Watching and Waiting

Slow down.
Watch the sun set.
Observe how the banks of cloud
pass between us and the sun,
obscuring it from view,
then part
to allow the sun to glimpse through.
once more.
For the cloud is not the solid mass
that we would have it be.

As we wait
the cloud moves towards the south,
whilst expanding downwards
towards the horizon.
Will the sun sink faster than the cloud can move?
This is the mystery of the evening.

For one brief moment
the sun appears beneath the cloud,
before another bank rolls in
and the colour fades finally from the sky.











We wait for the morning
to celebrate the miracle,
the majesty
and the mystery
of the Sonrise.

Gateway to Gracious Grovelling by G R Ovel

Monday was a beautiful day, everyone else was busy, so I had time to watch the daffodils growing in the garden.
DH appeared from time to time, mainly for sustenance between engagements, in the frantic activity of retirement.

Bolognese-free scarf - go me!

With a manic few days ahead I enjoyed just 'being'. There was nowhere I needed to go, so I spent the morning preparing for the after school club on Tuesday and catching up with the laundry. Why do we attempt to catch up with things? It is impossible!
As soon as the laundry bin is empty, an item of clothing will be put in it.
As soon as the carpet is vacuumed, dust will settle on it.
As soon as the table is wiped, crumbs will drop on it.
It is all important, but rather like a never-ending race.
As soon as you complete one stage, you realise that there is another one ahead...and another...and another...

In the afternoon I went out in the garden and planted aubretia in the rockery and white foxgloves in the back and side borders. DH planted foxglove seeds in the autumn. One packet produces a lot of plants. The ones planted in the autumn look far greener than the ones that overwintered in flower pots. It will be interesting to see how much difference there is in their flowering time.

DH had dropped the KHT off, and I was just finishing off the dinner when I noticed a missed call and message on my phone.
"We just wondered if you were coming to the meeting at 5:30pm..."
Rats! I had that meeting down for tomorrow!  On the plus side, that does make tomorrow less complicated! I email grovelling apologies. They are a great team, I would have liked to have been at the meeting, but no-one is indispensable, not even the Chair.

Like many other people, I am very good at beating myself up.
"Did I really say that?"
"Why did I do that?"
"How could I NOT have done...?"
"Can I just hibernate, and never have to meet anyone ever again?"
Unusually for me, I did not feel hugely stressed that I missed a meeting. Disappointed with myself, yes, because it was my error. I wrote the date down incorrectly. It is the following meeting that is on a Tuesday, because of the Bank Holiday, not this one. However, I also felt at peace.

I have a friend who was very good at putting people at ease when things when wrong. X wasn't afraid to admit when it was their fault, even when it wasn't. They did this not through false and insincere humility, but from a genuine desire to make difficult situations, better, and in doing so fostered a culture where apologising was regarded as a strength, not a weakness. When a problem arose, my friend didn't try and ignore it. Instead, they acknowledged whatever the issue was and then took responsibility. We have become afraid of mistakes, treating them like a red-hot potato. Seeking to give them away at the earliest opportunity, and into the possession of anyone else - regardless of whether or not they are to blame. It is as if accepting responsibility labels us as a failure and stigmatises us. In a futile attempt to counter this we insist on justifying all our actions, making it perfectly clear that we could not possibly be responsible. There is always a reason why we have acted in a particular way. We have a tendency to try and pin the blame on any other donkey in the vicinity.

The only person I can change is myself. Therefore I am going to attempt to accept responsibility graciously.  This may last beyond tomorrow breakfast time - who knows!  If it works it could become my new ministry. Book contracts and speaking tours lie ahead...
I can see the book titles already...
Anointed Acceptance by Daff E Doormatt
Mission through Mishaps by Miss D.F. O'dill
Gateway to Gracious Grovelling by G R Ovel
Apologetic Apologies by A. Flower
Dangerous Disciple by Daff E. Dill
Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word by Daffyd Dill

I am almost afraid to google these in case they actually exist!

Mind you, with my indiscriminate abuse of the rules of grammar, I better get a ghostwriter. No-one will see that coming - ghosts are, after all, invisible ;)

Near Catastrophe!

We are cat-sitting. As it is a sunny afternoon the cat is wandering around the garden. Then DH realises that the pesky creature has just dropped a mouse.

Great.

We like simple cat sitting - feed and vaguely take notice of, type cat sitting.

We do not like complicated cat sitting that involves headless mice, vomit or diarrhoea. We had already explained to the cat that catching a mouse was not on the agenda. Well not on our watch, anyway.

"There it is!" said DH pointing to a plant, 

"There what is?" I ask.

"A mouse! The cat has dropped a mouse!"

"Is it alive?"

"Yes! Can't you see it moving?

"No. Where is it?

"On that plant in front of you! Quick! Get something!

"Like what?"

"I don't know!"

"How about a flower pot?"

"Well, get one"

"I cannot believe you have got me running around a muddy garden in my slippers!"

"I'll get the flower pot. You watch the mouse."

"I can't even see the mouse!"

"It's there. In front of you. On that plant."

DH, who is also wearing slippers, goes off to get a flower pot. 

I stare optimistically at the plant.

