I always found the Muscovys to be quite scary - I thought they looked particularly angry with all that red round their face and their little red eyes, to be avoided at all costs! January here has not bought the beautiful frostings that I have been longing for. Cold, yes - damp, yes, but oh how I wish for snow or even a deep frost - just one though, I’m not greedy. Alas January is not listening to me either. I have been so tardy in my reading and responding please forgive me - but here is the weekend again at last, and hopefully a little more breathing space. Much love dear Susie xx
Hello lovely, you are forgiven a thousand times over! I know well how tricky juggling reading and comments and creativity and work and family and animals and, and, and… is; I am the worst culprit!
We are now basking in spring temps here, without the sunshine though so damp and grey which I truly abhor! Nothing is less inspiring than blanket grey above and beige below. I couldn’t even make the snowdrops look pretty in a photograph this morning the light was so flat! I am trying not to feel hard-done-by but… it’s the weekend, a little ray of sunshine is not much to ask for. Sigh…
I agree about Muscovy ducks, they dont have any endearing qualities in the looks department do they? Unlike Mallard or Khaki Campbells which we had too, the Muskovies by comparison always seemed so bad tempered.
Here’s to at least one more return of snow before winter leaves us and a good weekend despite manky weather! Much love dear Emily xx
A beautiful reminiscing, Susie. Walking in your childhood footprints, No 6, London Road, brings me back to my own, 5 Wheatley Circle.
I have these same realizations. When Paul and I began tossing the idea of retirement back and forth between us, as we worked together for 38 years, he did this thing I will never forget. He went to his toolbox and took out his tape measure, extended it with a low underhand swing of his arm. He asked me, and this is the part that wrapped that tape measure around my gut, hypothetically speaking, what is the oldest age we might live to? Then he walked the length of the tape lying on the floor. Puts his finger on said number, picks the tape up while still holding his thumb on , around 85. Now comes the moral of the story, he walks to the age we were at that moment and allows the tape to retract, to our age .You can visualize the rest. Shown on a timeline of a tape measure, it is woefully short. Felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over my head. And so, our decision was easily made, retirement, here we come! A trick an old friend taught him when he was 97 years old, still worked until 100!! Sometimes it seems we are chasing time, memories from childhood as sharp as yesterday’s, while others are so distant, they feel like they were written in another lifetime. Thinking of; “youthful days; muscovy, mouse,…” and the one yew still standing. Thinking of me, holding court within the branches of the Crimson King Maple in my childhood yard. Focusing back in on the now, dream of the someday, and all that lies between. Enjoy the magic of the woodsmoke , dancing through the trees, as I follow the smoky swirls of my own exhale, on a cold winter morn ,rising through Birches. Because, as you are well aware, there are no promises
Never in my life have I heard of a reminder of how short a time we have left than that which Paul and his tape measure unravelled for you. Lor, I will also not forget that simple truth because damn it, there are no promises from time, none of us know the number of our days on this beautiful planet, not usually until it's too late...
Death holds no fear for me, leaving without telling my story does, leaving without my children knowing my life does, not that my life has been extraordinary but that is the most important part: It seems to me, in this day of instant everything — what was eaten for lunch, the latest gadget, typhoons, monsoons, film stars tripping on a twig or losing their wigs, you get what I mean — that there is nothing that isn't recorded somewhere, stored in digital clouds, relegated to the annuls of time where they may to may not be regurgitated for the curious. But who is recording our generation? When there were no video cameras, at least none that were affordable by the average individual, there is nothing to reach for that will tell the instant story unless we write it down.
And, time is ticking, ticking, ticking with no clue for any of us when or where it will end... that frightens me!
It has occurred to me that all of us who were children of dandelions and yew and red maple, of ducks and mice and old buses and Saturday night movies, should be writing down every tiny detail we can before time stops us in our tracks and it is forgotten forever...
Thinking of you in your smokey swirls of exhale dear friend... thank you always, now get writing! x
Your lovely reminiscences make me think of the Muscovy ducks we briefly had on the farm (much to the joy of the local fox population) and the way we also said the name of the local exchange and the three digits of our number when answering the phone.
Kindest thanks Jeffrey, Muscovys aren't the loveliest of ducks but goodness they make good guard dogs, our black Labrador wasn't half as brave as the drake who scared off many a curious cat, probably a few foxes too! Perhaps I should invest in one for my chicken coop to keep that rotten buzzard in check!
