We Get By With a Lot of Help From Our Friends

I'm aware that it's been rather a long time since I posted anything and there's a simple reason for that...we've moved!

Studies list 'moving house' as one of the top five most stressful life events and after the chaos of the last few weeks, I couldn't agree more.  For that reason this is going to be my last blog post for a while. I need a little time to take stock and reassemble! Once the dust has settled, I may think about how to resurrect The Little House once again. In the meantime, I look forward to visiting all my favourite blogs more frequently rather than adding to my own.  

S helps out

This is our third move in the last four years so you'd think we'd have a smooth running no-hassle operation by now. But no, if anything, this has for me been one of the worst moving experiences and, paradoxically, one of the best.

The Worst 

Having to move when you really don't want to.  I loved everything about The Little House - the sea views, the kitchen with lots of space for entertaining, the swallows in the barn, even the quirky uneven floors (and the front door that sticks). It was so very hard having to say goodbye and more than a few tears were shed. There is nothing wrong with the new house. Though it is very little, it's very sweet and it has an equally lovely location but I feel homesick for the old one.

The Best

Discovering delightful things about the new house including being woken up by an owl at 7am (was it confused by the still dark morning or just saying hello to the new neighbours, I wonder).  In the new house we are surrounded by trees and the gables, and leaded-light windows, make me feel that I'm in a fairy tale - I'm expecting Hansel and Gretel to come calling any moment!

The Worst

Luna's looking for her food

Trying to negotiate my way around boxes of 'stuff' and not being able to find anything.  It's an experience very much like camping in your own home or being the main character in 'Hoarding: Buried Alive'. Trying to downsize to a much smaller place without having had time to really sort through and get rid of anything, is much like a giant game of Jenga. I find myself asking deranged storage questions as I stagger about through the cardboard box maze - 'Can the towels go on top of the fridge?', 'Could board games go in the shed with the lawnmower?' Will a wardrobe fit on the landing and if yes, can you still open the door?' and in despair 'Where is the nearest hotel?'

The Best

Finding things you had forgotten all about and reminiscing -  the photo albums, the children's drawings and mementos and cards and letters that I've kept from family members now no longer with us. The girls have been surprisngly good about sharing a room despite the age difference (it's definitely not cool when you're almost 16 to share with your soft-toy-obsessed 11 year old sister). Nevertheless, H had a pleasant break from revision and created a fort with the boxes where she settled down with her little sister to watch a Disney film beneath the blanket roof.

And the Best Again

Keeping with the positive and the reason for this post's title - finding out who your friends really are. I've never been as thankful for good friends as I have these last two months. Old and new friends have rallied round and gone beyond the call of duty to help whether that's in storing furniture for us or physically helping with the move itself. We hired a van and the menfolk (and women and children too) heaved and lifted and manoeuvred, all in the pouring rain. I'm sure there was more than a little muscle soreness on Monday morning but I heard not one complaint just lots of laughter and good humour. I was handed a box of delicious brownies, endless cups of coffee, sympathy, tissues...and a box of wine! These are the reasons we more than 'get by'. It's what I will keep firmly in mind when I'm tempted to wallow in self-indulgent gloom - I am lucky, we are lucky and we're so grateful to have found this little community - and as one friend reminded me it's people who make a home not things and without love, family, and friends to visit, a house is just four walls. 

Arriving at the new little house 

Little Boxes

Little boxes in the living room

And big boxes in the dining room

There are boxes in the bathroom

There are boxes in the hall

There are book ones and then china ones

There are labelled ones and some blank ones

And they're all made out of cardboard

And they all look just the same

And the Little House in the Borders

Is moving at the weekend 

And we're taking all the boxes

And things won't be quite the same

We'll be packing until midnight 

Then unpacking for a fortnight

And there'll still be lots of boxes 

And we'll all go quite insane! 

Silent Sunday

New Year Traditions

(image credit: Kayla!)

Well, the Christmas tree has been taken out, the decorations have been put away, there is space in the fridge and the dieting adverts have started. I always find this time of year a bit depressing, even more so this January with the relentless storms and torrential rain. I thought I'd cheer myself up with a little look back at our New Year celebrations or Hogmanay as they say in Scotland. 

We have a few traditions for New Year one of which is the requisite walk.  I think we feel slightly less guilty about impending revelry if we've worked a few calories off beforehand.  We're very lucky to have some very dear friends that come to spend Hogmanay with us every year. We've known them for at least 16 years and so I think we've probably completed nearly as many New Year's Eve's walks in that time. This year we kept it very local and headed towards the Dunglass estate and on down the decidedly muddy path to the beach. 

Nice selection of hats

Photo-bombed by H!

Dunglass Dean and the beach just visible through the trees

Dunglass Beach is rock and shingle and forms part of the John Muir Way - a continuous path that links East Lothian with Edinburgh and the Scottish Borders. The pathway winds down through the steep valley where the Dunglass burn gradually opens up into the sea. It feels remote and even on the sunniest day in the summer, few people venture there. East Lothian offers more accessible sandier beaches but for me, Dunglass is more magical.      

We lost track of time, wandering along the shore, throwing stones in the water and looking out towards Torness Power Station which looks like it might be floating; a strange box-shaped ark.  Not many people see anything aesthetically-pleasing about it, or would want to have a nuclear power station so close, but I have grown used to its ugly beauty. Whatever feelings I might have about nuclear energy, the building itself often appears chameleon-like and seems to change colour, matching the surrounding light and particular hue of the sea.  

