An Alien Planet; Now

Being truly content for me first started when I moved to Northumberland eleven years ago. I faced the usual obstacles of starting a new life, settling into a completely different way of life and finding a new circle of friends, but I managed it eventually. Having The Farmer's dad living in the house didn't help as he was pretty obnoxious at the best of times, but I got through that, knowing that this was where my heart lay, and I was strong enough not to let him drive me back to a place where I knew I no longer belonged. There was a time when I thought I could make a go of living a contented life in a town, back in my mid-twenties before I got divorced. But it wasn't to be and it took me a few years to realise that if I'd stayed in that area of the north west, there would always be something missing. My move to the north east, ie Northumberland, proved to me that there was indeed something missing and that something was a solid foundation where I needed to be completely true to myself. There were other reasons for me moving up here, but even though I had a life pre-Northumberland, I didn't have this life, the existence that is me. Definitely more country-bumpkin than townie!

Before my late father-in-law passed away, I used to take Amy down to stay with my mum about every five weeks. We would have a lovely weekend, visiting old friends and family, going out for meals, Saturday's shopping in Bolton; it just felt like old times. But getting back home on the Sunday afternoon was bliss. The book I published last year begins with the following three paragraphs that describes my feelings even today:

"I fought back the tears as I turned the corner and saw the house standing proud on its hill, sheep grazing in the bottom fields. It was as though time stood still, nothing had changed. There was nowhere I wanted to be more. It drew me in by some kind of magnetic force, wrapping its soul around mine until I had no control. 


I sat in the car for a while watching the rabbits go about their business, totally oblivious to my presence. The wind rustling through the trees and the birds singing to one another was all I could hear as feelings of affection poured from my soul.


The farm house, a large stone building, had an aura of warm colours around its walls. This was my dream come true. Relief and excitement besieged me as I realised that I had finally found the last piece of my jigsaw, the piece I had searched for all my life. I was complete. I was final. I was home."

I don't go to my mum's very often anymore; probably about four times a year, maybe five at a push. The Farmer doesn't come with me because he needs to stay on the farm, but also because he can't cope with the hustle and bustle of the traffic and densely populated towns. I used to be used to it. Now I find it alien. I'm going down there tomorrow, just for the weekend. And already I can't wait until Sunday.

Business Loyalty...

...or is everyone just out to make a few extra bob these days? We have many suppliers in our farm business, some whose invoices make my eyes water every time I open the envelope. They all have to be paid and most of them leave a date on the invoice or statement to specify the pay-by deadline. Most give you 28 days to pay, some limit it to 14. We generally don't have a problem with these deadlines because after all, we are running a business just like they are; ours might be on a smaller scale but it's still about making money nonetheless. One of our bigger suppliers that we can't trade without, has been particularly generous over the years and extremely loyal but recently they've tightened their belts (understandable in this financial climate) and we are no longer given a day's grace for late payment. I'm not talking a few pounds here, I'm talking thousands of pounds, on a regular basis, so unless we pay up we get stung with interest. Therefore, we pay up. All done above board and without any quarms. They're a massive organisation and this slight change in their relaxed attitude to farming accounts was really inevitable, considering we got away with it for so long! Now they get paid at the end of the month and our bank balance dwindles. We only hope the yield from our crops doesn't suffer because of the weather and we are able to re-balance the books at year end.

Then we have other companies that have supplied us for years, changed names, changed hands, changed locations, changed reps, and we've been loyal to them; in fact, one in particular we have turned to in order to buy a massive amount of supplies after a firm we used to buy from went downhill. Long story. Won't bore myself with it, never mind you. On their statements they specify how much we owe, yet their final total never tallies up with the amount payable. Why? Because they add interest onto that amount and make it look like we owe more than we actually do. It's only a matter of pounds in some cases, but it's really starting to irritate me. It's what they class as a 'credit charge'. (Did you know that BT charge you extra to pay by cheque? I found that out recently, too.) Because we've been so loyal to this company I refuse to pay the credit charge and always pay on time anyway. But it's a damn cheek in my opinion to add this charge to your invoice, as though they are assuming you'll pay late anyway. The remittance advice always states the invoice amount plus the credit charge as the total payable, which obviously won't tally up with your true amount outstanding. Maybe some people haven't got time to check their invoices and just pay the amount it states, which will obviously have an impact on your VAT if you are registered. Out to make a few extra bob? Aren't we all...