I remember my father — and he wasn't alone — being quite indignant about the addition of three more digits when they came... he refused point blank to use them when he answered!
The voice of an angel and hands the size of shovels and woolen wisdom and you wrapped up in it—what a privilege to be a part of your world, your hill, to see through you beautiful mind.
Dear beautiful Holly, how I miss you! How I miss your voice and your writing... Have I wished you Happy New Days yet? Is it too late? I never know the rules but I wish them to you anyway!
Thank you for taking precious time to be here, it means the world — sending love xx
Don't make no sense but I do it anyways... sometimes. Put off reading what I have come to think of as 'one of the really good ones.' Might be akin to opening a bottle of wine and letting it breath a bit before pouring. Yeah, I know it's there, but I'm waiting a bit.
I know what I'm doing. Maybe not. Doin' it anyway.
You and that Knowles guy, two of the ones I tend to circle a few times, just for good measure. Wordsmiths. Or is it weirdsmiths? Crazy cool shite you both do, crawling right inside my brain and making finger puppets dance in the back of my eyes. How the hell do you make the words smell like the woodsmoke?
Makes me believe in the goodness of humans. One or two, anyhoo.
Wish January wasn't pissed at you, though I do love reading your list of accusations and ever so slightly sarcastic thank yous. Do you think she understands the irony? Yeah, probably.
You're a gift my friend and the strings of this latest soliloquy are pluckin' the strings of my gratitude in G major.
What a world that imagined you, dear Susie. Gratitude in G major.
If I can make just one human believe in the goodness of one or two more, I can step lightly into my day, or my bed at least because time is ticking on here...
As for January, I think she understand the irony only too well... and it seems there are many tricks hidden up the sleeves of this first month of the year, most obviously the speed at which she manages to drag out her days, makes me wonder how 11 others put their foot flat on the accelerator, how they haven't learned a thing or two about how precious time is over the few thousand years? But I guess we won't get an answer to that secret ever!
Dearest Davey, from one humble human to another bless you, your big kind heart and all those you love — they sure are mighty lucky humans.
Everything about this … writing plucked from somewhere heavenly, perhaps from and interconnected subterranean wood wide web, summoned by ancient trees, the Ents of Tolkien’s epic. But I ramble. Your recollections are beautiful, detailed but not just specific to you … as the best memoir does, they awaken memories of our own. Echoes of my grandpa’s farm and childhood scrapes. Your January sounds weighed down but your words soar, Susie, as ever. Thank you.
I love that these recollections resonate Barrie.... the older I become the more I realise the importance of writing down the words from our childhood, no matter how small and seemingly unimportant they may seem. We are the last generation to remember these echos after all. Already, I am scrabbling around in the dark with nobody left to verify if my earliest memories are fabricated whimseys, my own idea of an idyllic childhood or the absolute facts. It worries me enormously.
Huge thanks for taking precious time to read, perhaps you could write of your own, I for one, and there would be so many more, would love to read a memoire from you, even if it were just a week remembered for something that stands out.
PS Though I had no idea even who Tolkien was, much less Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, back then, those two Yew trees were definitely perfectly Tolkienesque....
I was a child of dandelion and hay barns, ducks and horses and sheep Jo, it was idyllic and beyond... we were a boho family grounded by love, what more could a child want really?
Apricity is gorgeous isn't it... conjures all sorts of warm juiciness, clouds at sunset and blossom, dried grasses at the end of the summer too, I love it!
Ahh, yes... I like the cold in photos, less so on my skin and my bones absolutely recoil at the mere mention these days — ageing is no place to be in winter I find!
Bless you always, thank you for kind thoughts... it always seems to be the best that die young, he was no older than I am... he'll be singing with the angels now, so long as they have a pint of Guiness waiting when he's finished!
Sending love dear one... may your week be a kind one. ♥️xxx
So rich!! Your childhood backyard came to life for me. The ferrous paraphernalia, the duck, the mice, the nooks and crannies. So beautiful! And I can feel (and relate) to your wistfulness. Thanks for inviting us along for the “rememberings” Susie! It hit me hard that the garden you describe is so different now, and so much less of an invitation to get lost in wonder. Such a common story (unfortunately) in this age of manicured yards!
