Suffolk Lullaby

Oh my, I haven't written my blog since October last year. How remiss of me! Who cares? I do. Why do I care? Because I love writing and I am letting other things distract me. Oh yeah, I'm busy with work and fun, but I'm lazy too.

So this little blog is about something really simple, about the wonderful place I live - near Dunwich, a small village on the East Coast of the UK.

At night I can hear the roar of the sea, and the soughing of the wind in the trees. I call it the 'wind giants' - I imagine them striding through the pines, shaking the trees as they march through, thoughtless for all else but progress from land to sea. I go for long walks with the dogs when it's dark - and I hear the calls of tawny owls, and the frantic flapping of disturbed pheasant and pigeon as the big dog goes chasing them hell for leather.

We hear the bark of the deer - muntjack and red, and the sharp call of the fox, who we often see using our road as his own convenient highway.

When it's damp, the woods release their scent; a fresh wood mould, and the tang of fungi. There is a sharpness when the ferns open, uncurling their fronds and turning the brown undergrowth into a deep carpet of green.

When we sit in our lounge, looking out of the window, we see the squirrels try and defy our latest 'squirrel proof' feeder, and watch the woodpeckers, long tailed tits, marsh, blue and coal tits, swaying as they enjoy the sunflower seeds and peanuts. And sometimes, swooping with deadly speed, we see the sparrowhawk and mourn the loss of one of the smaller birds.

Some Sundays we go to Southwold and walk across the marshes - in summer weather the grass in lush and green, and in the winter we need wellingtons and a careful sense of balance as we negotiate foot-deep swatches. Geese, ducks, lapwing - all circle and land, startled by our presence and the over-enthusiasm of the pack of dogs we and our friends have brought with us to enjoy the exercise.

At home we light the wood burner, and it smokes like a grumpy dragon before sending it's warmth through the room, and through the house. We watch the flames dancing - hypnotised by their colours, their patterns, and the mysteries they suggest. The wood is pine, oak, sycamore - wood that we have cut, that we have split and stacked. Each log is a small testament to our hard work, and we see it go up in flames, delighting and warming us.

Late at night, lying in bed, the wind giants precursor the rain, and the drumming of drops on the window, on the roof, on the grass outside - is a soothing Suffolk lullaby.


Photos: (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Liked this? Try...

How life changes
The gift of snow
A walk around Fowlmere
Adelong Morning

It’s not you, it’s me

This isn’t about relationships in the traditional sense, it’s about jobs. I recently applied for a job that looked absolutely perfect! It was in the right location, the right skill set, and the role was a step up for me.

I wrote a great application and got an interview. After a tour of the location (it was amazing, a wonderful place to work I’m sure), and some honest conversations with the senior team, I went through the formal interview process with the Board.

A mindfulness moment

And when it came to ‘why do you want this job?’ I answered honestly. And realised I had applied for all the wrong reasons. It was the perfect location, the perfect role, and yet I wasn’t the perfect candidate.

I had applied for the role because it was all the things that I thought I was looking for. But, the truth is, I am not really looking for another job. I love where I work, but had said to myself what my ‘next step’ should be, and this role fitted the bill.

I’m not ready for the next step, not when it isn’t the right step. The next role I apply for must be for the right reasons, for a real desire to do what they are asking, not just tick a few boxes in the ‘how to progress your career’ list. I lacked passion and purpose for this role, and they saw it

In this case, it wasn’t them, it was me. And I’m grateful for the opportunity to have found myself out, and to have also met some amazing people at another fantastic charity. Meanwhile, I know my passion and purpose are very much focused on my current role, even if it doesn’t have the fancy job title that would give my ego a little boost. I work for an amazing charity, have fantastic colleagues and a great team. I’m not finished here yet.

 Liked this? Try this blog where I found this great quote:

“Passion alone does not provide the greatest fulfillment in our lives. Passion that is LINKED to a PURPOSE, provides the greatest fulfillment in our lives.”

You may also like:

Kindess is a strength

Choice

Photo (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Fundraisers are human too

The cause is what counts

A while back a major giving fundraiser told me that one of his contacts had passed away. There was real grief in his voice and he said ‘I think I spent more time with him than some of my best friends’ – said in humour but a touch of truth there.  Building relationships is not just about ‘eyes on the prize’ for fundraisers, it’s about making a human connection.