Life's Bane

Summer holidays are approaching and once again the cost of going on holiday has risen through the roof, making it impossible for some families to take their children away. We can't do anything about the weather so it's understandable that many opt to go abroad, apart from which, in many cases it works out cheaper to stay in a hotel in a popular holiday resort than it does to stay in a hotel over here. I'm all for keeping money circulating in this country and would quite happily never go abroad again, but this year I've bitten the bullet and booked a week's holiday for next year (August 2013) to this RESORT in Kos. It's guaranteed to be hot, is a change of scenery and different culture to introduce Amy to. Some cottages in this area are nearly a thousand pounds a week to stay in; that is self-catering which means if you have a family of four to feed, you'll be spending a hell of a lot of money. One of our favourite holiday destinations is Center Parcs in Cumbria but it's pretty expensive there, too. It's a fabulous holiday but when weighing up the cost of a week just two and a half hours down the road, to a week 4 hours away on a plane, it proved a nice change to try somewhere different. Last year at CP, it rained for two whole days which meant outdoor activities were limited and the pool was packed. The way the weather is right now I'm not building my hopes up for a t'shirt and shorts week, but more for a mac with hood and don't-forget-your-umbrella week. 

I really crave some sun, some gorgeous, guaranteed hot weather where we don't need to worry about packing thermals, socks and woolly cardigans - in the middle of summer. When I was in my late teens and all through my 20's, I used to love going abroad, visiting different countries, mainly holiday resorts but just a chance to feel the sun on my back. 

There is always more to it of course, because unless you run a B&B, hotel or self-catering holiday accommodation yourself you won't understand the ins and outs of expenses this job incurs. But I think if British hoteliers/B&B owners/cottage owners were to reduce the cost of a week's holiday, especially during the summer months when the kids are off school, that more money would be generated through tourism in this country. This area in particular has two main income generators; tourism and farming. The place is always busy during school holidays but we've noticed in the past few years, how it isn't quite as busy as it used to be. Yet prices for accommodation are still rising. Surely something needs to be done.

Competing with the Big Boys

I've recently been entering a few photography competitions. I'm just a snap-happy and very amateur photographer but taking pictures as a keepsake is something I enjoy doing. I've had quite a lot of my photographs made into canvas prints and I have to admit, some of them look almost as good as some professional canvases you would buy in a rather expensive gallery. The other week I spent a long time one day, perusing and scrutinising my photographs in order to choose ten in total to send off for a competition; prizes range from camera equipment to cash, but really, as an amateur photographer it's just a buzz to have your picture recognised as a worthy contender.

However, I have a bit of a gripe with some of the competitions I've been entering. I won't enter a comp if it's for amateur and professional photographers even though I'm sure there will be judges who happily commend photographs taken by amateurs. Therefore, I enter only the ones for amateurs - you could say it gives a better chance of getting through the first stage, but I can't be sure, obviously. Some of the competitions, especially the online ones, tend to display all entries on their websites; some of the comps are judged by votes from the public and others are judged by a panel of judges. I'm not too sure which I prefer if I'm honest, maybe you will have an opinion on that yourselves... Anyway, here's my gripe: because I'm not technical and because I much prefer a photograph to look "natural", i.e. without being airbrushed, colours being changed, a sun suddenly appearing out of nowhere, etc, I've been noticing how many of these amateur photographers fiddle about with their photographs to make them look professional. And after seeing some of them, not that I'm an expert in the judging of photographs department, I would be pretty sure some have been taken by professional photographers, or at least photographers who have a huge amount of knowledge on how to doctor their images. Does this give the snap-happy crew like myself an unfair disadvantage? I honestly don't know the answer to that, but some of the pictures I've been browsing are definitely worthy of being made into professional portfolios, as well as being turned into stunning masterpieces. They are pretty spectacular some of the them, and it does give encouragement to an amateur to continue practising getting that perfect shot. But when it comes to judging, will the edited-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life-photographs win, or will the ones that are just-as-beautiful-because-they're-natural-ones win? I have no idea. Be interesting to find out. I shall keep you posted!

Here's one I entered to give you a feel of my natural amateur entries.

Please take a moment to look at a stunningly beautiful blog composed by a loyal and long-time blogging friend of mine from the USA; her photographs are out of this world. Country Girl.