Sorry to hear about sad news and loss. Keeping you in my heart ❤️
It has always been the way in this life I've known Sumaya, all the good people, those with big giving hearts filled with kindness for the world, the ones with gentle souls who would never harm anyone intentionally, they have all died before reaching old age. It makes me wonder why? Are they needed elsewhere perhaps? Has their generosity of spirit worn them out? I don't know the answer and probably never will but it breaks my heart to know they are gone. Thank you for your kind thoughts, they mean the world.
I am so delighted you joined me in my "rememberings" and that you enjoyed the wander.
January is often a month when I find myself lost in nostalgic reveries... I guess I have more time to do so although I never seem to notice if I do! I am more and more convinced of the importance of doing so though, before I am too old too recall clearly such beautiful days as I was lucky to have, to tell my children so maybe, one day, they will tell theirs.
I hope your weekend is kind, sending love back ♥️xx
I remember learning that way of answering the phone! “Sheffield 56492” And before I left for college there was another 5, and then another 2. I remember trees too, too big for our small garden, 5 limes, a horse chestnut, one I forget, and hated their gradual loss. It’s interesting how much we remember the time spent outside.
Ah Michela yes, eventually there was 811 added to that simple number, for years my father still said just the original three when he answered the phone! The two yew trees were still standing tall and stately when I left that house Michela, they were both healthy and strong, I have a feeling one was probably felled to make way for the concrete drive, its a guess obviously but nonetheless a huge loss. Who would fell a yew tree? I cannot even imagine contemplating such a crime!
As children, we were three girls, we were always outside, we had little choice tbh but there was always some skulduggery to entertain us! I am the eldest of the three so of course always the child held to blame for any scrapes, they were frequent too! Oh but they were beautiful days, so innocent, so unlike the children of today at the same age...
These are days that weigh heavily, they will disperse into the woodsmoke and apricity eventually but I know I do not to speak to you of loss dear Mary... not ever. Bless you always xx
To have a moment into your memories, the Muscovy duck, how he twines in and out for paragraphs doing what ducks do, protecting, mice eaten whole, all with a bit of darkness and shadows of a place inhabitated by the rareness of your young self.
We grow older with each passing day. Remembering, reflecting but what a wonderful place you have on the hill to share your place in this full world. The beauty and the sorrow.
"To have a moment into your memories..." it feels almost like a forbidden pastime Stacy. But, I truly believe to reminisce is vital, especially now. We live in such a fast paced world with everything at our fingertips, to slip back to days when life was slower, more simple — even if we did have to read an actual book, or go to the library for references — is becoming more and more important to write about, to record the days that were different, true remembered days, written by a human being, otherwise they will be lost in a digital world of artificially developed memories, we risk losing so many tiny details.
Thank you dear lady, for reading and commenting so kindly. xx
Oh no, Susie it sounds like your start of the year, like mine, was marred by some jarring news from home. And thinking of you, I looked at the vacances scolaires calendar -- my that winter break is far away!
I too so want to have more time for writing and of course my travels that go along with it. We have set a date to shut down professional operations, but it is too far away for my tastes! On Monday I entertained the idea of taking off to not-so-far-away town X or Y today and tomorrow, what with this warming weather, but realized "ce n'est pas possible."
Wishing you the best during this often melancholy season -- personally I find February worse than January, though.
Hi Betty, our loss was an expected one, nonetheless sad for being so though, he was a good man with a huge heart and even huger hands, no older than I am, he died of brain cancer which made him the second friend we've lost to the same debilitating affliction from the same tiny hamlet... it's almost too unbelievable for words. Who was it said "only the good die young"?
And yes we are beginning a seven week term, for me it's the longest of the year, we are three staff down with one and half replacements and all of us exhausted by the middle of the first week. It's going to feel more like seven months!
More time for writing... oh boy it seems to get further and further away doesn't it....
I was reading Matthew Longs last publication, I don't know if you subscribe but he his a passionate reader and writer, much enjoyed by me, he wrote "I don’t want to hang out at work anymore. I want to hang out in the corner of the cafe with some friends talking about books and ideas and how we incorporate those things into our lives." Link below if your interested...
