though someone had sat down and was making themselves comfortable in the lounge with me. The chair once belonged to my parents and is still known as "dad's chair". My eyes naturally averted from the television to the chair, an empty space drowning in atmosphere. My attention was drawn elsewhere when the television cabinet echoed, a sound I have heard before but this time so much more distinct. Another noise from the back of my head followed by a tickling sensation as though someone was running their fingers through my hair; a loud knock against the piano, an unmistakable knock against the window which at two floors up, is impossible for anyone to touch from outside without ladders. And the final straw was another noise I have heard many times sounding like someone standing at the lounge door, hovering in the hallway, perhaps waiting for an invitation.



To me, it was obvious. To others, there could have been a scientific explanation. All I could do was smile. I cannot say for sure that it was my dad. But I can say that whoever presented in the house that night was indeed someone who follows my work. There are numerous souls who I know it could be, yet my instinct kept pulling me back to the man I would give anything to hold just one more time. My dad continues to inspire me as I write my novel. There are so many experiences I want to tell as I think about the way I can fictionalise these events, and how loved ones continue to be a part of my ambition. He was proud, of all his children. I know that in my heart. So strong was the energy in that room that the battery on my mobile phone completely drained. Having only recharged it that day I was somewhat surprised to hear the warning bleep and find the little battery symbol flashing in the top corner. There are certain areas of the house where a bulb lasts only weeks, the light fitting at the bottom of the stairs is one of them, just near the lounge door.

Sun & Moon

This was the beautiful sky the other night. I couldn't resist standing outside in the stillness, capturing the natural formation of our ever changing planet. I looked towards the sunset, then to the moon for a close up. The different shades of pinks and blues fascinate me. As fading light filters in from the sun, picking up pastels and stunning layers of vastness above our world. I imagine our loved ones watching through the light, admiring the splendour they once tread upon. Amy said, "goodbye sun, hello moon," the words she sang in my ear as the planet walked on by many came into view and we were once more graced with the presence of night.

Talking about night, I was graced with another presence recently of which I am sure was a sign of someone's pride towards me. I shall tell you in another post though; it warrants its own.

A Steamy Past

Enjoying blogging as much as I do, it was a total surprise, very pleasant I might add, to find myself as a Blog of Note on Monday 6th April. I guess I have a lot to live up to now and this has only encouraged me more to write about life on this amazing farm. Trying not to sound too much like Kate Winslet, I thank you all. YOU have been loyal to my blog; YOU have read my posts, however boring some of them may have been; YOU have commented and shown your appreciation of my work. I feel humble. Yet I am completely overwhelmed with excitement. If I were a drinker I would crack open a bottle of something bubbly and if I weren't as knackered as I currently am, I might even stretch my celebrations to a Farmer's treat. As it happens, there are still 70 ewes waiting for my assistance and as we women know, when it's on its way, crossing ones legs doesn't stop the inevitable!

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The Farmer did however get a treat on Tuesday afternoon, a steamy one at that. A friend rang to inform us that Union of South Africa was due at our local station within the hour, knowing how enthralled we are at steam trains. For the Farmer, they bring back fond childhood memories; for me, it was an opportunity to take some photographs with my Tamron lens. Being a mere under forty-year-old, I don't have any recollections of the steam trains but I have to agree that they are a rare and beautiful sight. Amy and I trundled down the field towards the railway line where we met the Farmer and Anna on the quad bike, both the Farmer and I armed with cameras. My hands somewhat frozen, my hair blowing to smithereens and Amy wondering what the water tasted like in the troughs. Lambs frolicked about the fields and inquisitive ewes stared at our little group, a tad unsure of our intentions.




The Farmer took Amy closer to the line whilst Anna and I stood away so that I could get the best shot with my long lens. The train came into view, steam drifting behind it, the driver and passengers waved to us on their journey to Edinburgh. I don't know what the sheep thought but I imagine the Farmer was secretly reminiscing; his fascination being born again as for just a few minutes, he became the boy of a memorable past. He turns 60 this year. I often remind him how lucky he is to have lived in these beautiful surroundings for all those years but I think he just takes it for granted. A comfortable feeling if ever there was one.



The sky was a stunning shade of pink the other night and again, I ran outside like a tourist ready to snap. The weathervane is an old one, fixed to the hen house roof when the Farmer was a little boy.

Gold Band

I got rather up close and personal to a tulip. A friend gave us some seeds last year and we planted them in pots in the greenhouse. They have grown quite beautiful. The second picture obviously shows a ewe with her lambs, one of the many we now have skipping about the farm.

My mum was married to my dad for 38 years before he passed and in all that time she never took off her wedding ring. Whether it was superstition or just her way of staying loyal to the man who stole her heart, it had a deep impact on me. When my first marriage broke up in 1997, the first thing I did was remove my wedding ring. I felt that it meant nothing anymore, it was no longer a symbol of the vows we had made before God. I still have that ring, tucked away in a box.