Then suddenly I see these two tiny terrified eyes. 

It suicidally leaps out of the plant. 

The cat moves towards the plant. 

We shoo the cat away. She goes off to sulk the other side of the garden in protest at our intervention, waiting for the opportunity to slink back and complete that which she had begun.

The mouse scuttles towards some stones, but the silly creature is still in full view. It then goes and hides under a large planter. Far more sensible, except that is where a frog normally resides. Sure enough, frog emerges clumsily from the other side of the planter. Either it has a hangover from the beer put out to drown the slugs, or it hasn't recovered from the orgy in the pond a couple of weeks ago, or it has just woken up. One thing for certain it is having great difficulty in co-ordinating its limbs enough just to hop. I chase frog into the pond before the disgruntled cat spots it. With an awkward lunge/ crawl and a tangle of limbs, frog belly flops into the pond and disappears from view. Phew!

Cat stomps off under the gate to chase wildlife around the allotments. Cat casually reappears half an hour later, sauntering in through the patio doors. I feed it eagerly, keen for it to have a full belly BEFORE it remembers the mouse. I hope the little creature lived healithy for another day, or died quietly somewhere out of the way, safe from the fearsome feline.

Meanwhile, we wait to see if any of the frogspawn that appeared after the recent froggy orgy in the pond, has survived the Beast from the East 2 snowfall and freezing temperatures of last weekend.  

A Boat Called Yoghurt

"Go for a walk,  they said. "It will be fun!" they said...
"It is forecast to rain," I said.
"Take a coat," they said.
"My boots leak, and I hate having wet feet!" I said.
"Buy some new boots!" they said.
"I haven't got time. I don't want to rush in and feel I HAVE to buy boots NOW. I want to get a pair that are just right.."
"Just stick your foot in a plastic bag" they said, "and put your boot over it" they said.
"Yuk, my foot would get all sweaty!  What a gross idea" I said.
"Take your camera.." said someone.
"I think it would be a really good idea to go for a walk." I said.

We put on our boots, and waterproofs and got in the car.
Fifteen minutes to get to the car park.
Perfect.

DH has a letter to post.
We stop by the post office.
There is a queue...

Ten minutes to get to the car park...we should just about make it.  We did. We took one of the last available spaces in the car park.  There seemed to be about seventy people, and about a dozen dogs, gathered to do the walk. There could be more. There could be less. They milled around so much that only the person who ticked the names off on the clipboard would have known.

"See you later!" said the KHT
"We are coming with you!" we replied.
"What!" responded the outraged KHT, apparently oblivious to our waterproofs and boots. In fairness last year, we were double booked and dropped her off and picked her up afterwards, but you would have thought she would have clocked the gear...




We set off, down the hill and along the canal.









A boat called 'Yoghurt' passed by... Is it just me, or is that a really strange name for a boat?

By the time we reach the second lock keepers cottage we are s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d out by several hundred yards. Smaller persons have been installed in baby carrier rucksack thingies.  Walky-talky communications devices maintained contact between the head of the procession and the tail and several points in between. We waited for the stragglers to catch up, before heading away from the canal to our first stile. Young agile people can shimmy over such an obstacle in a second or so, less agile types take a little longer. Multiply the average time taken to negotiate by seventy, and that is a lot of time standing around. The plan is checked
"There are sixteen stiles on this walk," someone cried out, joyfully.  We prayed for gates. We prayed sincerely for gates. We scrambled up a muddy bank, grateful that we are at the front. It is only going to get slippier and slidier. In the distance, we spot the radio masts at Wychbold, indications of civilisation in a strange land. Deep in a sheltered ditch, the remnants of last weeks snow lurks.

We passed close to a farm. The cows keep a close, but stern eye on this strange herd of mainly two-legged trespassers. Unfortunately, we are downwind. Nearby a tanker waited to take away their offering. We headed off across a field, following the footpath. At the bottom of the field, there is a stream too wide to jump across. Many of us retreated back to the lane, and enter the next field via a different gate. The foolhardy, those wearing wellies or with world records at long jump, traversed the stream. Finally, we walked around half of the perimeter of a large field of cabbages, only to discover there was a shortcut across the middle. Repeat after me, 'Steps are good. Steps ARE good" A footpath took us back to the car park, without a palm branch being waved...

On the way home we needed to go to the supermarket, however, the KHT and I had failed to take shoes to change into, and our mud-caked walking boots are safely stowed in the boot. We waited outside whilst DH buys bread for lunch.

After lunch, I washed the trousers and socks from this morning's expedition and start to wrap the lucky dip parcels for the local Easter Fun Day on Good Friday.

From plod to plod, but not always across the sod.

Choosing Carrots

The KHT is a great Beatrix Potter fan. When she was around eight years old we took her to Beatrix Potter's home Hilltop in the Lake District, where she wrote many of her books, and which is now owned by the National Trust.  The guides were absolutely delighted to meet a child who understood the significance of the holes in the skirting board and knew precisely which story they featured in and where. It should not, therefore, come as a surprise to hear that Friday's highlight was a trip to the cinema to see Peter Rabbit.

