Journey Through My Heaven

A walk around the farm with the dogs is always a pleasant activity. I love seeing the wildlife; rabbits, hares, buzzards, pheasants, deer. The dogs have really enjoyed the good weather recently as we've taken advantage of as many field walks as possible. But with border collies, it doesn't matter how far you walk, they will always keep going. I always go to great lengths to tell people not to get a collie unless they are prepared to give them a huge amount of exercise. This breed of dog need intense stimulation in order to enhance their agility; they are incredibly intelligent and will get bored quickly if not given enough attention. I can leave our two younger collies in the boot room for a couple of hours and find something has been chewed, and this is mainly due to boredom.  They might be tying, but they are amazing and immensely rewarding. Training a working collie takes patience but the end results are exceptional. Here are a few pictures I took last weekend during the hot weather:-

Mum looking on protectively in the background...

They love to sniff out the mice...

A regular walk with spectacular views...

One of the wheat fields, looking towards the coast - can you see the mist hanging over the sea?

My dad's tree; a slow-growing oak that The Farmer and I planted in his memory in 2001...

Sparky and Tanya basking in the sunshine...

The bluebells on the hill are a sight for sore eyes...

Having a little rest in the shade...

Jessica; keeping a close eye on Tanya no doubt!

Best friends, Molly and Jessica, enjoying the glorious weather...

I love this one of two lambs in the bluebells...

Beautiful view of the Cheviots in the distance (it was a little misty though)...

Meggie admiring the view...

Frazer; the last of the pet lambs. He's been fretting all week after his mate died.

I hope you enjoyed yourself having a walk around my farm. Now I'm off to stroke the dogs, cuddle the cats and say hello to Frazer. Before I clean his backside. The joys of farming never end...

Bullying Never Leaves

It's sometimes quite refreshing to go a while without having much to talk about. That's what has happened to me recently, hence my lack of blog posts these last seven days. The Farmer is back at work, Amy has been discharged from her ankle injury and I've decided to stop fretting about the ridiculous methods of social services. But if you're like me, you'll always find something that will niggle away at you, eating through your thick skin until it starts to gnaw at your insides. Heaven forbid anyone will be reading this who thinks I need to get a back-bone. I've been shot down in flames often for my opinion, but often is the case when someone else's opinion is far stronger than mine, yet they are responded with "LOL" or "I agree". If I'd have been a blogger way back in the late 70's/early 80's, I'd have had a lot to tell you. Back then I was a victim of bullies; they laughed at my sheltered upbringing and the fact I wasn't as streetwise as them. They taunted me for living in a decent area, in a nice house with good neighbours, for playing the violin and the piano, and for singing in the school choir. They made me feel stupid, ridiculed, lesser than them. I tried hard to fit in back then, really hard. So hard in fact that when I was in year two at High school (age 12/13), my mum spent many a day sat outside the head-teacher's office after I'd been caught smoking in the toilets or scrawling graffiti on outside walls, not to mention sitting at the back of a disruptive classroom, determined not to learn. High school wasn't my strongest era, it has to be said.

Yet now, at age 42, I still let people get to me when they talk to me from inside the circle, or clique as it's sometimes referred to. I stand on the edge willing them to let me in, watching as they chat amongst themselves as though I'm not there. It's what used to happen at school. I've witnessed it on the Internet often and when I do, the memories come flooding back. Of course, now I'm older and (perhaps) wiser so I'm able to deal with it better, but there are many times when I want to lash out, express my (not-so-polite) opinion, and I find myself backing away, afraid I'll be outcast like I was so many times all those years ago. Bullying in the school playground stays with you for life. You may think once you've left school, met the man/woman of your dreams, got married and had kids, and made a steady life for yourself that you will forget about those awful years you were made to feel inferior. But there will always be times throughout your life when the terrifying memories wash over you once more. I've learnt to understand the difference over the years between bullying and people just being nasty, but it doesn't make me feel anymore confident when faced with an awkward situation that has the potential of becoming a confrontation. Maybe I'm not streetwise or hip, maybe I have led a sheltered life, maybe I am different to you; but I'm a human being with feelings. I'm a mum and a wife and I work hard for a living. And what's more, I maybe a wuss, but I'm not a teenager anymore and have learnt that my opinion matters just as much as anyone's.