Dividing our Future Generation

I tend to steer away from writing about political and topical issues because I prefer to keep this blog easy-reading, but today I am absolutely disgusted to hear the recent rumours, and a supposed leak, that our useless government are considering scrapping GCSE's in favour of O'Levels. I am quite sure several people will be writing about this today because once again the powers-that-be are making a mockery of their chance to better this country. One post in particular that I have read is by the lovely and very talented journalist, Liz Jarvis. This news could have the potential to destroy the next generation of our work force. Sounds a bit extreme doesn't it, but look at it from my point of view, a mother to a special needs child.

When I was at school I admit I was somewhat academically challenged in most subjects, and wasn't even given the option to take O'Levels. High school for me was a dead loss, I'd have been much happier finishing school at 11 and being home-schooled, but of course that wasn't to be and I was packaged off to what was dubbed as a good church of England secondary comprehensive. In year 3 (age 14), we had to choose our options, in other words, we had a very brief discussion with a careers adviser, and I mean brief, where we were given the chance to decide our future. At 14, I didn't know what day it was never mind what my future held. Nonetheless, I knew I wasn't clever enough to be a vet, my dream occupation, and living as a townie I was realistic enough to know my ambition to be a farmer was pretty far-fetched. So I chose what most other girls in my year chose, to be a secretary or office clerk. But I had one quality at school (apart from that of being able to blow smoke rings in the girl's toilets), and that was music. I was quite talented in that one subject; played the piano, the violin, sung in the choir, was always chosen as a backing singer in the school plays, yes, that was the one subject I could have excelled in. If I'd been given the chance. As it happens, I wasn't given the chance. There were only two pupils in the whole year, out of about 130, that chose music. I was one and the other was a friend of mine who I'd known from primary school and whom I had violin lessons with. The problem was, our music teacher didn't think my friend was capable of doing O'Level music and because to him it seemed pointless doing two different levels of exams when there were only two pupils in the class, I was forced to step down and take CSE music instead. I got a grade 1, I think my friend got a 3, but the point was I could have got a high grade O'Level.

I took seven CSE's altogether; Science, Music, Maths, English, French, RE and History. I messed about at school and on one exam paper, I think it was Science, I hardly answered any questions. I was deemed stupid and a waste of space by some teachers, but I was never encouraged to do well and I was never given the chance to shine. When GCSE's came into force, schools spent quite some time complaining about changing the system. But it meant an exam that could be beneficial to pupils across the board. When Amy started in special school last year, one of the first questions I asked was "do you think Amy will be able to take a couple of GCSE's?" The school's answer was a "maybe, we will certainly encourage her to."

And now we are faced with the prospect of our children once again being put into two categories; the clever ones who will be encouraged to take O'Levels, and the less able ones who can opt for a CSE, seeing they aren't clever enough to take O'Levels. Does our government realise how this will make children feel? Do they realise that the majority of special needs children will never in a million years be able to sit an O'Level, therefore their job prospects will be even less than they would have been otherwise? And when you have a condition such as autism, believe me, your job prospects are pretty shit to start off with. My daughter, and your children, deserve a better future than this. The whole system may need an overhaul, but our children need to feel equal, and with these proposals they will once more be made to feel inferior to the better educated children.

A Special Day of Cuteness

The puppies are three years old this week. They still respond to "puppies" so naturally we call them that. Both have developed their own personalities over the last few years; Bonnie will sit and watch the cats, hens and sheep all day, then do exactly as she's told in the fields. Meggie will sit in her basket and watch you as you busy yourself in the kitchen. Then she'll come over to you, rest her solid head on your knee and nuzzle into you. She doesn't lick, but she sniffs your face and that's her way of showing affection. Bonnie, on the other hand, would lick you to death. Both dogs have become part of our family in such an unconditional way. Meggie still shows signs of puppy, whereas Bonnie seems to have grown up. Meggie gets jealous and growls at another dog if you are showing it affection, whereas Bonnie stands aside and lets you share. To take Meggie round the fields is more a hindrance than a help as she plays with the quad bike's tyres, trying to bite them, thus preventing you from keeping to a steady speed. Stop, start, stop, start. It takes twice as long to do a quick stock check if Meggie goes. Bonnie is like a whippet; she runs in front of the bike, then slows down for a while and runs alongside it, and when she's had enough she'll jump on the back and proudly look at her sheep. Both dogs have their qualities and we love them both equally. Here are a few pictures of them from puppy-dom to adulthood. 