I have to confess I didn't really know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised and really enjoyed the film.  However, do not take small children to see it. Cute and fluffy it is not. There is even a dramatic death quite near the beginning. However, it is humorous, with a good moral message.  I am NOT going to spoil the story by telling you what happens - go and find out for yourself! Meanwhile, the KHT is considering eating carrots. Incidentally, eating carrots is NOT the moral message of the film, though it would be fitting if, as a consequence of seeing Peter Rabbit, fruit and veg consumption increased!

Before we went to the cinema we popped into Debenhams - a shop we rarely visit. The KHT likes to look and consider. The more surprising the clothing items, the more she likes to ponder on what it would be like to wear it, safe in the knowledge that she won't have to. Incidentally, she didn't buy anything, but I did, and no, it was nothing like the items on display.

The KHT likes to have a go at trying on any item of clothing that someone else is considering buying, especially if it is several sizes too large for her.
"Hmm. I look like a beanpole!" was her verdict when trying on a top I subsequently purchased. A beanpole I will never be!


We inspected the food on offer in the restaurant but she declared that there was nothing suitable. i.e. too much spinach in the egg sandwiches.








"I think we should go to M & S for one last time" she decided. I was pleased that she has understood that the store is closing.  All the customers were expressing their regrets and thanks to the staff, so it was a bit like a wake.









The shop itself looks rather empty and desolate, and it feels as if they are ready to wheel the remainder of the stock out at closing time. Which leaves you wondering if it is tomorrow they are closing or early April? A very sad time for the staff, the customers and for Redditch. I think the stock was reduced, but I didn't even want to look, feeling quite strongly that I do not want to be complicit in the closing of the store, yet I know by using companies like Amazon, for convenience, that I am.





The evening brought further sad news of someone I knew, whose book of life has closed with what feels like too few chapters written in in it. There are things we cannot control - like the time of our passing, or the closing of a store, and there are things we can control, like going to see a funny film and eating carrots. I like carrots.

One step forward?

The KHT has to move on at the end of the year, so yesterday we went to an open evening at a nearby college. 

The KHT will have completed three years at her current educational establishment at the end of the current academic year. As none of the next level of courses at the current place are of interest to her, we are considering other options.  

On a previous expedition, we had driven up the drive of the campus so that the KHT could get a glimpse of the place, and it met with her approval. She was equally impressed on this second visit, which is all very promising.

On the way, we were getting her to think about what questions she could ask. 

We were one of the first family groups in. We checked in...on an iPad - how things have changed, before heading off upstairs to meet some staff. They asked the KHT some questions and then she asked hers. Seemed fair

The KHT asked about lockers, locations (what rooms they would use.) and lunchtimes (was there was a canteen?). All good questions, which the staff answered to her satisfaction. We had already worked out that she knew one of the members of staff.

There was an opportunity to tour the college, but we will get shown around on a subsequent visit. Today was fact finding for us, and getting the KHT known by the staff. We then went downstairs to the library, where the KHT completed an online application, which we received an acknowledgement of before we got home!

Now, we wait. 

Firstly for an interview. We got the impression from the staff that getting a place will not be a problem.  

Secondly, for her EHCP to be updated, and it is important that the college have input into this.

Thirdly, we wait for an appointment for an interview, which should be sometime next month.

Fourthly, we apply for transport. This is where it could all get a bit tricky, so if you are of the praying inclination we would appreciate the next stage in the KHT's education being included in your prayers. So far it all feels very positive, but I shall not be complacent until every part of the jigsaw is in place.

One step forward, hopefully, followed by loads more!

Seeing Red

Wednesday dawned, bright and early as it is Open the Book day. Our team was reduced to four this week, so we were grateful that we had a simple story, with minimal props required. Fittingly, as it is close to Easter, we were looking at The Last Supper. We then planned for the following week, when we shall be acting out the Good Friday story.

Before I went to work, I hung the laundry out on the rotary, taking advantage of the dry weather, DH started to compile a shopping list and noticed that we are almost out of washing up liquid. Being a sensible person, he checked the cupboard thoroughly to see if there are any new bottles lurking, before going and buying further supplies.

CRASH! 

DH accidentally pulls the crate containing cleaning paraphernalia out of the cupboard. As it contains several bottles it is somewhat heavier than he anticpated and the resulting crash makes me jump. DH shoves the crate back in the cupboard. A few minutes later he is checking for something else and realises, to his horror, that there is a white liquid seeping across the floor of the cupboard.
The crate is quickly ejected again.
Now there is also white liquid spreading across the kitchen floor. We check the spare bottles of white liquid soap - they are not the source. We check the cream cleaner - nope. Finally, DH identifies an ancient bottle of wax polish, as the source of the seepage. The drop from the shelf to the floor was too much for it and it split.  I put the offending item and what is left of its contents in a bag and take it out to the bin, whilst DH clears up the mess, with a dustpan and brush, which then gets cleaned in the utility sink! A simple but effective strategy. I probably would have tackled it with a cloth and just increased the offending pool of liquid into a more substantial lake.

Later in the day, we notice that the floor by the sink is getting increasingly slippery, as we are, in effect, polishing the floor everytime we walk on it. I perfect the art of walking like a cat on a hot tin roof to avoid doing the splits. Then it is suggested that watered down washing liquid is sprayed where the spillage occurred, in an attempt to reduce the sudden super slipperiness of the waxed floor. This proves to be a very effective solution.