The bereaved partner knew that it was more than just ‘money hunting’ and kindly phoned him directly when her husband died, and invited him to the funeral.

Remember, fundraisers are human too. We really do care about the people we meet and work with who support our work, not just the beneficiaries.

Liked this?  Try

Account overdue

Expect to pay for the packaging

Photo (C) Carolyn Sheppard

How life changes

These will be cheeseboards

Apart from the things I have learned because of Sheena's cancer (see 'new skills'), I thought it might be an idea to add some of the other things I've learned/experienced over the past 18 months.  Why share this? Because I think it demonstrates that you are never too old to learn, and it's never too late to end up doing things you always thought you might enjoy, but haven't had the opportunity (or even bravery) to try.

1. Using a chain saw

Using a chain saw is a dangerous thing!  Well of course, but crossing the road and drinking vodka are dangerous things too, so it's a matter of perspective.  Like any power tool, knowing how to use it, using it properly and taking the right safety precautions are sensible steps.  Over-confidence is the danger zone!  I mostly use a small electric chain saw for cutting logs.  It's not too heavy, not too powerful, but it chops up logs and pallets quickly and with so much less effort.

2. Using an axe and a log splitter

Table decoration to be

I may have weilded an axe in the past, but not with such purpose before. Those logs needed chopping and splitting - our log burner is hungry in the winter and it's darn cold in the woods sometimes.  The axe is great for some woods, but for the stubborn ones the log splitter - a sort of hammer-shaped axe, is king. Whack! And (if you hit it right) the log cleaves in two.  It depends on the wood of course, but sycamore is like butter - so easy to split. It will need plenty of time to season though before we can burn it.

3. Using power sanders

OK, a basic DIY tool, but I never used one before. Now I've sanded about 200 ends of wood for my
daughter's wedding table decorations, and used the bench sander (oh, what a lovely machine!) too.  Making the cheeseboards out of large sycamore slices that had been chopped with the chainsaw is the hardest though - takes three lots of sanding (and next stage is applying the mineral oil) to get the right finish.

 Axle trying out the unfinished log store

4. A passion for pallets

I've discovered how much fun pallets can be - not only for providing some great kindling (using chain saw, then small machete), but also making things. So I can now build wood stores - made two so far.  Next project is a cover for the other wood stores we already have. Yes, we use a lot of wood.

5. Living in the woods

Of course this has been an absolute delight, with woodpeckers, marsh tits and siskin gracing our bird feeder along with the usual suspects. Oh, and some very destructive squirrels too.  Living in a house in the woods is just amazing, even when it rains or snows. The ever changing colours, sounds and smells mean every day is different.

6. Being a grandma

Chizel

Well this deserves more than one post, and more than just a mention, but any grandparent out there will know exactly why this was one of the most fantastic things that happened recently. Being a grandma required no effort or bravery from me, admittedly, but I am sure it will be keeping me busy over the coming years.

7. Mowing the lawn

A ride-on tractor mower, which is amazing fun.  The lawn is large, and I have to check it for doggy 'land mines' before mowing, or ...

8. Dog agility

I'm terrible at it, and I confuse the poor dog who is a veteran of agility displays, but I do enjoy it when I get the chance to run him.  Next year I will be commentating at shows, that's going to be fun
too.

Liked this?  Try...

A typical English village
Georgia on my mind

Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Kindness is a strength

I originally published a shorter version of this as 'Voyage of Discovery'.  I added a bit and shared it on our work intranet as part of Mental Health Awareness Week.  Here's the blog again - but read the comments at the end please. 

I thought this was going to be hard to write because it's a very personal voyage. But it turned out to be easy:

Let me take you back just a few years to when I was a depressed, unhappy wife to a man I loved but who didn't love me. This poorest version of me was a lost soul at sea who had abandoned her hopes and dreams. I only held on for the kids.  I saw myself as a failure, as the reason for his infidelity, as not being worth anything, not deserving. There is low and there is suicidal, and between these two is where I placed my self-esteem.

