Thank you for visiting me here.

Sunshine lighting up the Christmas pointsettia on my kitchen windowsill this  morning.

I bake a batch of cranberry, pecan and apricot granola to add to the table for my nephew's 40th birthday brunch tomorrow.  I sprinkle a handful of it over my breakfast porridge to give some crunch. I only want to eat hot comfort food at the moment so this hits the spot.

A quiver of long tailed tits feasting at the coconut feeder - those tails - those tiny badger faces - love them! 

All the rooms in my house are either filled with furniture from other rooms, or covered in dust sheets and smelling of paint. I haven't had time yet to put them back in order. It means I can't find anything or get access to my address book or the wrapping paper without moving stuff out of the way first.

 At least I've made space for my bed, and rehung the curtains in my bedroom. I've set up the printer in the hall.

 Everything now occurs in the kitchen, all the surfaces covered, mostly focussed on the small round garden table, all the Christmas card writing paraphernalia, as well as laptop, phone, camera, cup of tea, tissues, the post, the lists, the recipe file, pens....which all have to be cleared away when I want to eat my supper.

At least it's warm living in one room with the door closed and just the antics of the birds to distract me. And my circular anxious thoughts.

I'm signing off  now till next year  .....thank you for visiting me here.

I wish you all a very happy Solstice, stress-free Christmas and peaceful new year.

May you and your loved ones be blessed with much loving kindness to yourselves and each other.

Go well till we meet again in 2020.

"Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world."

Beautiful barn owl ...on display in the high street in Exeter....

on behalf of a Bird of Prey charity. I wish he could fly free though.

When I have no words  - none tonight,  as I don't just want to write about

my weariness, complain about my sore body and heart - I turn to Mary Oliver for inspiration and these are the lines that speak to me.

Love yourself. Then forget it.

Then, love the world.

and

I go down to the shore in the morning,

 and depending on the hour the waves

 are rolling in or moving out,

and I say, oh I am miserable

what shall - 

what should I do? And the sea says

in its lovely voice:

Excuse me, I have work to do.

And now, as people all over the country are counting votes,  there is such a gale blowing outside, rain slashing against the windows, the wind roaring through the trees, I wonder if I'll sleep, with the moon being full as well.

I hope the owls will be safe in the storm.

The River Underground

Not just the state of the world but the state of me....

If my heart is filled with anxiety ...I will get sick...and not be able to help myself...or anyone one else.

 The weight of grief in my heart is a kind of sickness...not as visible as anxiety....I have that too...but mostly I can talk myself out of it. Or rather when someone has listened to me I can remember the bigger picture.

 But the grief is a constant underground river sometimes breaking its banks when I'm not paying attention.

This morning, taking a coffee break from painting walls with my young friend  who is Japanese  - or at least defines himself as 70 percent influenced by Japanese culture -  sitting at the kitchen table we are talking about relationships and the world and beliefs -  his and mine - and  suddenly I find my voice full of tears. And I find myself reassuring him - our conversation is not the cause of them.

I don't say  much  - he knew Robin briefly....he has had his own losses ...and he doesn't say much either but is just very sweet and listens and after a while I wash the coffee cups and we go back to painting walls.

 And the river settles back underground, calmer for the moment.

Reclaiming a year's worth of delay...

I have entered and become lost in an entire world of Polyfiller smeared into cracks in the ceiling and into holes left by rawl plugs, masking tape stuck in long strips to the edges of dusty carpets, dripping paintbrushes and the swishing sound of roller against wallpaper.

But today it is so much easier in the company of young friend who can reach the places I can't who can squeeze the fat tubes of Polyfilller with out hurting his thumbs, who is strong enough to move the filing cabinets and bookcases with ease and who makes it all seem possible ... that an end could be in sight.,..that I don't have to do it all on my own.

And I still don't know why I'm putting myself through what is becoming a decorating/putting my house in order  ordeal....the timing of it ...with Christmas hurtling  towards  me ...I could have left it all till January.

But I didn't ....and I'm loving what I can see emerging by cleaning my house with paint....reclaiming a year's worth of delay and indecision and doubt.....giving me a blank canvas to think...to feel my way into my obscure future...even if the cost is chaos, aches and pains.  And re-living old patterns.

Hive of Activity and Slightly Deranged

 Our last night in Portugal,

the sun

which looks like the moon

sinking into the sea.

Last night 

I went out to take photos of the three quarters moon behind the plane tree,

and saw my house from the end of the garden....how the birds would see it in the dusk.

This morning  I'm up early for the electrician who comes at 8am and brings new and brighter lights to my ceilings.

Adorable 

bird visitors

long tailed tits and

Monsieur Pheasant.

Now that  my gardener has trimmed the hedges I can see this view towards Killerton from the sitting room.

The moon rising this evening,

and in full bloom later.

And now every room in the house is upside down and I'm aching all over ....with moving furniture, unloading bookcases, carrying plants and ornaments upstairs, emptying Robin's filing cabinets and taking down curtains.

All in a good cause - lovely young friend is coming to help me paint more walls and ceilings...all at short notice....hence hive of activity.

 But I 'm so grateful to him and wonder if I'm not  also slightly deranged to be doing this now when there is already too much Christmas on my plate.

Drained empty...Small things - big achievements

A few more Portugal pictures...

Yesterday

 I tended to my grief.

To the ancient beat of the drum, 

circled by tender arms, 

I plumbed the deep well 

of wounds,

mine

and 

ours.

Today 

I'm drained

empty

but 

softer

to myself.

Another dawn. 

All day

 two young men have been pumping thick expanding foam into the cavity of the loft, 

between the rafters,

like white waves of piped cream on a dessert. 

Some  nasty chemical formula  is in it I'm sure -  but keeping the house - 

and me -  warmer.

The noise from their machines 

pulses constantly into the air in the house.

All day the gardener has been cutting my boundary hedges.

The sound of the strimmer buzzing through the walls into my head.

The hazel and the box and the conifers are shorn into long straight hedgehog lines....

giving me a longer view out towards the hills.

I can't settle to my tasks of the day with all the noise and disruption, chatting, answering questions, making tea, waiting for them to go.

So small things feel like big achievements.

I change the fuse in  the plug of a table lamp -  and it works. I thought the whole thing was broken.

I stir up a big bowl of brandy and apple and cranberry mincemeat. Just waiting for vegetarian suet which is still in the shop and not in my cupboard as I thought it was.

I find lost emails in my junk file and reply to them.

Roast potatoes always make me happy.

And watching the birds tentatively return to the bird feeders after all the men and their machines have left....peacefulness at last for them ...and for me ...outside at least....  I'm still jangled inside... and now beyond tired.