I am rather disorganised and chaotic, but the neatness of looking past yellow washing up liquid, and seeing the colour co-ordinated flowers of the winter flowering jasmine, was pleasing to me.  However the new washing up liquid is not 'Lemon Blast'! Instead, it is 'Mulled Fruits'!  Now I just have to wait until there is are flowers in that border that co-ordinate with the new colour. I will report back when it happens, but don't hold your breath! In the meantime I will just be seeing red!

A Donkey's Tale

Tuesday afternoon was after school club and time to put the donkey headdresses I made yesterday, through their paces.

When I was making the headdresses, I decided to staple them one side and fasten them with a paperclip on the opposite side. With hindsight, this was not a terribly good idea, especially as the first race was jumping! The paperclips soon worked their way off the hats and on to the floor, leaving the headdresses to uncurl in a most disconcerting manner!
Plan B was for the participants to hold the headdresses on with one hand.
Plan C was to abandon the headdresses altogether.
We reached plan C.
I should have stuck to my original plan and stapled them on both sides, however, not being entirely sure how big a child's head is, I convinced myself that with the paperclip we could adjust the size as required. Were the children bothered? Nah!  They took it all in their stride, or should I say, gallop! Look on the bright side. The ears, which kept falling off yesterday evening, all stayed firmly attached throughout the duration of the races.

We have a game that requires some physical effort early on in the session to help them get rid of some of their excess energy and calm them down.  I have learnt that some children are like Duracell batteries, they just keep going and going and going!

I like there to be some sort of link between the game and the story - no matter how tenuous! As we are getting close to Holy Week, we were looking at the events of Palm Sunday - hence all the donkeying around.

I discovered a cracking activity on Pinterest - a model of Jesus riding on a donkey. It just requires some scoring beforehand so that the donkey ends up with being 3d, not 2d. 'Jesus' is also pre-scored, so he can sit on the donkey. This model is amazingly stable and Jesus will balance at any point from the donkey's head to tail! I don't think Jesus took part in any gymnastic or tricks whilst riding into Jerusalem, but it certainly increases the play potential of this model!

The children also designed their own palm branches, for use in the storytelling.

We had a prayer table, where the children were giving thanks for things they could remember that Jesus did. The children came up with some great answers - healed, cared for people, forgave, was good. One even said that Jesus was 'the light of the world'.

This term we discovered that one of the men is really good at colouring, so we put him on the table with the felt tip pens. Some of the children really enjoy hanging out, chilling with D, enjoying an oasis of calm in the midst of the scissors and double sided sticky tape...

Too soon it is time to hand the children back to their parents, and head home to prepare for Open the Book the next day. Fortunately, the story this week is very simple, with not many props required and nothing to make, not even a donkey.

We enjoyed adult company in the evening when we went ringing in a nearby village. Noting the banter between sessions, I come to the conclusion that we are all big kids at heart.

The Great Escape

It snowed most of Saturday but didn't really settle, just regular fluttery flurries that continued off and on through most of the day, but nothing really settled.

When I finally admitted defeat and went to bed in the early hours of Sunday, there was only a thin borderline of snow framing the pond. The patio was clear and that we thought was that.

Imagine our surprise to awake once more to a winter wonderland!

We were almost as surprised as the daffodils, who suddenly found themselves buried under a dredging of metrological icing sugar. 

DH set off nice and early for church on Sunday morning, taking a shovel in the car so he could clear a pathway around the church. He and the car soon returned. He couldn't get out of our road, as the snow was turning to ice beneath his tyres. The church isn't far away so he set off on foot, shovel in one hand and clarinet in the other. The church is situated up a steepish hill which is difficult to negotiate in the snow,. Many of those who needed to travel by car, opted to stay home. This included most of the worship band. I always knew the clarinet would come in handy. The congregation was small and select but sang along with enthusiasm. They weren't going to let a small matter of a snowfall stop them.

By the evening the roads had cleared so we went to the parish church to ring the bells for the service. As we left home it started to snow again, and possibly continued to do so all the time we were there. By the time we left there was also a good covering on all the pathways

Monday morning brought welcome sunshine!  However, as there was still a generous covering of snow covering ice, we didn't rush out and it was soon beginning to thaw. We knew that everywhere was going to be very wet because of the melting snow. We decided to head over to Worcester, to walk by the river. In order to avoid the possibility of black ice, where floodwater had spread on to roads, we didnt take our usual cross-country route. Instead, we stuck to the motorways and main roads. Most of the snow seemed to have melted. Whether that was the effect of the late March sunshine, or if there was less snow further west, was anyone's guess. It looked beautiful in the sunshine, but the wind was bitingly cold, more like January than nearly April!

As we drew near to the Diglis Hotel, we heard the sound of tree surgeons at work. We didn't wait to see if they were completely removing the trees or just pruning them, as it was far to cold to hang around - unlike the tree surgeon...









We crossed Diglis Bridge and continued up the other side. The river was running high, so it was not immediately obvious where the weir should be.  We detoured to view floodwater on the west side of the river. One of the pathways we could have taken was clearly underwater.