Can you picture it? A sad, middle aged woman with haunted eyes.  Even so, there was some part of me that was still strong, still struggled to be my normal self despite the voice in my head that said "You failed. You aren't worth it. It's your fault."  (My mantra was "old, fat and ugly".) This voice, that we maybe all have, was a voice bequeathed me by my parents, peers friends and my husband. Yes, this destructive self-talk was prompted by those around me. 

So jump to now – see me strong, confident, knowing it's OK to not be OK, knowing that I may have failed sometimes but I am not a failure. You see the voice in your head is just a script, handed down page by page throughout your life. It can't be unwritten or even edited, but it can be recognised for what it is – not the enemy, not something to be cured or fixed or forgotten, but understood and put in context.  No matter what the script says, it is just a voice – a thought. It is not your true identity, just a role you play.  You are not the sum of the things that have happened to you or what people say about you. That's your 'script', it is not your true identity.

I've been on lots of self-development courses, but none of them helped me much. They showed me more faults, more things I should be doing, more reasons why I was not succeeding at life. So I did something that did change my life.

My voyage was painful one, but I was not alone. I spent five days with people who understood my state, sympathised and empathised, and who had turmoil of their own; feeling suicidal, been abused, struggled with drug addiction, feelings of worthlessness, physical and mental abuse...  and yet we all shared equally.  Our voyage together turned us from eight random strangers into a strong crew who believe the best of each other. That is a rare and precious thing.  Each of us told our intimate stories and – we realised - that these shaped how we saw ourselves. We were always surprised that each of us carried such distorted identities in our heads.  Seven friendly voices reflected back the truth they saw, shouted down the script and helped us to find and be our true selves. To love ourselves again.

There's so much more I could explain, but for now I'll just say that after years and years of self-dislike I am very happy in my own skin. I also feel happier than I have ever been (even with all that has been happening to my amazing partner). 

It's never too late to be good to yourself.  You do deserve it. You are worth it. I know I am.

I am happy to share my epxeriences in more detail if it may help someone. Ignore the negative voice in your head, you are amazing - you work here after all!

Here are the comments I got from my colleagues, after posting this - it shows the power of sharing.

Colleague 1: I love this Carolyn. Thank you so much for sharing.

2: Amazing, Carolyn. Thank you for sharing this

3: This is so incredible, Carolyn. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us and giving hope and inspiration to those who may also feel they are on their own. Xx

4: You are a lovely and very brave woman, thank you for sharing your journey

My boss; You are a very brave and kind woman Carolyn. And Kindness is a true strength, a true asset and an absolute must in managing people. Keep being you, love from me. x

CEO: I got a lump in my throat reading this or should I say hearing this - your voice came through loud and clear in telling your story. Thank you.

Magic words

Not abracadabra or open sesame, but 'cancer free'.  When we went to the hospital on Tuesday, those magic words were spoken.

It's not over yet though - we've won the main battle, but the war is not over. Chemotherapy and surgery have removed all traces of cancer from Sheena - but we still have to make sure it doesn't come back. So radiotherapy and herceptin injections still ahead.  It will take us up to the anniversary of when she was first diagnosed.

As we sat in the office with the consultant radiologist, we heard the bell ring and a round of applause. Someone in the clinic had finished their treatment and were celebrating.  We are a way from this still, but the anticipation of ringing that bell, and the feeling you get when you hear it, is wonderful. 

Sheena's hair is starting to grow back, and she is slowly beginning to feel more herself again. We know it will knock her back again when radiotherapy starts and the tiredness and other potential side effects kick in, but for now we are enjoying that precious moment knowing that the treatment so far has worked, and worked well.

Our admiration and respect for the NHS staff is unbounded - our determination to see this through to the end and celebrate in style is unlimited.

It seems like cancer has been the subject of all my blogs recently, but it does kind of impinge on all areas of your life.  More blogs, with different subjects, will follow.  But in the meantime I am going to ask you all once again:

Have those scans/tests that you need
Check yourself regularly
Don't ignore any symptoms that you don't understand

Links:
Check your breasts
Breast cancer in men
Ipswich Blossom Appeal

Coming soon...