A few days old. Sparky had 6 puppies.

Bonnie is on the left (I get my rights & lefts mixed up so it could your right...)

The first day in the big outdoors.

My Meggie.

This was the scene that would greet me every morning.

Supper time. Bonnie would always finish first (still does), then go round the other 5 dishes and lick them clean!

A very proud little girl with Meggie.

Playing with Mum on the garden.

Bonnie (front) & Meggie after their siblings had gone to new homes.

Meggie after we'd moved them in the house.

Bonnie, now living in the house.

All grown up with mum. Taken a few weeks ago in the field.

Brilliance in Blogging

As I have been nominated as a finalist in the Brilliance in Blogging Awards on behalf of BritMums, I thought I'd show you the video I uploaded in response to my nomination.

 

 "Good Luck to all the other finalists in all categories."

Hope you enjoyed it!

Poppy on the Breeze

No regrets, just what ifs. No looking back, just thoughts in hindsight. Holding a past in my arms makes me feel close to what I once had; but when I let go, it makes me realise how distant my past and I have become. There are days I don't want to think about the times that were, and other days I want to reach out and pull them towards me. I'd like to be swept away in a time machine to a place where I can discuss my future. But if I turned the clock back I wouldn't have what I have now.

The regrets don't seem quite so relevant anymore.

One summer in the 90's, I looked at the magnificent view from my holiday cottage window and marveled at the blanket of poppies that swayed in a gentle breeze. My dad stood next to me and commented on how beautiful they looked. My mum joined us. Now I drink from a cup littered with vibrant poppies; it reminds me of my past. Graceful and delicate, there for only a short time.


Some days I do have regrets; moving on from a life I could have improved will always be a what-if. But this life will always be a what-next. I can't imagine it would have been quite so fulfilling if I'd embraced my determination to turn left instead of right. I can't imagine my dad never holding a child that he would have given his life for.

The poppies continue to sway, the views continue to be magnificent, and I continue my journey to make the most of this beautiful life I have been given.

Research the Blogger; It Might Help

Five things I can live without:- 

1. Do-gooders. 

2. Self-righteous tweeters.

3. Opinionated know-alls.

4. "Perfect" parents.

5. Companies that email me 3 times in one week with exactly the same email regarding them writing a fabulous guest post for my "site" in order to boost my ratings and improve my content (cheeky bastards) - after I've already replied to them twice saying I don't accept guest posts, sponsored posts, items to review or promotional material on my blog. 

I find it completely unprofessional to be contacted by a company who hasn't bothered to research me as a blogger, addresses their email with "Hey Crystal", "Hey Blogger" or "Dear Crystal Jigsaw" before they tell me how much I will benefit from using their links, publishing their material and advertising their totally irrelevant product. Some tell me they can write substantial material for my blog that my readers will find interesting; some tell me they can help me think of ideas for great content; some ask for my rates while some reckon a partnership between CJ and themselves would benefit me immensely by driving an inordinate amount of traffic to my site. 

As a matter of interest, do these people not assume I'm capable of writing a decent blog post? Do they think I need their guest posts in order to fill in on the days I have blogger's block? Do they think I'm going to jump at the chance of a partnership with someone I don't know just so they can advertise their company on MY blog? Do they think I was born yesterday?

If you don't want me to tell you again then look away now - I've been blogging more than five years and would class myself as a prolific blogger; I have always managed to write my own material; if I write a blog post that has been inspired in any way by a friend/blogger/online associate, then I will link to that person out of courtesy. Etiquette and manners go a long way in the blogging community, as does professionalism when making a request. I'm very flattered that you landed on my blog but why would you assume I'd want to write about sports shoes made abroad, or amazing events being held hundreds, and sometimes thousands of miles away? I'm not sure why companies find it difficult to do a little research before contacting a blogger, but it's manners. Get some. 

Just Can't Take The Risk

This week so far has been so mixed I'm almost afraid to say either way. The change in routine from school day to holiday is becoming more evident in Amy's moods as she gets older - and here was me thinking it would get easier. She's good at finding things to do but her continuous demands for attention do occasionally take their toll. If you think your toddler's temper is bad, you want to spend a day with my daughter. She may not be as bad as some but when she's in a mood it's damn difficult to bring her out of it without getting a barrage of abuse. However, I do thank my lucky stars now that I can drive again because I am able to take her places, like the beach for example, and a local village fair the other day. Getting out of the house if only for an hour, can have a big effect on her moods, making life a little easier for me. If only for sixty minutes.