When I read that line, I thought yes, and my first thought was of meeting you in a café somewhere cosy and arty for a wonderful afternoon of nothing more taxing than a long chat with tea and cake! It's not going to happen any time soon (see first paragraph) but I am holding that thought!
Much love Betty maybe we could squeeze in a quick coffee at some point? xx
"I have lingered long in the reverie of childhood snippets, returning and fading, returning and fading" - like wavelets from youself lapping upon the shores of you. Me too. So nice.
Winter is here too. At last. Minus 13 yesterday. A balmy minus 2 today.
"I leave for classes on three mornings with five layers of clothing" ha ha man, I know, on, off, on, off, getting dressed in winter is a workout all of its own.
There is relief in wandering back a few years isn’t there, to a more simple life, no rushing and buzzing, except perhaps from a lazy bee, no pinging of notifications, there was never that heart stopping panic because we couldn’t find our phones, they were always in the same place! Feels good to hang around back there a while…
Mother Nature seems rather determined to make a fool of me, it was 15C here this afternoon! I have to confess, I loathe the whole clothes on, clothes off palaver… I am definitely a summer type of gal.. one t-shirt, one pair of shorts!
Thank you for kind thoughts, he was a good and kind giant of a man, the world will miss him. Me too. 💔
Agreed about January. It’s dismal business around here, in this country I call home. Oh to be on your hill fighting off vultures. Here’s wishing you a soft blanket of snow. ❄️
Would you believe Ben, after writing of such cold and vicious weather, today has been a balmy 15c with sunshine? It felt like spring… minus the birds! There is still time for snow though! Thank you for taking the time to read dear friend. 💛
I forgot to say in my reply I am sorry for your loss ❤️
Susie, holding you in a warm embrace. It’s so hard to lose a friend. Take good care of yourself.
It is Louise… I know you know lovely - thank you ♥️
I always found the Muscovys to be quite scary - I thought they looked particularly angry with all that red round their face and their little red eyes, to be avoided at all costs! January here has not bought the beautiful frostings that I have been longing for. Cold, yes - damp, yes, but oh how I wish for snow or even a deep frost - just one though, I’m not greedy. Alas January is not listening to me either. I have been so tardy in my reading and responding please forgive me - but here is the weekend again at last, and hopefully a little more breathing space. Much love dear Susie xx
Hello lovely, you are forgiven a thousand times over! I know well how tricky juggling reading and comments and creativity and work and family and animals and, and, and… is; I am the worst culprit!
We are now basking in spring temps here, without the sunshine though so damp and grey which I truly abhor! Nothing is less inspiring than blanket grey above and beige below. I couldn’t even make the snowdrops look pretty in a photograph this morning the light was so flat! I am trying not to feel hard-done-by but… it’s the weekend, a little ray of sunshine is not much to ask for. Sigh…
I agree about Muscovy ducks, they dont have any endearing qualities in the looks department do they? Unlike Mallard or Khaki Campbells which we had too, the Muskovies by comparison always seemed so bad tempered.
Here’s to at least one more return of snow before winter leaves us and a good weekend despite manky weather! Much love dear Emily xx
A beautiful reminiscing, Susie. Walking in your childhood footprints, No 6, London Road, brings me back to my own, 5 Wheatley Circle.
I have these same realizations. When Paul and I began tossing the idea of retirement back and forth between us, as we worked together for 38 years, he did this thing I will never forget. He went to his toolbox and took out his tape measure, extended it with a low underhand swing of his arm. He asked me, and this is the part that wrapped that tape measure around my gut, hypothetically speaking, what is the oldest age we might live to? Then he walked the length of the tape lying on the floor. Puts his finger on said number, picks the tape up while still holding his thumb on , around 85. Now comes the moral of the story, he walks to the age we were at that moment and allows the tape to retract, to our age .You can visualize the rest. Shown on a timeline of a tape measure, it is woefully short. Felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over my head. And so, our decision was easily made, retirement, here we come! A trick an old friend taught him when he was 97 years old, still worked until 100!! Sometimes it seems we are chasing time, memories from childhood as sharp as yesterday’s, while others are so distant, they feel like they were written in another lifetime. Thinking of; “youthful days; muscovy, mouse,…” and the one yew still standing. Thinking of me, holding court within the branches of the Crimson King Maple in my childhood yard. Focusing back in on the now, dream of the someday, and all that lies between. Enjoy the magic of the woodsmoke , dancing through the trees, as I follow the smoky swirls of my own exhale, on a cold winter morn ,rising through Birches. Because, as you are well aware, there are no promises
from,Time.