Where I live, I love. Life in the woods.
My amazing grandson. Of course, he's the most perfect child in the world.
My amazing daughter and her wedding.  It will be beautiful and perfect.
Our amazing holidays - oh soon please!

Attitude and examination

Every third Wednesday we go out for the day. We drink tea, eat biscuits, have lunch, play board games and often laugh quite a bit.  We meet some lovely people and chat about all sorts of things. 

A pleasant outdoor area at the hospital

And during all of this, Sheena is having her chemotherapy.  The side-effects vary, and sometimes the treatments for the side-effects have side-effects, but as you can imagine it is not a pleasant process.

But we make the best of it. I’m not having chemo – this poison is not being pumped into my blood – but we share the experience to an extent. I always go with her.  Some folks turn up and sit for the day on their own, no one to accompany them during their treatment.  We often share our stash of sweets, I offer to make tea, or just chat. Some folks just sleep, some leave with huge smiles, knowing it is their last day of treatment. Some wander past as they are shown round and are fearful of the unknown. We were like that just a few months ago. And then it becomes normal.

Attitude is key. I cannot express enough how Sheena’s positive attitude makes the day - and the treatment - bearable. For her it is the start of feeling really bad for two weeks and feeling fine again just in time for the next treatment and a repeat of the whole cycle again. For me it is seeing what effects the chemo has on her, and how it changes our lives – for now.  Even at her lowest, she can see through to the future and to when this is all over.

The good news is that there are just two more left – one next week and then one in April. After that there are other treatment regimes to come but reaching the end of chemotherapy is a most welcome destination that is now almost in sight.   

The staff at the hospital are amazing. Their positivity and kindness – the nurses and the support staff – goes a long way. 

At the start of her treatment Sheena posted on social media about her condition and what lay ahead. She also encouraged friends to do those self-examinations that so often can lead to a diagnosis that enables life-saving treatment. To my knowledge, at least three people ended up needing to be referred due to something that they found. Her willingness to share and be open about her cancer has probably saved more lives.  Cancer Research UK say one in two of us will experience cancer, so please give yourself the best chance you can. Do the self-exams, go to your screening appointments, and if you have any worrying symptoms go see your doctor.

Links

·        Ipswich Hospital Blossom Appeal

·        Breast cancer care

·        CRUK cancer checks

·        Prostate cancer

Liked this? Try this…

·        Learning new skills

·        Too busy to blog

·        First Aid

Photo: Carolyn Sheppard

Learning new skills

I’ve chosen that title because it is one of the things that has happened since my partner Sheena was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2018.  She went for her regular mammogram on 28 October – by 28 November she was receiving her first chemotherapy treatment.

The NHS moved quickly and efficiently and have been brilliant all the way along so far. We are at treatment two and the third will be in a couple of weeks.  I use ‘we’ because that’s how it feels, we are going through this together, but it’s a hell of a lot easier for me than for her.

Sheena and I only met in February 2018, so this has been quite a test I guess, but maybe that’s what February was for (see ‘The Gift of Snow'), making sure we were both up for what lay ahead! 

There has been a whole range of emotions, but both of us feel amazingly confident – we know this is curable and have complete faith that this time next year we will be celebrating. 

From long hair to....

In the meantime, we know we have a very tough year ahead – with the first stage (hair loss) happening as predicted (Sheena couldn’t wear a cold cap, it gave her a headache), I learned my first new skill – hair cutting!  Admittedly the job I did would not provide me with suitable credentials for a career change, but (beyond using a head razor in the past) it was my first attempt at a haircut.  

Watching the chemo go in – and it takes about an hour – is a difficult process. The first time I noted that two of the syringes looked like they were full of Vimto (her favourite tipple), and she talked non-stop to our lovely nurse.

Before the second chemo, Sheena's white blood cells were down and her immune system not at ‘ideal’ for chemo – but given that her cancer is a nasty little bugger, it was deemed that chemo should go ahead but with additional support.  The extra help was a series of injections for five days following the chemo.  This time we played Scrabble as the chemo went it, with some help from the nurse of course.