We ended up detouring up to Bromwich Road, and walking past the county cricket ground in New Road, where they are raising the road to avoid flooding.

Foley's is a cafe that has good reviews, so we decided to stop there for lunch. We walked up the artificial grass ramp, opened the door and a wall of noise hit us, as it was as if we had walked into a parent & toddler session.  There were probably about 10 toddlers in there, but they were all fed up and letting the world know about it. The cafe has a play area adjoining the cafe, where parents can spend time with their children. The food is excellent value for money. The views across the cricket ground to the cathedral were restful, in sharp contrast with the noise in the cafe. We sat and watched the groundstaff preparing the pitch for the season ahead.
Gradually the families either left or moved into the play area. As soon as the sound levels began to lower the adults started talking louder as if they had to fill the vacuum left by the stroppy toddlers.

We asked a member of staff if it was always this noisy. He advised us that it wasn't and that he thought everyone had been cooped up indoors while the weather was bad, and had decided that it was safe to emerge today.

After lunch, we continued our walk up to the higher footbridge, before turning back towards the main shopping centre. After walking around in ever decreasing circles we found ourselves at The Works. Several purchases were made before we headed back to the car park at home.

Monday evening was spent cutting out donkeys, and making headbands for donkey races at the afterschool club.  What can possibly go wrong...?

Spaghetti Construction and Cups of Tea

Saturday was another day of snow flurries, signifying nothing, so off we went to Lye in Stourbridge for the next instalment of the MSM course we have been following since September.  Sure enough, it was another very interesting and thought-provoking day.

During one exercise we were challenged to work in teams to see who could build the tallest structure with just marshmallows and spaghetti. Let me tell you this is not as easy as it sounds! Here are some of the things that we discovered.
1.   Spaghetti breaks very easily, even when used in groups of strands.
2.  Marshmallows are light until you try and build with them. Then they become heavy.
3. Think beyond the plate. Just because you are given a plate, does not mean that you should be constrained by it.
4. You cannot have too much crossbracing.
5. You will probably need to shorten some struts, but working out how short they need to be, can only be discovered by trial and error.
6. Using spaghetti strands in threes maybe doctrinally sound, but will not guarantee success.
7. If you build with your marshmallows straight on the table, you will need to clean your table before you can use it for anything else.
8. The nearer marshmallows are to the radiator, the softer they become and the less stable your construction will be.
9. Experience is invaluable.
10. All structures will fall over. This will begin with a graceful lean and it is all downhill from there. If you want to win, plan for your structure to still be standing at the time of judgement.
11. The exercise is more interesting than the outcome.
12. If the tower leans, add even more crossbracing.
Meanwhile, the marshmallows and spaghetti carnage was donated to some unlucky hens.
Outside the snow was almost continuous, but nothing was settling.

Later on, one of the leaders was trying to encourage us.
Leader "I should think all of you can drive a car." 
Everyone else nods.
I shake my head.
Leader "At least you can bake a cake!"
Everyone laughs.
I shake my head.
Leader, confidently, "At least you can make a cup of tea!"
DH "She doesn't drink tea!"
Leader "Well coffee then!"
DH "I make that!"
Leader, despairingly "Can you do anything?"
Meanwhile, the snow continued to fall.






It was all good-humoured banter, but highlighted how easily we put people in boxes. I was a female, therefore I MUST be able to bake cakes and make cups of tea. Afterwards, he thanked me for playing along. Little did he know that I can seamlessly weave a request for coffee into any conversation. I also must admit that DH does make most of the drinks at home, as his coffee is usually better than mine. We attribute this to the fact that he has a more scientific approach, measuring the ingredients, whereas I use the 'bung some in' approach, with variable results. My favourite way of making coffee, which DH detests, is the cheat latte, made by shaking a near-empty milk container, vigorously, adding some and topping up with hot water. This can produce a drink that is in part fridge temperature, and part close to boiling, so prudence has to be exercised during the drinking process. It is also important to check the top if firmly on the milk carton before commencing shaking unless you wish to create a rather dramatic fountain effect.

The leaders wisely shortened the time allowed for lunch, in case the weather deteriorated further. We were home by 4pm, and then we went food shopping. It looks as if poor DH is gluten intolerant in addition to irritating wife intolerant, so we stocked up with goodies in the 'free-from' section - a part of the store we had not really taken any notice of before. Biscuits, cereal, may0 and bread flour were all purchased. Oddly, we didn't buy any spaghetti...

Glory and Poverty

Surfing the internet I noted with interest that there was an art exhibition on at Southwell Minster. Southwell is a fair old jaunt, but the forecast was dismal, so it was agreed that we could combine a trip to see the exhibition with a visit to the nearby workhouse now owned by the National Trust. In order to understand why the workhouse would be of interest, you need to be familiar with the writings of Jacqueline Wilson, in particular, the Hetty Feather trilogy. The KHT is a massive fan of the books of JW.

First we had to say farewell to the last of our visitors, then we were free to head off to the wilds of the East Midlands. Here the land is flatter and from almost no discernable elevation, you can suddenly see for miles! Most disconcerting!