Never in my life have I heard of a reminder of how short a time we have left than that which Paul and his tape measure unravelled for you. Lor, I will also not forget that simple truth because damn it, there are no promises from time, none of us know the number of our days on this beautiful planet, not usually until it's too late...
Death holds no fear for me, leaving without telling my story does, leaving without my children knowing my life does, not that my life has been extraordinary but that is the most important part: It seems to me, in this day of instant everything — what was eaten for lunch, the latest gadget, typhoons, monsoons, film stars tripping on a twig or losing their wigs, you get what I mean — that there is nothing that isn't recorded somewhere, stored in digital clouds, relegated to the annuls of time where they may to may not be regurgitated for the curious. But who is recording our generation? When there were no video cameras, at least none that were affordable by the average individual, there is nothing to reach for that will tell the instant story unless we write it down.
And, time is ticking, ticking, ticking with no clue for any of us when or where it will end... that frightens me!
It has occurred to me that all of us who were children of dandelions and yew and red maple, of ducks and mice and old buses and Saturday night movies, should be writing down every tiny detail we can before time stops us in our tracks and it is forgotten forever...
Thinking of you in your smokey swirls of exhale dear friend... thank you always, now get writing! x
Your lovely reminiscences make me think of the Muscovy ducks we briefly had on the farm (much to the joy of the local fox population) and the way we also said the name of the local exchange and the three digits of our number when answering the phone.
Kindest thanks Jeffrey, Muscovys aren't the loveliest of ducks but goodness they make good guard dogs, our black Labrador wasn't half as brave as the drake who scared off many a curious cat, probably a few foxes too! Perhaps I should invest in one for my chicken coop to keep that rotten buzzard in check!
I remember my father — and he wasn't alone — being quite indignant about the addition of three more digits when they came... he refused point blank to use them when he answered!
Perhaps it wasn't the foxes that had the Muscovys, then? Maybe poachers?
I like the story resisting those 3 extra digits. A stand against the ever increasing complexity of the world!
The voice of an angel and hands the size of shovels and woolen wisdom and you wrapped up in it—what a privilege to be a part of your world, your hill, to see through you beautiful mind.
Dear beautiful Holly, how I miss you! How I miss your voice and your writing... Have I wished you Happy New Days yet? Is it too late? I never know the rules but I wish them to you anyway!
Thank you for taking precious time to be here, it means the world — sending love xx
Don't make no sense but I do it anyways... sometimes. Put off reading what I have come to think of as 'one of the really good ones.' Might be akin to opening a bottle of wine and letting it breath a bit before pouring. Yeah, I know it's there, but I'm waiting a bit.
I know what I'm doing. Maybe not. Doin' it anyway.
You and that Knowles guy, two of the ones I tend to circle a few times, just for good measure. Wordsmiths. Or is it weirdsmiths? Crazy cool shite you both do, crawling right inside my brain and making finger puppets dance in the back of my eyes. How the hell do you make the words smell like the woodsmoke?
Makes me believe in the goodness of humans. One or two, anyhoo.
Wish January wasn't pissed at you, though I do love reading your list of accusations and ever so slightly sarcastic thank yous. Do you think she understands the irony? Yeah, probably.
You're a gift my friend and the strings of this latest soliloquy are pluckin' the strings of my gratitude in G major.
What a world that imagined you, dear Susie. Gratitude in G major.
Beaming!😁
If I can make just one human believe in the goodness of one or two more, I can step lightly into my day, or my bed at least because time is ticking on here...
As for January, I think she understand the irony only too well... and it seems there are many tricks hidden up the sleeves of this first month of the year, most obviously the speed at which she manages to drag out her days, makes me wonder how 11 others put their foot flat on the accelerator, how they haven't learned a thing or two about how precious time is over the few thousand years? But I guess we won't get an answer to that secret ever!
Dearest Davey, from one humble human to another bless you, your big kind heart and all those you love — they sure are mighty lucky humans.