My wedding to the Farmer was conducted in a civil ceremony. The vows were still made, the love was and still is undying and, even though my dad did not give me away, it was one of the most beautiful days of my life. The Farmer placed a gold band on my finger and I vowed never to remove it. It was a symbol of our commitment and loyalty to each other.

However, I have developed an irritable skin condition which has got underneath my gold ring and caused my skin to crack open, become itchy and really quite painful. I had to remove my wedding band. For the first time in almost six years I have no ring on my wedding finger. I knew I might have to take it off at some stage because I could feel the rawness of the skin and rubbing cream on it seemed to just irritate it more. Regrettably I took off the ring, telling myself constantly that it's only a gold band and even though is a symbol of my marriage, it does not mean that my marriage is over. I love the Farmer with all my heart; apart from my dad and my brother, he is the only man I have ever truly respected. I cannot envisage my life without him and I am sure Amy can't either. I have decided to have the ring made a little bigger as it is obvious that it was too tight, and once the skin condition has cleared up I will ask the Farmer to place it back on my finger. I know many women don't wear their wedding ring but I always have; so what I want you to tell me is that it really doesn't matter, that it's just a piece of jewellery and my heart will always belong to my Farmer.

Still Heart

Sadness descended upon my shift last night as I entered the lambing shed at 11.30pm, only to find an exhausted ewe lying beneath the combine, lambs beside her. My heart strings, as always, tugged with excited wonder at what I was about to find. But it was not until I reached her did I realise a tragedy had occurred. Tears stung my eyes; my stomach turned over; my excitement turned to despair. Two seemingly large and healthy lambs lay amongst the straw, motionless. I tried my best. I desperately tried to give them life but it was too late. Their lives would have lasted just a few minutes for they had been smothered by the mother who appeared to protect her third lamb. A tiny creature lay beneath its guardian angel as she looked up at me as though to ask for help.

My arms reached for the lamb; a stillness in the air as I wiped away fluid from its mouth to help it breathe. Miraculously, the lamb shook, a pitiful movement that could have caused me to smile had I not been already overwhelmed by sorrow. I rubbed the baby's tummy, cradling him on my knee, watching his eyes open from the sleep he so wanted to have. His body was waking. He moved his head and tiny ears fluttered from side to side. The ewe rose to her feet, determined to take back what was rightly hers. I set the lamb down by her head, witnessing another beautiful moment between mother and child. The lamb survived. He now stands robustly, in readiness to suckle.

You may recall two lambs which Amy named Smartie and Malteser. Smartie still sits near his mother, watching for the human with a baby's bottle. Malteser, however, no longer depends on our help. He didn't make it. Life was too much of a struggle for him to continue his wait. It is a difficult experience when we feel we have not done enough for a small creature, depending on our nurture; but in some cases, the circle of life is beyond our control. We have to stand back, and move on.

The Night Shift

It is very tranquil in the lambing shed. The shuffling of pregnant ewes, trying to find a comfortable position in the straw, a few calls from new born lambs and the occasional cough is just about the only sounds one can hear. Last night however, felt different somehow. I had a feeling that, even though I was in the company of 120 sheep, someone else was near the shed. Not necessarily in the shed but certainly in the farm yard. At one point, a light shone through a gap in the bales. It looked like a torch light but lasted for only a few seconds. My walk back to the house was becoming less appealing. The time was 12.45am; I was waiting for a nearby ewe to lamb, observing as she made all the right noises, panting in all the right places. The lamb slid out relatively easy, a wet mound of slimy legs and puppy dog ears. Taking mother and child to a stall, the sheep scatter in all directions, nerves get the better of them as a human walks through their space. None seemed to be bothered about a second human lingering in the darkness. At 1am I made my way back to the house. No more ewes were showing signs of labour and so I judged it safe to get washed up and go to bed.

My torch shone through the fog which had quickly descended upon the farm; my pace hurried as I felt a little vulnerable in my short journey to the floodlit house. Yet when I am sitting amongst mother's to be, watching their eyes, seemingly peaceful, it is like sitting amongst nature; at one with a world we did not create, yet are responsible for maintaining. I feel at peace with them; they make me feel safe, as though they will protect me from unwelcome thoughts. And I feel grateful to them for being there. Giving them my assistance in their hour of need is the least I can do. The Farmer has been at one with nature all his life; I for only 8 years. Yet I feel I have known this life for ever. And I hope for ever, I will.

Secure Child

It isn't hard to notice that my little girl is fast becoming no longer. My tranquil corner of the world seems to be opening up to a new horizon as new rules have to be set and goal posts start to widen. As most of you know I am rather prudish, my hands raised, accept if you wish; but I let the odd word go unnoticed, my ears conveniently closed. It isn't uncommon for our children to swear, pick up the odd word here and there, sometimes practiced at home. One of Amy's autistic traits is to copy. At 9 years old, she still very much uses echolalia, which is a form of copying; listening to something on the television and using it herself, sometimes out of context. Inappropriate speech has always been a part of Amy and I have accepted the fact that she is prone to mixing up sentences, leaving me having to decipher what she actually means. Sometimes easy, occasionally a warrant to ask her to repeat what she has said. If I say "I don't understand" she becomes frustrated, starts to have a meltdown asking me why I don't understand. A step in the right direction; she asks me a question, a sign of inquisition.