The exhibition displayed in the Minster was called Crossing. Artists had been invited to submit a pair of paintings, one for Lent and the other responding to the resurrection. The Lent pictures were currently on display.

The artwork was interesting and challenging. However, it was not always clear where the exhibition ended and the Cathedral's own exhibits began.






The KHT and I successfully decoded the message in the Chapter House, only to realise it was part of the 'Leaves of Southwell' project, based on stone carvings around the building and nothing at all to do with the art exhibition relating to the current season in the church year!
Interesting, and art, but not part of the art we had come to see!








One of the most moving exhibits was the Lampedusa Cross, made from the timbers of the wreck of a boat carrying refugees. 311 Eritreans and Somali refugees drowned.













The KHT was very taken with this triptych, which shows a battle scene when closed and a peaceful lily scene when open. A small-scale model is attached to the front pew, so you can always compare the alternative view to that displayed. Triptyches are normally closed during Lent.






The KHT also took time to engage with the prayer station by lighting a candle and adding a prayer to the display. I also left a prayer for a friend who is having a really tough time at the moment.

As it took far longer for the KHT and I to explore the Minster, our fellow traveller was waiting in the Minster Refectory. The food here was classy, but not my taste. I succumbed to a panini and wished I hadn't. The ham was lovely, but the panini resembled a desiccated tombstone. To be honest you were paying for the location. We were short of time, so we used the Refectory as it was closest to both the Minster and the car park. However, when we return we shall venture into the main streets of Southwell and find somewhere cheap and cheerful. We felt sorry for the elderly and clearly frail, who were stood waiting for a seat, while reserved tables sat empty. We did not dilly dally.




Next stop, the workhouse, a beautiful building on the edge of town, with a past that was challenging. It was devastating for those who ended up here, but at least they didn't starve. A poignant reminder of the harshness of life in Victorian times.

Imagine sitting picking rope apart all day.















In the schoolroom, the KHT tried on a costume. Later I showed her the photo's.
"It's good, but I don't want to be 'dessytuted' " (sic) was her verdict.
I think when she dressed up, she suddenly began to grasp a little, of what life within this harsh and regimented environment, would have been like, and it would have been far from comfortable.






After Easter, the pictures in the exhibition will be changed to the counterparts, reflecting the resurrection.  The question is will we return in time to see them?  Time will tell.

Daring Buds of March

You know it is spring when buds appear on the trees...

Yes, I know those are not the kind of buds that you expect to find in a tree. Maybe they were listening to the sounds of nature - the sigh of the wind through trees or the serenading sound of birdsong.

These buds were spotted hanging in a tree, next to the bridge over the highway. How, I wonder, did they end up in such a location? Were they thrown there as a joke that went badly wrong, or as a protest - because they no longer worked.

If you look closely, the tips of shrubs and trees are starting to take on a different coloured hue, as they thicken and the new leaves prepare for their glorious debut.


I wonder if these earbuds will get rescued? Or will they be left there to gradually disappear, as their more natural namesakes open and gradually obscure them from view.



Meanwhile in the garden, these strange bulbs are appearing. Purchased and planted just a few short weeks ago, but already I have forgotten what they are called. However, the lack of a name does not detract from their beauty.
















Snowdrops purchased at Birlingham church, were planted at the same time. These were to replace those purchased in a previous year from Birlingham church. They are still in full flower, their season extended by the late planting and cold weather.  The snowdrops thought lost, have put in a late appearance to one end of the same bed.  So far they are only at the leaf stage, but hopefully, they will flower before summer arrives.







Today it has been warm enough to walk around without a jacket. However, the forecasters are threatening more snow overnight, so who knows what we will awaken to!

Tickets please!

This week has hurtled by at an alarming rate, with family staying, work, ringing and visits to school for Open the Book and after-school clubs. The high point of the week was to be a trip to our local small, but perfectly formed, theatre to see Carousel.

Back in the autumn, I took a group from church to see Sister Act, after I discovered that I knew a lady who was a member of the local society who were putting on the show.  Unsurprisingly, the production proved to be very popular and by the time I put our booking in there were insufficient seats left downstairs. Our problems began when I discovered that my group were not very familiar with the layout of the theatre. They headed off for the lifts, 15 minutes later I was still rounding them up from all corners of the theatre. Unfortunately, our seats were the wrong end of a long run of seats. Fortunately, they all made it to their alloted places before the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, having inched their way along the row, dodgy knees, walking sticks and all.

As the story unfolded I discovered that Sister Act is the tale of a lady of ill repute, who ends up in a convent. Having only seen Sister Act 2, I hadn't realised why Whoopi Goldberg was in the convent in the first place. I just assumed she was just a nun with a great voice. Once I grasped the finer detail of the storyline, I kept taking sneaky peaks along the row, keeping a sharp eye peeled for any early indications of moral outrage, but they were all having a whale of a time.

As the previous trip went so well I decided to make a similar booking, as another local operatic society was putting on a Carousel, a story I wasn't familiar with, but it is a musical. What can possibly go wrong? This time I was determined to avoid the circle access debacle, and book early, ensuring we were seated in the stalls, where the access is far simpler. I made an announcement in church, and checked who wanted to come who had joined us on the previous visit. Fifteen people signed up. I was about to make an online booking when it was suggested that we booked through a member of the society who a couple of the congregation knew. This meant that each ticket was cheaper than the list price, plus we did not have to pay the booking fee to the Box Office. The Operatic Society get more income as they do not have to pay the theatre for selling the tickets on their behalf. Result!