Everything about this … writing plucked from somewhere heavenly, perhaps from and interconnected subterranean wood wide web, summoned by ancient trees, the Ents of Tolkien’s epic. But I ramble. Your recollections are beautiful, detailed but not just specific to you … as the best memoir does, they awaken memories of our own. Echoes of my grandpa’s farm and childhood scrapes. Your January sounds weighed down but your words soar, Susie, as ever. Thank you.
I love that these recollections resonate Barrie.... the older I become the more I realise the importance of writing down the words from our childhood, no matter how small and seemingly unimportant they may seem. We are the last generation to remember these echos after all. Already, I am scrabbling around in the dark with nobody left to verify if my earliest memories are fabricated whimseys, my own idea of an idyllic childhood or the absolute facts. It worries me enormously.
Huge thanks for taking precious time to read, perhaps you could write of your own, I for one, and there would be so many more, would love to read a memoire from you, even if it were just a week remembered for something that stands out.
PS Though I had no idea even who Tolkien was, much less Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, back then, those two Yew trees were definitely perfectly Tolkienesque....
Susie, no wonder you are a nature immerser. Your childhood home sounds idyllic.
"Balcombe 527" -... this is both funny and nostalgic. ❤️ Imagining your father saying that.
Thank you for teaching me a new word and such a beautiful one - apricity!!
"super cold" photo is stunning.
Keep warm, thoughts for your recent loss, and much love. xx💛
I was a child of dandelion and hay barns, ducks and horses and sheep Jo, it was idyllic and beyond... we were a boho family grounded by love, what more could a child want really?
Apricity is gorgeous isn't it... conjures all sorts of warm juiciness, clouds at sunset and blossom, dried grasses at the end of the summer too, I love it!
Ahh, yes... I like the cold in photos, less so on my skin and my bones absolutely recoil at the mere mention these days — ageing is no place to be in winter I find!
Bless you always, thank you for kind thoughts... it always seems to be the best that die young, he was no older than I am... he'll be singing with the angels now, so long as they have a pint of Guiness waiting when he's finished!
Sending love dear one... may your week be a kind one. ♥️xxx
So rich!! Your childhood backyard came to life for me. The ferrous paraphernalia, the duck, the mice, the nooks and crannies. So beautiful! And I can feel (and relate) to your wistfulness. Thanks for inviting us along for the “rememberings” Susie! It hit me hard that the garden you describe is so different now, and so much less of an invitation to get lost in wonder. Such a common story (unfortunately) in this age of manicured yards!
Sorry to hear about sad news and loss. Keeping you in my heart ❤️
It has always been the way in this life I've known Sumaya, all the good people, those with big giving hearts filled with kindness for the world, the ones with gentle souls who would never harm anyone intentionally, they have all died before reaching old age. It makes me wonder why? Are they needed elsewhere perhaps? Has their generosity of spirit worn them out? I don't know the answer and probably never will but it breaks my heart to know they are gone. Thank you for your kind thoughts, they mean the world.
I am so delighted you joined me in my "rememberings" and that you enjoyed the wander.
January is often a month when I find myself lost in nostalgic reveries... I guess I have more time to do so although I never seem to notice if I do! I am more and more convinced of the importance of doing so though, before I am too old too recall clearly such beautiful days as I was lucky to have, to tell my children so maybe, one day, they will tell theirs.
I hope your weekend is kind, sending love back ♥️xx
I remember learning that way of answering the phone! “Sheffield 56492” And before I left for college there was another 5, and then another 2. I remember trees too, too big for our small garden, 5 limes, a horse chestnut, one I forget, and hated their gradual loss. It’s interesting how much we remember the time spent outside.
Ah Michela yes, eventually there was 811 added to that simple number, for years my father still said just the original three when he answered the phone! The two yew trees were still standing tall and stately when I left that house Michela, they were both healthy and strong, I have a feeling one was probably felled to make way for the concrete drive, its a guess obviously but nonetheless a huge loss. Who would fell a yew tree? I cannot even imagine contemplating such a crime!
As children, we were three girls, we were always outside, we had little choice tbh but there was always some skulduggery to entertain us! I am the eldest of the three so of course always the child held to blame for any scrapes, they were frequent too! Oh but they were beautiful days, so innocent, so unlike the children of today at the same age...
Woodsmoke and sunbeams and apricity hold this love of an essay of the loss and the found and memory be blessed.