Upset My Daughter, Feel My Wrath

I sometimes wish I had an anonymous blog. The reason for this is so I can write about all those events that happen in my life that will inevitably cause offence, harm or anguish. I blogged about a very unfortunate event about 4 and a half years ago and it landed me in a whole heap of trouble, which meant I learned my lesson about the perils of blogging at an early stage. Something happened in our family recently that led to a visit by a social worker. All I can say is it involved Amy and you can't imagine the distress it caused. I've only ever had dealings with one social worker throughout my life when my late father-in-law had to go into a nursing home. I felt as though I were being grilled. This latest incident has left me shell-shocked. Even though the social worker involved appeared a lovely, sympathetic person, I couldn't help feeling violated and under immense pressure to say the right thing. My daughter told a lie. She's 12, an adolescent and is well known for her extremely vivid imagination. When I was 12, I probably lied through my teeth on many occasions.

It's been hard not to talk about it openly because I think it would have helped me to accept that these people are just doing their jobs. But they have no idea, or at least they don't care if they have, at the stress their interfering into my family life has caused. I am furious at the thought I was forced to meet with a total stranger and respect she was just doing her job. When someone upsets my daughter and causes her unnecessary distress like these people have, I become incredibly defensive. People see another side to me; the confident mother and advocate to a special needs child who will do absolutely anything to support that child whatever the consequences.

Just doing a job or sticking their nose into decent folk's business, it doesn't matter. What did matter was the fact that my very vulnerable and autistic daughter has been put in a situation where she lived in fear of a woman asking awkward questions that she was terrified to answer. I've had to reassure her on numerous occasions that she wasn't in any trouble, I expressed Amy's distress to social services, but still the social worker insisted on speaking to her. It's half a story I know but at least I've got some of it off my chest. Fortunately, Amy is doing well now and seems to be putting the incident behind her which is what she was doing before social services raked it up again. It isn't a particularly serious incident I must add, but it has had a profound effect on me as a parent. I have realised just how much of a nanny state this country has become in so far that red tape and beaurocracy are now so extreme, parents will soon not be allowed to kiss their children goodnight. I know there are some genuinely decent social workers out there, in fact I'm sure the majority are doing a wonderfully professional job. But if you're opening a case concerning a child with autism then you need to know about the condition itself. You need to learn about how vulnerable, how routine-obsessed, how meticulous these children can be. Go on another course if that's what it takes, but don't ever come round my house again making me feel unsafe and uncomfortable in my own home, leaving my daughter in a state of distress. You might be doing your job, but some of your methods disgust me.

Family Day

Had a really lovely day on Sunday when we went to a Vintage Tractor Rally. I wasn't sure it would be a good idea after The Farmer had just spent two weeks in hospital but he was determined to go. I gave in and took him and Amy, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

This David Brown 1965 belongs to a friend of ours

Think he's missed sitting on a tractor!

The Farmer's favourite model

When we got home, Tanya kitten had been out all day. There were a few mice lying about so we were quite sure what she'd been up to! 

We let her in the house and within ten minutes found her like this:-

Just Rewards

When Amy was a little girl she used to read all the time. I read to her every single night up until she was about seven or eight when she lost interest in listening to my voice. She's always been good at reading and especially good at writing; her incredibly vivid imagination is most definitely one of her strengths, even though it can also be seen as a weakness in her vulnerable capacity. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that she started to read in her head. She would only read a book out load and I would sit and listen to her from another room, eager to help when she came to a difficult word. But I would only help if she asked. It was my way of getting her to reach out and admit that she needed assistance. Perhaps it was also my way of getting her to admit she needed me. However, there came a time, when adolescence began to take over, that books became a thing of the past. It was boring to read, especially when there was so much to watch on the television. I tried so hard to get her to read again, even went out and bought her a pile of new books from a large bookstore. I put books on her Christmas and Birthday lists in the hope it would encourage her to once again enjoy the pleasure of reading.

It was noted at her last special needs review that she was finding it hard to concentrate on a book. She would read a paragraph or two then be distracted and completely forget what she had just read. Her concentration levels are particularly poor. She has a few Famous Five books and the other week I walked calmly towards her with one in my hand, switched off the television and gave her the book. I told her how I'd spent many an evening reading and expressed how much we learn from reading words that have come from someone else's imagination. Amazingly, she opened the book and started to read it.