Last weekend I got this crazy idea about taking Amy to the cinema. Crazy, you ask? Why crazy? For people with photosensitive epilepsy, a visit to the cinema is taking a risk. Some films are okay but others, most, are unsuitable for epileptics. Flashing lights and the flicker frequency of many movies is too much for a sufferer to bear and is a potential hazard to trigger seizures. I was told this by my consultant a couple of years ago and I've stood by what he said. But, I get fed up of relying on others to take Amy to the cinema and even though my sister has taken her a few times, the films that Amy now wants to see are ones I have to almost bribe others to watch with her, so you can see my dilemma. Going to the pictures is something kids, and adults alike, have done for decades and it's seen as an enjoyable experience. So I threw caution to the wind and sent out a tweet the other day asking for people with photosensitive epilepsy to contact me. I was overwhelmed with retweets, far too many to mention here, but as a result of them I was able to chat to a few different people from around the world, one in particular in Melbourne, who just so happens to be on the same medication as me. Catherine Kowalski (same name!) also had her meds changed about the same time as mine, two  years ago. She gave me some great advice and has told me a few scientific facts also, which were particularly interesting - though I won't share them on here. We've agreed to keep in touch and I'm thrilled to have found a woman with the same condition as me, on the same meds, living thousands of miles away. The power of the online community never ceases to amaze me.

Then I chatted to a lovely gentleman whom I've known online for a while now known as Alastair Millen. He also has photosensitive epilepsy though has struggled to find the right medication to suit him. He's been a great support to me and has also given me some very useful information. Something we discussed was the potential danger of emergency vehicle lights, you know, the blue flashing lights we see on police cars, fire engines, ambulances. I was told by a police officer that the lights on police cars can affect people with epilepsy, something I found particularly disturbing, especially being a driver. Alastair wasn't sure if this was correct and so did a little research of his own; he said: "If there are several vehicles with their lights going, and there are a lot of reflective surfaces about, if it's dark and also if it's raining, you end up with the lights all going on and off at slightly different times and the reflections and refractions of those all combine and give the overload that kicks the seizure into happening." This makes perfect sense to me, and I reckon it could be a danger to people who suffer from other neuro conditions, too. I'm quite sure there will be a very scientific and technical explanation somewhere that I haven't found.

In conclusion to this, I won't be taking Amy to the cinema this week and I do feel sad about that. She's been very good in that she understands the risks involved - having witnessed me having seizures, I'm sure she doesn't want to go there again. So for now, I'll stick to asking friends and family to take her and we'll keep walking on the beach and in the fields. And when I'm out shopping, I'll look out for the films on DVD that she wasn't able to watch at the pictures.

A Milestone

Some people may not understand the pride I felt the other day when my twelve year old autistic daughter proved she was more than capable of making a decision. We went to a nearby village where there's always an ice cream van in the main car park for the tourists. I pulled into a parking bay a few spaces from the van and asked Amy if she wanted an ice cream. Her eyes lit up and so I reached for my purse and took £2 from it. "Here you are," I said, "you go on your own, I'll wait here." She took the money and got out of the car, reveling in her newly rewarded independence. I saw her standing awkwardly in the queue behind the person in front, shuffling from one foot to the other, probably rehearsing in her head what she would say when it came to her turn. I was ready to jump out of the car should there have been a problem, but she has been better with money recently so I thought maybe it was best to take a step back.

I saw her nod a few times and smile at the lady serving, and then I watched discreetly as she handed the money over. Before I knew it she was getting back into the car with a delicious-looking ice cream. "Look, mum," she began, "the lady asked me if I wanted pink and white together so I said yes please." I noticed the flake stuck in the side and licked my lips. "I asked for a flake as well," she continued. "How much was it?" I asked. "Two pounds exactly, so I haven't got any change. The lady asked me if I wanted a small one for £1.50, a medium one for £2.00 or a large one for £2.50, but I only had £2.00 so I asked for a medium one."

I didn't get a lick of the ice cream but I was smiling all the way home. For a child with absolutely no road sense, a child who finds it difficult to make a choice, a child who needs constant prompting, this is a milestone I had to share with you. She's 12. She's autistic. And she's amazing.