I was doubtful however, that she understood her own exclamation recently, when she called the Farmer a turd. I was, for want of a better word, gobsmacked. My initial reaction was anger, not really at the fact that she had called her dad a name, but the name of which she had used. She was ordered to apologise of which she did, before I gave her the lecture about using language and especially in our house. My threats to tell her teacher were very much understood and the tears welled up in those big malteser eyes. Obviously a word she had heard elsewhere, her desire to practice it at home didn't quite go according to plan. The following morning she referred to her outburst as "that T word". On this occasion, no more questions were needed.

Even though Amy has a secure home and a loving family, she still thrives on being assured of our adoration. Mine in particular. She will never forget being told off, seeing an angry face or feeling the brunt of my frustration. I have often been reminded of occasions where I have had cause to inflict discipline, be it taking away privileges or ordering her to her bedroom. She still asks me why I would not forgive her for something I can't even remember happening nearly a year ago. Yet she remembers the event like it was yesterday. To me, this just proves that a child's mind is incredibly vulnerable. Of course they will remember the good, but they will never forget the bad; no matter how long ago or how trivial, they will always recall an angry moment from the one person they need that constant reassurance from. Perhaps that is why I tell Amy I love her, several times a day; or maybe I tell her because I do. She knows she is my whole life, yet she does not understand what that actually means. She knows I am always here for her, yet she still needs to see that with her own eyes. She needs me like the lambs need their mothers to survive. But I doubt she will ever really know that I need her more.

I am finding that as we begin to move onto the next phase of Amy's life, I will need support and advice from a different angle. The difficulties are mine as I have to learn each day to accept a wider vocabulary spoken in an innocent way. I have known my child for over nine years yet I feel I have much to discover about her life. It is easy to blame her autism for all the things I do not like, swearing, aggression and meltdowns. But I will not blame autism for an existence that has brought me more joy than I could ever have wished for; she is autistic, she is Amy. Autism is a part of her life that has naturally become a part of mine and I would never wish to have it any other way. There is no cure. There will never be a cure. But there will always be security and reassurance and most definitely, there will always be love.

My Salad Brain

Tuesday morning seemed a little easier. It did not matter as much to my weary bones when the alarm clock went off at 7am and my head suddenly realised I was no longer dreaming but facing another day. I usually lie in bed for 15 minutes, just to get my bearings, and make a mental note of the days activities which lie ahead. Supermarket; the big job of the day for me, after spending an hour hounding Amy about getting dressed, cleaning teeth and brushing hair. To be fair, she isn't too bad these days but it does still take her a good hour to arrive downstairs clad in school uniform and ready for the taxi. Perhaps my own zombiefied (I made that up)state was at fault but when the taxi arrived at 8.30am she still had no shoes on and I couldn't remember where her coat was. Bearing in mind we have about a hundred coats on ancient hooks in the hallway.

That done, I made my decaffeinated cappuccino (I know I could do with caffeine but I don't drink it because it gives me headaches!) and went back to bed just for a short while. My head must have still been in the clouds for I drifted off to sleep for half an hour only to wake to a shopping list poking me in the eye and telling me to get a move on. Feeling refreshed I left the house soon after, double checking half way down the driveway that I had my handbag, let alone the shopping list.

First stop, town; pharmacy and a chat with a lovely friend I haven't seen for months. He invited me for coffee (which I don't drink) but I declined and gave him a hug instead. He's one of those people that you could talk to all day. And I really wish I'd have had time to stop for a beverage. Have you ever been in a Pound shop btw? Or a dollar shop perhaps? If not, go in one. We have one in town and I've never been in before. I spent £15 on a bag full of goodies, including a plastic measuring jug for the lamb's milk. Do you see how knackered I am? I'm telling you about my shopping now. Boy, I need a life!

However, I must tell you how I came to lose my shopping list in the supermarket. Having chosen fruit and veg, I moved onto the deli counter where one can choose ones own accompaniments. In my case Waldorf salad and coleslaw. Collecting cheese on two wheels as I skirted round the next aisle, I realised I no longer had my shopping list in my hand. We've talked about this before; I live by lists, especially my shopping list. I blame my mum. So there I was, exploring every pocket on my person, rooting around the floor, under the aisle, even in someone else's trolley. Until the bell which very rarely sounds, emitted around my head and I found my limbs carrying me back to the deli counter. Fortunately, no one was around and I was able to fish the shopping list out of the Waldorf salad without any one seeing.

Today is not looking good either. I have a hair appointment at 9.15am which means my rest on the bed when Amy's gone to school is out of the question. My brain is so mashed I forgot to cancel it. Saying that, a bit of pampering never did anyone any harm....