Sheena is an ex-auxiliary nurse herself and has given more injections than I’ve had Chinese takeaways, but day one she did not do a great job on herself, with some of the medicine flying in the air.  The syringes are easy to use and have a fantastic self-retracting needle, but you still have to poke them into yourself. Day two she stabbed herself like she was throwing for 120 in a darts final!  That was enough – my turn to take over. Oh dear, I’m not a lover of needles to say the least.   A paramedic friend showed me how to do the injection and I had a turn – not great but an improvement on days one and two.  I finished the course for her, injecting Sheena (reasonably painlessly) and I am now confident that, should it be needed again, I can do it.  A new skill I never thought I’d acquire.

We both have a very positive attitude towards this horrible disease and know that we can beat it together.   The moral of the story is please do not miss out on any of your regular scans, screenings or check ups.  The earlier any cancer or other disease is detected, the better are your chances of recovery.

Happy New Year.

Liked this?  Try…

The Gift of Snow

From Heartening to Heartbreak

First Aid

Baptism (of fire)

Links

Ipswich Hospital Blossom Appeal
Breast Cancer Care

Too busy to blog

I got an email with that title, and it gave me a sharp reminder that I’ve not done a blog recently.

The email was a nice round up with links to their recent blogs, but I’m ‘too busy to read blogs’, and I didn’t read the email.  At this time of year the good old ‘round robin’ messages are circulating in emails or letters – and even social media. They seem impersonal but serve a purpose.

Last year my ex-husband’s cousin sent a letter with her Christmas card and told us of a serious family health issue – I felt guilt at not having contacted her during the year (but we never do keep in contact except at Christmas and funerals).  

So what about this blog, that I’m too busy to do? Because I’m working, because I’m doing this that and the other?  Well, this blog is just going to be really short because there’s a humdinger in the making, and I don’t want to trivialize it.

I just want to wish you all the very best for this festive season, whatever your faith (or lack of), and hope that the year has been good to you and that next year is the best year of your life.

I hate Christmas

Therfield Heath, December 2017

As you get older, it’s easy to forget. You start to view Christmas through the prism of shit-tinted glasses instead of the rose ones you wore as a child. Christmas becomes about ‘making the kids happy’ or ‘doing the right thing’ and commercialism.  Our cynical brains engage with the hype and see it for what it is and forget the fun, delight and anticipation that it brought when we were children.

Some are deeply sad that Christmas seems to have lost its Christian message, but for me the sadness is about losing the spirit – the feeling that this celebration allows, cultivates and brazenly promotes. Whether you believe in a religion or not, it’s hard to ignore Christmas. The television channels fill with movies where the grumpy cynic is transformed by a magical (or evangelical) intervention, and songs about love, peace and harmony (and good old rock ‘n roll) pervade the airways. 

I am one of those whose associations with Christmas have been soured by a past event. From 1973 all my Christmases henceforth were coloured with a brushstroke of experience that left me feeling distanced, cold and downright Scroogeish.  There’s nothing I could ever do to change what happened, so regret has been my constant reminder every Christmas. This is partially why I do not like Christmas very much and have, in the past, said that I hate it.

Do I still see the blatant commercialism as distasteful? Do I still feel the pang of angst as I revisit that past Christmas and wish that things could change?  I do.  But I now enjoy the balance of the season of goodwill because I choose to do so.

No matter how much money is being prised from the fingers of the susceptible public, no matter how schmaltzy the movies, there is something wonderful about making one time of year (for most in the Western world) about being good, kind, and giving.

It’s taken me a long time to shift from that distrustful cynic to someone who can enjoy Christmas. I engage with the family and my joy at their delight never ceases, but for my own heart to be at peace and happy at Christmas it is still a challenge.

No matter how commercial the adverts, no matter how predictable or thin the storyline of a Christmas movie, no matter how much I react against the religious aspect (due to other incidents in my past and my own atheist inclinations), I have to say that Christmas does endear many to goodwill. And that, in this world of such terrible and tragic loss and violence daily, cannot be a bad thing.

I will enjoy this coming Christmas heartily and honestly; my values brought into sharp focus as life throws up yet more new challenges and promises. It’s easy to forget, and sometimes hard to remember, but it should be the living for the now, for the good of all, for the best reasons you can think of, that can make Christmas or any day of the year, a day worth celebrating.