A week or so after I placed the order, at the point when the cheque had been handed over and the tickets were moving from person to person along an invisible chain, one of the ladies asked if it was possible to get an additional ticket.
"No problem," said I, knowing that we had a block of tickets on one side of the auditorium.
 "It should be easy-peasy to get an extra ticket next to one of the seats. Leave it with me..."
I went online and noticed that there only pairs of seats between our booking and the next. The software would not allow me to select a seat from any of these pairs, as it would leave a single seat they would be unlikely to sell. I could see the sense in this, but thought there must be a way that I can book an adjacent seat. I decided to go directly to the booking office.  The lady was sympathetic,but were also unable to process the request for just one seat the same reason. The  receptionist advised me to book directly with the operatic society.  Then I had a brainwave.
"Let's take G1 (aged 10)"
I sent her mother a message, and ascertained that she had nothing lined up for that evening.
"Book the date, I have something planned for her..." I advised her mother mysteriously
"Oh great, she will love that!"
I was all set to book two seats direct with the theatre, expecting to pay full price, when I noticed that children's tickets were half price. A mutual friend advised me that it would still be beneficial to book to the Operatic Society if I was to book through them.  A few emails and phone calls later and I am assured that the tickets will stll be £14 each.  An envelope was passed over to the society, with a scribbled note that one ticket is for a child..  A week or so later, two tickets arrive.  The envelope is marked 2 x £15.  I am bemused, stick them to one side and forget about it.  A few days later I get a phone call.
"Can you send back the tickets. The theatre got it wrong. You should still have got the party rate, £14, and one of the tickets should have been half price. Send them back, and I will get them reprinted and send you the balance."
Well, I couldn't complain about that...
Meanwhile one of the original fifteen realised they were double-booked.  Then one was poorly. I thought things were going too well...

Finally, the evening came. Lifts had been sorted. Spare seats filled. We had the right number of people for the seats and the right number of tickets for those who came.  People were meeting people that they had no idea were connected in any way. It was all very jolly. We settled down, the lights were dimmed and the curtain lifted to reveal a carousel.  As the story unfolded I realised that the story was a tale of domestic violence, and the importance of staying with your man and forgiving him, even though he hurts you. Great!

Theatres increasingly rely on volunteers to function. In the past ice cream has been available from the kiosk in the foyer, but that had the shutters down and no-one was home. People were roaming around, the stairways muttering
"Where is the ice cream?" 

We went upstairs and purchased ours from the bar. Big Daughter also purchased some stange bright blue pop.  Despite its disconcerting brightness, she seemed to think highly of it, as she said it was wicked, or something similar... I hope she drank it quickly, to prevent it from disturbing other theatregoers by glowing in the dark...

There was just time to take a quick photo of the family taking this high brow entertainment very seriously before the lights dimmed. I nearly dropped my ice cream in the process, much to big daughters amusement. I intended to share out the Malteasers (also purchased from the bar) but just extracting the packet from my bag made so much noise that I was deterred from even attempting to open the pack. Light as they are they were not going to float out of the pack without assistance!

The next planned visit is to see White Christmas. What horrors could that seasonal sentimental story possibly reveal?

What A Difference A Day Makes

Today, I am enjoying the peace and quiet.  Everyone is out.  Unlike other days, the furthest I have been is two doors down the road, to place the dustbin in pole position for emptying.

Yesterday, there were eleven people in the kitchen. 
Noise. 
Chairs moving. 
Plates passed. 
Food shared.
Sprout protests.
Ice cream served - toffee or strawberry?
Lego bricks dropped and retreived.
News and photos shared. 
Children redirected. 
Mr Men books read.

Today, there is just me and my thoughts.  Plates have been washed and stacked neatly away. I spend the day preparing for Tuesday's after-school club. Card is chopped, prototypes tested and refined, double-sided sticky tape is attached. Seeds are found. Self-adhesive sparkly shapes are counted, so I know how many to allow for each child, without running out. Resources are gathered and packed, ready for the morrow.

DH disappears on various missions, the pile of printed card grows. DH reappears with food shopping, grabs a sandwich, and disappears. I cut more card. Bright green bases for bookmarks. Bible verses are printed on bright yellow card. I check how they fit against the width of the base, and trim them all again. All seventeen.

Yesterday, G4 (aged 5) and G5 (aged 3) ran round and round the garden, jumping or striding from stepping stone to stepping stone. They are the perfect distance for G4 (aged 5) to rush around the garden. G5 (aged 3) being smaller in stature, was fine whilst jumping, but when running found her stride was too short.  G3 (aged 8) periodically joins them, before she is lured away to watch The Simpsons with the KHT.

Today, the birds and squirrels have reappeared now the garden is devoid of noisy small people and theirs are the acrobatics I observe.

Yesterday, the ground was dry, with intermittent showers that didn't even wet the ground, well until approximately 5pm, when the rain set in.  I checked the weather on my phone, and hurriedly rescued the towels before they were too wet.

