Word of the Week

My Word of the Week? Well, it had to be space. I don't know about you, but this week I've been completely starstruck by the Space Live programmes on Channel 4. It has been, to borrow the word choice of my 11 year old, 'awesome' to see the real lives of real astronauts on the real space station and I've been forced to reveal my inner geek. The astronauts may not have quite the appeal of George Clooney (and no, Dermot O'Leary's ridiculously tight trousers don't do it for me either) but boy do they have the brains and the ice cool calm. I listened and watched fascinated while they described the everyday experience of living 240 miles above the earth; household chores, DIY and grocery deliveries seem a whole lot more fun on the International Space Station.  Then, the 'Houston We have a Problem' programme last night had all the drama and tension of a real-life Gravity and I can't wait for the finale on Sunday with a 90 minute live lap of the planet - at 17,550 mph it doesn't take long! 

I have a fascination with all things space.  One of my very first memories (apart from falling down the stairs and nearly knocking myself out on the radiator at the bottom) was sitting down in front of our grainy Ferguson tv to watch BBC coverage of the first moon landing.  Not quite three years old, I don't think it made a lot of sense. James Burke and Patrick Moore with their enthusiastic eyebrows did little to engage me and neither did the model of Apollo 11 which looked to my trained eye like some junk modelling from yogurt pots and tin foil. 

It was only when my father took me outside and pointed up at the moon that I had any interest in anything space related. After that I spent lots of time, when I should have been asleep, gazing out my bedroom window up at the moon; I used to think that when I squinted my eyes and stared intently that I could actually see little men in spacesuits bouncing about on its surface. One of my many elaborate imaginary games involved space exploration - or in reality, taking off from the garden swing, landing in the middle of Planet Lawn and harvesting moon rocks from the gravel path.      

Sadly, any chance of a career with NASA is absolutely zero. Apart from the fact that it's rather late in life for a career change or that I am dangerously unfit, I have absolutely no comprehension of the laws of physics and my portly frame once hauled into space would surely, in the words of Bonnie Tyler, cause 'a total eclipse'! So I will have to content myself with being a spectator. I don't mind too much really - I'm not sure I could cope with 6 months apart from my family, no running water and sleeping, zipped into a sleeping bag attached to the wall, in a cabin the size of a cupboard.  There again, perhaps those amazing views of earth from space are worth the sacrifice and a little discomfort.  

Silent Sunday

When the Rain Stopped

Luna's new favourite spot

Well, it's been nearly a month since I've written a post and now, finally, I feel that I've got my blogging mojo back. It's also a month since we moved and the new little house is starting to get a little clearer, a little more sorted, though it stills feels a bit like a holiday cottage and I wonder whether it will ever truly feel like my home. Since moving, work has been full on and I've never been so pleased to get to half term. But, rather than get immersed indoors with the last of the unpacked boxes, I decided to venture outdoors and discover the area around the new house. What prompted this excursion?...The rain stopped!

We've not had the terrible weather that much of England has been dealing with but the rain and drizzle have been pretty constant. The new little house is shaded by trees and the bare branches all around us look black and foreboding against the winter sky. Once outside, the sodden grass is sprung with moss and streams of muddy rainwater race along the sides of the lane and down to the burn. It hasn't been very tempting to go out and about and when I did battle the elements, it was with head down against the wind and tightly wound scarf obscuring any view. What a difference a little sunshine makes!

Suddenly,  the colours of the garden have come into focus and I can see the daffodils and crocuses starting to peek through determinedly. I have no idea what other treasures are lurking beneath the soil - possibly lupins - I do hope so as they're a favourite of mine. I had never even noticed the roses around the front door and they too are starting to bud.  

Living on a private country estate is quite a different experience for us. Where we are in the gatehouse, we see all the visitors and residents going in and out the entrance - deliveries, estate managers with their 4x4s, dog walkers, runners, cyclists and ramblers. It's constant torment for Luna who feels it necessary to protect her new home with lots of high pitched barking! Just outside there is also a bus stop though no sign indicates it as such. By the stop is the most fantastic of climbing trees and S has spent happy hours there already, often making me nervous by waving precariously from a top branch. She has a convincing toy bow and arrow set and has been running around the woods probably terrorising the pheasant community in her very own version of The Hunger Games. 

The climbing tree

The estate no longer has its original gothic mansion but it does have a small church dating back to 1450, more ruin than building now. Despite having neither windows nor heating, the combined parish churches have an annual summer service here followed by a picnic in the grounds. Last year, this event coincided with a visit from my mother and stepfather and was the cause of much hilarity. Regular church goers, they were keen to attend a service but weren't quite prepared to face the torrential rain and high winds that Sunday. Inside the shell of the building only a few hardened Scots were gathered. The minister did his best to preach above the noise of the wind. We sang hymns, stamping our feet and rubbing our hands, trying to keep warm and we were regularly baptised with rainwater as it blew in through the missing windows. Concerned for my mother's tendency for rhematism and my stepfather's best suit, I was forced to rush back to the car and grab whatever coats and blankets I could find. My stepfather cut a very dandy figure indeed in a bright crochet blanket worn like a poncho!   

The church in the afternoon sunshine

Little did I know that less than a year later I would be living on this estate. It's a real plus to have such history and pleasant walks on the doorstep. In the afternoon sunshine I walked up the path through the woodlands scattered with snowdrops. Roe deer can be seen at dusk and I was surpised to see a barn owl in the daylight; it took off across the fields, a furry morsel dangling from its claws.  

Snowdrops everywhere

The church itself is high enough in the parkland for me to be able to see out to the bay and coming back towards home all you can hear is the downrush of water below in the dean as it makes its way down to the sea. Often it sounds like a torrent and when we first moved here I spent the first few nights lying awake convinced that the house would be washed away down the steep banks of the ravine and into the raging rapids below but when you look down to see what's making all the noise there's surprisingly little water - more of a babbling brook than waterfall. The sound must be amplified somehow - perhaps by the many stone bridges that criss-cross above it. 

View from the Bridge!

I feel blessed in the sunshine and blessed to have found this dear little place. Even if it never fully feels like our home, and even if we are only here a while,  it's a safe and sheltered spot and I'm looking forward to exploring some more...when the rain stops again. 

(image credit: tumblr.com)

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!'