Photo credit (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Liked this?  Try...

The perfect American Christmas story (from 2017)

Christmas is coming (from 2006)

The great British Summer (from 2008)

Adelong morning

It’s cold in the mornings. Rain clouds the skies and floods the roads. Sometimes the frost prickles the grass by the roadside. It’s a world away from waking in Adelong, where the musical, haunting song of the magpie heralds a blue sky day. 

The scale of distance in Australia seems different. To get a long view here, you have to go high. In Adelong, just look out the back door.  Rolling scenery draws the eye onwards, into a vanishing point that diminishes with the curve of the earth.

The clatter of timber trucks rolling by – full one way, empty the other – echoes against the tin roofs of the last houses in the town.  Crimson rosellas, loud and raucous, shoot past at speed.  Galahs, the rowdy boys in pink and grey, gather in the field and browse – feathered and feisty. The dogs bark,

Galahs

attention seeking. 

The air is warm, spring promise a comfortable temperature as the day grows and the light, clear and bright, contrasts the grey of the trees against the verdant green and almost blistering blue of the sky. A few clouds, white and distinguished, sometimes graced the scene, promising some relief, yet reluctant to do so.

The magpie warbles, the galahs chatter, the rosellas squawk and the European goldfinch – familiar and yet strangely out of place – sings his syrupy song from the telephone wire.  The air is clean, the day bringing promise of exploration.  A wood fire burns, to chase away the last of winter’s chill from the stone floors and walls. 

And now at home, the fire burns constantly, for winter has come crashing in after a false start; warm October missed as I spent weeks at the other side of the world. Now it is cold, dark, wet, and the world closed in on itself both by proximity and the need to pull close, keep warm, and shut out the weather and each other.

Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Links:

Adelong

Crimson rosella

Liked this?  Try...

A lovely day out
Yarrongabilly

Yarrongabilly

Imagine you are high in the mountains. All you can see for miles across the valleys is trees – beautiful gum trees.  Deep within the karst hills are huge, cold caves. Glistening rocks, sparkling under the lights, huge stalactites ranged like an army, and wafer thin sheets of white and gold.  Above you, tons of rock. Around you, the scars of lost rivers and winds. Stories and secrets in stone.

You wander down from the caves, and swim in warm, green water.  Serenaded by the gentle call of the pobblebonk frog, look up to see a startling blue sky and hear the chatter of small, excited birds in the bush.

The chill of the cave washes off you in the warm water, even though the air is brisk this early spring day.  The sounds of children laughing, the wind rustling and rattling the trees, and the soothing call of the frogs relax and release you.  Legs tired from walking, but enjoying the push through water. Eyes smiling with delight at new experiences, new sounds sights and smells.  Heart bursting with delight at the sheer scale and beauty of a natural landscape that welcomes the visitor and shares its precious past and future with us.

Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard

Links:

Yarrongabilly caves

Pobblebonk frog

Liked this? Try...

A weekend in Rome

Voyage of discovery

I wrote this as a competition entry.  The theme was 'voyage of discovery' and we had a limited word count.

I thought this was going to be hard to write because it’s a very personal voyage. But it turned out to be easy:

Let me take you back just a few years to when I was a depressed, unhappy wife to a man I loved but who didn’t love me. This poorest version of me was a lost soul at sea who had abandoned her hopes and dreams. I only held on for the kids.  I saw myself as a failure, as the reason for his infidelity, as not being worth anything, not deserving. There is low and there is suicidal, and between these two is where I placed my self-esteem.

Can you picture it? A sad, middle aged woman with haunted eyes.  Even so, there was some part of me that was still strong, still struggled to be my normal self despite the voice in my head that said “You failed. You aren’t worth it. It’s your fault.”  (My mantra was “old, fat and ugly”.) This voice, that we maybe all have, was a voice bequeathed me by my parents, peers friends and my husband. Yes, this destructive self-talk was prompted by those around me. 

So jump to now – see me strong, confident, knowing it’s OK to not be OK, knowing that I may have  failed sometimes but I am not a failure. You see the voice in your head is just a script, handed down page by page throughout your life. It can’t be unwritten or even edited, but it can be recognised for what it is – not the enemy, not something to be cured or fixed or forgotten, but understood and put in context.  No matter what the script says, it is just a voice – a thought. It is not your true identity, just a role you play.