We sat and talked about the characters, about the plot and about how exciting it is to want to know what happens next. I was really proud of her determination to turn each page. She was quite thrilled when she told me about the border collie in the book, a subject in the form of a canine character that she can relate to. And this week she brought home a book from the school library that she has apparently been showing an interest in. Admittedly, it's a book taken from a popular children's television series, but it means she'll have to use her imagination when reading it instead of just her eyes and ears. I'd mentioned to her earlier in the week that it would be a good idea to ask the teacher about lending school books and as she has done, it seems our hard work is finally paying off. It just takes a change in tactics, and the rewards roll in.

Blogging; The Simple Reasons

I was asked a fabulous question the other day even though the person who asked me was actually being facetious. "Why do you blog?" they said. I don't think they were expecting me to answer but I couldn't resist. I could have spent hours telling them my reasons for blogging but instead I cut it short and simply said, "because I enjoy it." I thought that was a good enough reason. The person pulled a face and replied, "wouldn't you rather have a proper conversation than just write stuff down and hope someone reads it?" That was the moment I realised this person would never appreciate the art of blogging and would never know the joys of getting to know complete strangers from around the world. I went on to tell them about the immense support I receive through my blog, about the friends I have made, about the continuous urge I have to express my passion of writing through words that inspire others. A blank face stared back at me.

I dare say even this particular person could start a blog but I'm pretty sure they won't. Their reaction of "oh, that would bore me to tears" kind of convinced me. After they'd gone I sat and thought about my reasons for blogging. In the beginning, five years ago almost to the day, I wanted to make an impression on people, tempt them to read my posts and learn a little about the woman whose dream it was to become a published author. It took a while to accomplish that dream but as time took hold, my reasons to blog began to follow a different path. I discovered a new path that would lead me to a new world, and even I, the one with little confidence, was determined to see what lay at the end of that path.

I've been on a journey with my blog, but it hasn't just been the two of us. Along the way I've been joined by good, decent people who, like me, have a certain intensity for the blogging community. It is with all these people that I have something in common; we appreciate blogging, we enjoy it, embrace it and are enlightened by it. I don't think bloggers should need to explain why they blog other than tell the world it's something they enjoy doing, because if we didn't enjoy it, then surely we wouldn't do it. Why do you blog?

Back Together

The Farmer is home. He's doing really well and has already taken the dogs for a walk, said hello to the lambs and been smothered by the cats. And when he's back to being 100%, I reckon I'll be smothering him as well. But for now, I'll spoil him and pamper him and hope he takes it easy for a while. Making the most of having him home is what I intend to do; I want to look back on this as a time in our lives that was necessary, but brought us closer together. Because right now, I truly know why I married that man. And it goes far beyond being in love.

Need a Little Time...

They say dogs look like their owners. I reckon they're not far wrong. 

Comfort Blanket

I guess as bank holidays go, this one has been pretty naff. The Farmer isn't doing so good and has to stay in hospital longer than first planned. It could be next week before I bring him home. I'm sure the doctors and nurses are doing all they can to help him but it's so damn frustrating. The farm just feels like somewhere I live right now; when he's here, it's my home. Every waking moment is spent working in some form or another, perhaps to take my mind off the sadness. I don't seem to have time to do anything because real life is so overwhelming. I never realised I had an auto-pilot setting built in, something new I've learned this year. I've recently grown up. Yet I still take my toy rabbit to bed every night. She comforts me as I stroke her soft ears. She makes me forget, just for a moment, that I'm one of those adult people with responsibilities; and allows me to be a child again.

I'm having a day off hospital visiting today. My chores have taken me to a drive in the opposite direction to pick up sheep supplies and feed for the lambs. I noticed the dogs' food is dwindling too, something else I can't ignore. I knew these times would come, yet I wasn't sure what to expect. Perhaps that makes sense, perhaps it sounds like self-pity. Right now, I'm too busy and too wrapped up in real life to care.

I just want him home. I want to stroke my rabbit's ears and smile. Feeling negative is something I'm not used to. I just want him home.

It Hurts to Laugh, but let's do it anyway.

"Can you see my slipper, darling, think it might be under my chair?"

"Yep, hang on..." I kneel on the floor by my husband's feet. The slipper is on the floor right at the back of the chair. I get up close.

And personal.

I retrieve the slipper before bringing my head from underneath the chair, just centimetres from my husband's crotch. Which is the precise moment a lovely nurse approaches to see her patient and his wife in a rather uncompromising position.