These are days that weigh heavily, they will disperse into the woodsmoke and apricity eventually but I know I do not to speak to you of loss dear Mary... not ever. Bless you always xx
To have a moment into your memories, the Muscovy duck, how he twines in and out for paragraphs doing what ducks do, protecting, mice eaten whole, all with a bit of darkness and shadows of a place inhabitated by the rareness of your young self.
We grow older with each passing day. Remembering, reflecting but what a wonderful place you have on the hill to share your place in this full world. The beauty and the sorrow.
"To have a moment into your memories..." it feels almost like a forbidden pastime Stacy. But, I truly believe to reminisce is vital, especially now. We live in such a fast paced world with everything at our fingertips, to slip back to days when life was slower, more simple — even if we did have to read an actual book, or go to the library for references — is becoming more and more important to write about, to record the days that were different, true remembered days, written by a human being, otherwise they will be lost in a digital world of artificially developed memories, we risk losing so many tiny details.
Thank you dear lady, for reading and commenting so kindly. xx
If we don’t take the time to remember the memories, and share those memories, then there is no history. That builds connections.
Oh no, Susie it sounds like your start of the year, like mine, was marred by some jarring news from home. And thinking of you, I looked at the vacances scolaires calendar -- my that winter break is far away!
I too so want to have more time for writing and of course my travels that go along with it. We have set a date to shut down professional operations, but it is too far away for my tastes! On Monday I entertained the idea of taking off to not-so-far-away town X or Y today and tomorrow, what with this warming weather, but realized "ce n'est pas possible."
Wishing you the best during this often melancholy season -- personally I find February worse than January, though.
Hi Betty, our loss was an expected one, nonetheless sad for being so though, he was a good man with a huge heart and even huger hands, no older than I am, he died of brain cancer which made him the second friend we've lost to the same debilitating affliction from the same tiny hamlet... it's almost too unbelievable for words. Who was it said "only the good die young"?
And yes we are beginning a seven week term, for me it's the longest of the year, we are three staff down with one and half replacements and all of us exhausted by the middle of the first week. It's going to feel more like seven months!
More time for writing... oh boy it seems to get further and further away doesn't it....
I was reading Matthew Longs last publication, I don't know if you subscribe but he his a passionate reader and writer, much enjoyed by me, he wrote "I don’t want to hang out at work anymore. I want to hang out in the corner of the cafe with some friends talking about books and ideas and how we incorporate those things into our lives." Link below if your interested...
https://open.substack.com/pub/matthewmlong/p/commonplace-15?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=post%20viewer
When I read that line, I thought yes, and my first thought was of meeting you in a café somewhere cosy and arty for a wonderful afternoon of nothing more taxing than a long chat with tea and cake! It's not going to happen any time soon (see first paragraph) but I am holding that thought!
Much love Betty maybe we could squeeze in a quick coffee at some point? xx
Thanks Susie. I loved that.
"I have lingered long in the reverie of childhood snippets, returning and fading, returning and fading" - like wavelets from youself lapping upon the shores of you. Me too. So nice.
Winter is here too. At last. Minus 13 yesterday. A balmy minus 2 today.
"I leave for classes on three mornings with five layers of clothing" ha ha man, I know, on, off, on, off, getting dressed in winter is a workout all of its own.
Condolences for your friend and you ❤️
There is relief in wandering back a few years isn’t there, to a more simple life, no rushing and buzzing, except perhaps from a lazy bee, no pinging of notifications, there was never that heart stopping panic because we couldn’t find our phones, they were always in the same place! Feels good to hang around back there a while…
Mother Nature seems rather determined to make a fool of me, it was 15C here this afternoon! I have to confess, I loathe the whole clothes on, clothes off palaver… I am definitely a summer type of gal.. one t-shirt, one pair of shorts!
Thank you for kind thoughts, he was a good and kind giant of a man, the world will miss him. Me too. 💔
Agreed about January. It’s dismal business around here, in this country I call home. Oh to be on your hill fighting off vultures. Here’s wishing you a soft blanket of snow. ❄️
Would you believe Ben, after writing of such cold and vicious weather, today has been a balmy 15c with sunshine? It felt like spring… minus the birds! There is still time for snow though! Thank you for taking the time to read dear friend. 💛