Back at home we got ready to party (well, party as you do when you're the wrong side of 40 and there are eight children present!) Another New Year tradition which is guaranteed to lift the gloomiest of moods is the Danish Parcel Game. It's a little long-winded to explain so you can read more about it here if you're interested in playing it yourself. Basically, guests bring one or two wrapped parcels containing inexpensive, silly items that you wouldn't necessarily want to receive ( I tend to buy things over the year). This year, parcel contents included: glow-in-the-dark glasses, a chocolate tool set, a pop-up pint glass, instant noodles and an inflatable 'air' guitar - you get the idea! 

The pile of often unusually or bizarrely-wrapped items is placed in the middle of the table and players take turns to throw a die. If you throw a six you are allowed to select a present. There are several different versions of the game at this point but once all the presents have gone and been opened then a timer is set and the process of bartering and exchange begins. This has to be done quickly and it gets a little manic. Some versions of the game suggest re-starting the throwing of the die with players able to steal someone else's presents but small children (and some more sensitive adults!) can find it a bit upsetting so we stick with the free for all and the swapping - equally amusing. 

Well, all that's left to say after all that nonsense is a big thank you to anyone who has visited my blog this year and regularly reads my witterings. Wishing you a 'Happy New Year!'

Silent Sunday

Christmas in the Little House

Christmas begins a day early in the Little House as the Danish contingent likes to have their main celebration on Christmas Eve or Juleaften  in Danish.

Lots of Danes enjoy roast goose on Christmas Eve but we prefer a ham. This is served with caramelised potatoes (truly delicious), red cabbage and peas and carrots in a light parsley sauce. The most important item though is dessert - the traditional rice pudding risalamande, made with whipped cream and chopped almonds and served with cherries (ours were in kirsch - yum). One almond is left whole and whoever finds this in their portion wins the marzipan pig!  I know, it does all sound pretty peculiar and it's quite disconcerting to see everyone examining each and every almond piece in the hopes that they are the winner. This year it was little old me but I'm much too fond of the piggy, with his smart red ribbon, to dare eat any of it.

After the meal it's time for coffee and special Christmas biscuits and candy and then...Lotto.  

This seasonal Scandinavian version of bingo with images of Danish decorations and Christmas characters is taken very seriously and is fiercely competitive.  To start with, a line will win you a present and then a full house but a fair amount of cheating goes not to mention 'fixing' by the caller. Presents are small but beautifully wrapped and each with a red ribbon. Sometimes silly and often practical, this year they included lens wipes and ice scrapers! 

Finally, exhausted by the whole event (and the schnapps), stockings are put out, a carrot for Rudolph and a drink for Santa Claus or Julemanden (literally 'Yule Man').  He is assisted with his Yuletide chores by elves known as nisse. These Danish-style elves are more tricky than their English cousins. Traditionally it's believed that they live in attics or barns. It's important to keep in favour with them or you may find they will play a nasty trick on you or even ruin your luck.We always leave a few extra Christmas biscuits to be on the safe side.  

Happy Days

I had no idea that today's date was in any way significant until one of the pupils at my school told me. Apparently, today's date makes this a 'sequential day' and being the 11th day of the 12th month of the 13th year is pretty special; it doesn't happen again for another 90 years. In fact, as one of the Maths teachers excitedly informed me (in case I hadn't thought of it) in the afternoon at quarter past two and 16 seconds it was 11.12.13 14.15 16.  He was right - it hadn't occurred to me! This is the same teacher who celebrates National Pi Day (March 14th or American format 3.14) by bringing in pies for his students. He is their favourite teacher.  

Ron Gordon, a retired teacher and surely the ultimate geek, has made a hobby, and possibly lots of money, out of publicising mathematically-interesting days.  He has devised Square Root Day (3.3.09), 'Ones Upon a Day (1.1.11) and highlighted a number of Odd Days - the last one being 9.11.13. Ok, I'm a bit bored by all the numbers now but I have to just tell you about one more - his most preposterous creation - 'Trumpet Day'! 'Do tell us, please, when trumpet day is?' I hear you plead.  Well, this is some years away so you've plenty of time to plan your celebrations. Trumpet Day is on the 2.2.22.  Not worked it out yet?  Say it aloud and notice the unmistakable sound of a trumpet tooting 'Two, two, two twooo!'

I don't hold much with lucky numbers and therefore lucky days; I've always gone along with that old saying about making your own luck. It's amazing how many people are superstitious about numbers though; our Christmas party is this Friday and some might consider it terribly unlucky to hold such an event on Friday the 13th. However, I can relax because I know what will happen and that's not because I am somehow blessed with second sight. This is how it will go - However long I spend at the hairdresser, my hair will look exactly the same as it always does (grey-streaked and completely lifeless). At some point in the evening I will fail at being interesting and intellectual and say something entirely idiotic, probably to the Headmaster, and scupper my chances of any kind of pay rise. I will also spill some sort of staining foodstuff down my front and I will drink just a little too much, not so much that I am a total embarrassment but enough to mislead me into thinking that I can dance.  Oh well, nevermind,  I've got at least 8 years to learn the trumpet!