My voyage was painful one, but I was not alone. I spent five days with people who understood my state, and who had turmoil of their own; feeling suicidal, been raped, struggled with drug addiction, abuse...  and yet we all shared equally.  Our voyage together turned us from eight random strangers into a strong crew who believe the best of each other. That is a rare and precious thing.  Each of us told our intimate stories and – we realised - that these shaped how we saw ourselves. We were always surprised that each of us carried such distorted identities in our heads.  Seven friendly voices reflected back the truth they saw, shouted down the script and helped us to find and be our true selves. To love ourselves again.

There’s so much more I could explain, but for now I’ll just say that after years and years of self-dislike I am very happy in my own skin. I also feel happier than I have ever been. It’s never too late to be good to yourself.  You do deserve it. You are worth it. I know I am.

With thanks to Richard Wilkins and Liz Ivory.

Links

Ministry of Inspiration
Royston Arts Festival

Liked this?

Try...

Choice
Ghost stories
The curious tiger

Field day

Mid-September, the weather is on the turn. Gone are the heady days of summer, but the hay needs bringing in, so the wildflower meadow can flourish.  There’s lots of wildlife in the meadow – lizards, frogs and insects.  The grass has to be hand raked to preserve the wildlife and to stop the rotting cuttings putting too many nutrients into the ground and changing the meadow’s plant life balance.

The field had been mown with a brush cutter (giant strimmer to you and me) and now the long rows of cut grass and other plants needed raking up and putting into the woods where it could rot nicely, and provide further havens for other herpetological inhabitants. 

It all came about when I asked my team if they wanted to do something different for a ‘team day’, and the result was this – we volunteered our services (humanpower) to Pensthorpe, which has around 700 acres of land that it manages for conservation.

The idea was proposed by one team member so she was team leader for the day, but our work was of course directed by the Pensthorpe team.  We spent all morning raking and moving the grass and saw lots of wildlife including butterflies, dragonflies, and the already mentioned lizards and frogs.

After lunch we moved to working on fence repair, and I learned how to dig a 3 foot deep post hole.  It was hard work, but we worked well as a team, and the three missing fence panels were erected securely and the electric fence to keep the less popular wildlife out of the nesting grounds was pinned back across.

It may seem odd that charity staff should volunteer for another charity, but in my mind it was a fitting example of how our charity (an air ambulance) contributes to the wider community – not only through our services, but through our thoughts and deeds as community members.

I thoroughly enjoyed the day, and so did my colleagues, and though we were a little tired, the objective of effective teamwork was not only achieved, but Pensthorpe had a clear wildflower meadow and a new fence erected.

Links:

Pensthorpe

East Anglian Air Ambulance

Liked this? Try...

Karsting a spell
Ramsey Canyon

In the club

I’ve not blogged in a while – but I’ve been busy!  Earlier in the summer – on one of the hottest days – my friend Sheena and I hired a car transporter and solved three problems in one day.  Problem one – my daughter’s mini had been assaulted by a badger and had come off worse. Problem two, she had another old car she needed moved as they were moving house and needed the car ‘gone’. Problem three, Sheena had killed her old Ford and it had sat outside her house slowly deteriorating under the trees. 

Have transporter will travel!

The cost of getting the cars moved by a recovery company was horrendous, so we hired a transporter and did the car shifting ourselves.  I’d never driven a transporter (and still haven’t, Sheena got to drive), or operated a winch, or – and this is tricky – driven/guided a car onto a transporter up two narrow ramps before.  This was the day!

Trip one was taking the mini to a garage about 12 miles away to see if it was rescuable (it wasn’t).   Trip two was taking the old car (a Ka, which we could save with a bit of TLC) to Sheena’s – a 75 mile journey.  Trip three was taking her Ford from home to a peaceful resting place for possible rehabilitation or to where, like Miss Haversham, it could wither away gently and deteriorate with a bitter, sly grace.