One has to laugh at such antics. Or one may drown in one's tears.

Note to self: remember the good times. Bin the bad.

Carry On Operating

Wednesday: After a somewhat sleepless night, I managed to find myself feeding pet lambs at 6am. The fresh air did me good. I expected to be shattered, but I was too deep in thought to consider sleep. The morning seemed to drag. Then at 1pm we got into the car and drove to the hospital. It was the journey I'd been dreading for the past two months. The imminent staring out of the window, rushing through the patchwork quilt of Northumbrian countryside, knowing our destination would bring melancholy feelings. We just about managed to park the car; visiting hours had started when we arrived which meant rush hour within hospital grounds. We walked silently to the main entrance, finding our way to the ward. Endless corridors, solemn faces, a walk that I thought may never end. The ward was busy with people, chattering, discussing, questioning. We were taken to an end bed next to a window, looking out onto a splendid view of fields. The Farmer nervously unpacked his bag, asking if I'd remembered the sweets.

I sat down on the bed and a nurse came pounding towards us. "What is it, pet?" she asked, taking the emergency buzzer off the bed after I flung myself to my feet, realising I'd sat on the damn thing.

It broke the ice. The Farmer was at ease as he sat down and looked at the pile of magazines I'd bought for him. Cars, footballers, birds of the feathered variety. Countryside scenes made him feel more at home. We sat and whispered to each other for half an hour, not used to being in the company of strangers and unwilling to share our conversation. "You get off," he said, always the thoughtful one. I didn't want to leave him but I did want to go. I hate hospitals. Always have and always will. Though I realise how fortunate we are to have them; if only we didn't need them.

I lent over and kissed him gently before pulling away and whispering "I love you." He said the same as he noticed a friendly nurse coming towards us. "Aye, aye," the nurse said, "you giving out kisses?"

"Aye," he said. "But I'll be charging for the next ones."

He'd parked the car close to the window by his bed. Strange how that was the only space we could find after trawling through several car parking areas. He stood at the window and waved to me as I got into the car. I looked up at him and tears came. I was glad he wouldn't have seen them. Through blurred eyes I started the engine, turning to him as he once more waved to me. One of the toughest things I've ever done in recent years; waving to my husband then returning home knowing he wouldn't be there.

Happy Anniversary to my darling husband

3rd May 2003

Young Face in the Mirror

First of all, thank you for your supportive comments on my previous post about The Farmer going into hospital. He goes in on Wednesday and we're hoping he'll be home by Monday. Your comments have helped me to accept it better than I was doing which has confirmed to me that I needed to at least write about it. Talking about illness has never come easy to me and whether it ever will do I honestly don't know. To him, it's an inconvenience. To me, it's a worry. But a part of me isn't scared anymore and that can only be a good thing. Between here, my Facebook page and Twitter, I've been overwhelmed with your wonderful support. Thanks for being there for me (and The Farmer of course) x

******

My lovely hairdresser made me feel old this week when he told me he's taking the theory part of his driving test. He's 25 this year and I was giving him one of those "back in my day" speeches about how driving tests didn't involve written theory exams but concentrated on the practical side of driving. He asked me how long I've been driving and I suddenly realised it's longer than he's been on the planet! "Err, twenty-odd years," I replied. I looked in the mirror and didn't feel as though I'd been driving for almost 25 years. I passed my test in May 1987 when I was 17. Where did those years go? I asked him if he thinks doing a theory as well as a practical test has improved the way new drivers handle the road. Personally, I don't think it has. I got asked three questions while doing my test, one of which I got wrong - yet he still passed me. Have they made the test harder now, are they trying to clamp down on idiot drivers, or are we just being stung for more money in view of paying out for lessons and tests?

A while ago I wrote a post about young drivers being charged a painful amount on their insurance and how I thought it was unfair. But if a much harder test has been introduced, shouldn't this mean that our younger drivers are getting a better education behind the wheel and have more knowledge of the Highway Code? In my opinion, I don't think anyone really learns how to drive until they've passed their test and are driving the car completely on their own, with no back-seat drivers, no instructors and no one reminding them to indicate, check their mirror, slow down etc. It isn't surprising that insurance companies are charging so much though, because if a new driver doesn't have the experience then surely they have more chance of causing an accident. On the other hand, if I were to take my test again I couldn't be sure I'd pass, and I reckon that goes for many others.