Today it has rained almost non-stop, pausing briefly, as if to take a breath, before continuing its ongoing offensive. One path is flooded, there is standing water on the lawn.  The pond is full, patio awash, fences soaked.  The washing has been drying indoors, thanks to the dehumidifier!

Yesterday, the children bickered and protested, wanting the toy that another had.

Today, not even the squirrels are arguing with each other, or the cat. 

Meanwhile, in the pond, the orgy continues.  Snow is forecast for Sunday, but the frogs haven't watched the weather forecast, as far as they are concerned it is spring.

Round and Round We Go...

"Polesworth Abbey!"
It was one of those moments when a phrase from the past suddenly arrives in the present.

A few weeks ago my fellow explorer advised me that Polesworth Abbey was recommended as a place well worth a visit. We googled and discovered that it wasn't open on a Monday. We resolved to visit on a Friday, but we were in no hurry. After all, it looks as if it has been there a few hundred years, and doesn't appear to be in imminent danger of collapse!

Friday's forecast was not promising - brightish earlier with rain setting in later.  Given the recent melting snow, anywhere outdoorsy would need decent footpaths. However, before we went anywhere I had to make the bed for incoming guests, and remove any stray airers. The theory of having a spare room is great. The reality is that it gets used, and has to be transformed to look relatively unused when visitors are expected!

We had visited both Solihull and Worcester recently, so we needed somewhere other than shops to visit. It was at this point I remembered Polesworth Abbey. Just outside the village was a tall post visible from the M42. We had the vague idea that we might be able to find out the precise location of this mysterious landmark on the same jaunt - weather permitting.

Off we went, up the M42, which was busy with traffic including heavy lorries avoiding the roadworks on the M6. We turned off the M42 at J10, onto Watling Street, and then into the village of Dordon, which is generously littered with speed humps. Dordon isn't like the typical Midlands villages I am used to, with a smattering of detached bungalows, a few larger houses and ex-council houses transformed by money into desirable residences.  Instead, small terraced houses lined one side of the main street, with newer developments opposite.
"Of course! It is a mining village!"
"Coal? Here?" replied my chauffeur, with surprise.
"Oh yes, there was quite a bit of mining in North Warwickshire. I had forgotten!"
Dordon merges into Polesworth, with just a street sign as the demarcation point. Locals are probably very aware of the difference, as Polesworth feels as if it evolved far more gradually than the adjoining village. We spotted the Abbey close to the river, and drove past the entrance looking for parking. I spot large black cars outside the church.
"Oops! There is a funeral on!"
"You sure?
"Positive! Let us go and find the post on the hill and then have lunch." I google pole on hill Polesworth.
"It looks to be in Pooley Country Park."
"We passed a sign for that earlier."
The Satnav is reset. It tells us to continue along the current road. We head away from the village.



If you regularly travel along the M42/A42 there are certain things you notice. One is the pole on the hill surrounded by trees.
The second is a large aerial, which from a distance looks like a gigantic tree, but closer to appears to be more like a pyramid.
The third is the church above the quarry at Breedon on the Hill.

To the KHT's delight, we passed right by the large aerial, which she calls 'the electric tree', before the sat nav took us back on to the M42...










We head west on the M42, towards the pole on the hill. As we pass by the satnav proudly announces
"You have now reached your destination."
Well, THAT was helpful, not!

We leave the M42 at J10, again, and turn back onto Watling Street, and turn off at Dordon,
Did I mention the speed humps? Dordon has speed humps. Lots of them...
We follow the signs we saw earlier to Pooley Country Park, which is situated next to an industrial park.

On a weekday during term time, the park is almost deserted.
The cafe is closed.
The toilets are open Phew!
And flush. Phew!
But there is no water from the taps. BOO!
We pay for parking (once we find the pay machine), examine the map and head off in search of the 'Golden Tower of Leaves'.
The footpath takes us under the M42, next to the canal. We opt for the longer route, winding around the hill towards the pole.



Silhouetted against the sky it looks dark and mysterious, but as we turn and face the tower, it glows golden, despite the lack of sun.





















In typical foolhardy fashion, we opt for the quicker way down. Walking boots prove to be superior to wellies. After a visit to a nearby Costa, we return to the Abbey, via J10, Watling street, Dordon and the speed humps.

The funeral was over, as the flowers by the war memorial testified. However, a frantic spring clean is now in progress, with feather dusters, vacuums and buckets and marigolds.  Some items were covered over with purple cloth, as it was Lent. The small army of cleaners urged us to return on a quieter day after Lent, when everything would be uncovered and it would not be such a hive of frantic activity.












There were items I would have liked to have been able to stop and ponder over, but the ladies were busy ahead of Mothering Sunday service in a few days time, so we left them to their labour of love and headed home, just as it started to rain.


Mindful of the busyness of the M42 on the way, some bright spark suggested that took the non-motorway route home. However, instead of taking us down the A446, the satnav decided to take us through the heart of Birmingham, past the infamous Spitfire Roundabout. It is rarely good news when that hoves into view!










Sometimes, the route you travel is not the one you expect to take, but it is still interesting, nevertheless, even in the rain!