Chizel in the cab

The transporter club

One thing we noticed when driving all the miles in our transporter, requisite car on the back, was the waves, flashes and smiles we got from other transporter drivers. For one day, we were in the ‘car recovery driver’ club!  What was even better was the sudden change of expression from camaraderie to shock as the fellow transporter realized our truck was occupied by two women (and a small dog).  We didn’t see a single other female transport driver, though we know you are out there!

Waggytails club

Axle in the garden

My story leads on from the dog in the cabin (Chizel) to a whole team of dogs.  I don’t have a dog, haven’t had one since I was a child, but I do love dogs, and luckily they seem to like me.   This year I have become involved with a dog agility club and have been helping out at the agility displays during the summer – mostly being an equipment shifter, but once having the luck to run a dog (or rather let the dog run me), and once as a commentator.  I have taken Sheena’s large and handsome Caucasian Shepherd cross (Axle) and his pal (Chizel) out for walks, and all of a sudden I’m in the ‘dog club’.  Other people with dogs will stop and talk to me.  People without dogs will stop and talk to the dogs. 

The ultimate club!

We’ve been working with my daughter’s dog too, helping improve behavior because… the last and rather corny link to the title of this blog is my delight at the onset of grannyhood. My daughter is, to put it colloquially, in the club.   I am sure I will have a whole new range of things to blog about next year!

Dog days

Life has a way of turning up unexpected challenges, and delights. I haven't owned a dog since I was a child, but I am now in the position of having two dogs (and more!) in my life on a regular basis.

I loved my dog, Petra (pictured here with a slightly younger me), and she would accompany our family on holidays all over the country.  We used to drive to Devon, and I remember stopping at a pub called the Pig and Whistle (I have no idea where it was, but somewhere between London and Devon, and there was no motorway in those days).  This pub was just over a bridge by a river - and the bridge was about 20 foot above the field and water below.  I was in the field, and my brother on the top with the dog. Petra jumped!  I can still remember it now - a flying dog. Amazingly she didn't hurt herself.  Another time after we'd left the pub, my brother said 'Can we have the dog in the back please?' (in a big old Humber Super Snipe there was room front or back for her).  'She is in the back'.  Oh dear.... we turned around and drove back to the pub to find her sitting patiently by the bridge, just waiting for us.  She'd jumped in one open door, then straight out another!

Petra had a best buddy, my cousin's dog Dusty. She was a black mongrel (where have all the mongrels gone?) and was probably a distant relative of a Labrador somewhere along the way.  Her claim to fame was thinking that seaweed was grass and sinking in surprise into a salty lagoon. No harm there either, thankfully.  Petra used to go to the pet shop in Whetstone High Road on her own - travelling there from our house by going up the road, across on the zebra crossing, and then back down to the pet shop where she would get a doggy treat. In those days you let your dogs out on the street, and dog poos dried in the sun in the gutter to a chalky white.

Getting comfy

Now my life is very doggy-ful again. And I am loving it. My daugther has a very cute Bichon Frize (see Two Walks), and I am sometimes left in charge.  She's a real cutie.  And I spend lots of time with Axle (see him in Gift of Snow) and Chizel (see below), my two new best friends.  A couple of weekends ago I assisted at two dog shows. My job was to help move the equipment for an agility display team. I wasn't that slick and had to be prompted more than once, but had great fun watching the pooches perform with their proud owners. And the show dogs watched too, or more often commentated very vocally.

Chizel and I
(Photo by Hannah)

The dogs (and a couple of cats) belong to the owner of the dog training and agility club, and I am now used to being sat upon, going for long walks, finding dog hairs in places where dog hairs shouldn't be, and generally enjoying their companionship.  The coming weekend is a bank holiday, and predicted to be hot. I shall be going to a dog event again, and helping with the display team equipment again.  Later in June I am going to be promoted to (temporary) commentator, talking the watching audience through the antics of the dogs, talking about their histories and what kind of dogs they are.  I am looking forward to that - and hopefully I won't make a mess of it.  Dog days ahead.





Links

• Waggytails Dog Training
• Sotterley Country Fair
• Why mongrels are a dying breed

Liked this? Try:

• Two walks
• Of geese and goslings
• Conspiracy theory
• Big cats