Watching Sheep

On days when your to-do list is longer than both arms and legs put together...

On days when your mind is chasing its tail in circles until you feel dizzy...

On days when the planet is spinning so fast you fear you might fall off...

On days when your own small world is threatening to take over the big wide world...

On days like these.......you need something that halts the madness and puts life back into perspective.

For me, it's watching sheep.  What is it for you?

Remembrance Sunday

Not far from where I live is a memorial to six young Canadian servicemen whose plane crashed in local woodland in 1944.

Joss and I often pass the spot when we’re out walking, and I wonder about the lives of those young boys: the lives they lived and the lives they might have lived had it not been for the tragedy that stopped them in their tracks.

Each year, a simple ceremony is held at the memorial on the anniversary of the crash. Wreaths are laid in the deep shadow of the trees. And today, on Remembrance Sunday, passers-by had tucked poppies into crevices of the dry stone wall behind the commemorative stone.

This afternoon, I committed to an exciting trip early next year. Then I spent some time working on a special event I’m designing for this Christmas. During the course of the day, I made many small, inconsequential decisions: what to wear, what to eat, where to walk the dog.  And I dealt with various boring chores.

And through it all - the thrilling stuff and the dull - I felt immense gratitude that I’m able to make those unimportant decisions, lay the big plans, tread the hamster-wheel of daily routine. Gratitude that I’m alive to experience joy and sorrow and the mundane. Gratitude that I have been gifted with a chance of which so many, many others have been robbed.

And I left my poppy in the wall.

Bonfire Night

It’s not easy explaining Bonfire Night to Americans. I failed miserably every year for the three years we were in the States.

‘Ooh! It’s Bonfire Night tonight in Britain!’ I would exclaim gleefully.

‘What’s that?’

‘Well…..we create an effigy of this bloke called Guy Fawkes, and then we build an enormous bonfire, throw him onto it……and burn him!’

YUK!!! HOW MACABRE!!!

‘Okay, so it’s not considered PC or seemly these days to burn effigies…..so mostly we just build the bonfire and stand around watching fireworks go off whilst we drink hot soup or eat baked potatoes and parkin* and chew treacle toffee. But that’s what it’s about……burning Guy Fawkes……’ Hmm.

There’s been a move in recent years to encourage big, organised bonfires - the kind where you can’t actually stand anywhere near the fire itself so you end up freezing. Most of the joy of a bonfire is in standing close and staring into the heart of it, letting your imagination conjure pictures from the flames.

When I was small every street had its own bonfire. We built them ourselves, collecting the wood over a period of weeks or even months. Anticipation of the event would grow as the bonfire grew. Come the night itself, you had to check for hedgehogs that may have made a cosy home for themselves underneath the wood pile.

And then there was the guy. We made him ourselves, too, in scarecrow fashion; then wheeled him from door to door in someone’s go-kart or toy pram, demanding ‘penny-for-the-guy’ at each house.

As for the fireworks, they were few in number and usually tame compared to what’s available now. A few rockets, a catherine wheel or two and sparklers. Always sparklers. We’d write our names in the air, trying to finish before the first letters disappeared into the night; clinging clumsily to the slippy, metallic stalks with hands chunkily mittened.

We’d watch our breath freeze in the air; stamp our feet to keep the cold at bay; go home weary, hair and clothes reeking of smoke; find the remains of the fire still burning the following morning…..

Times change, but I’m glad the bonfires continue. My husband once flew from the south coast of England up to the north on a crystal clear 5^th November evening. And the whole journey through, he could see bonfire after bonfire after bonfire burning below him. A chain of beacons glowing in the night. A very British tradition.



For information about the origins of Bonfire Night and the traditions associated with it, go to my favourite website of all - that of Woodlands Junior School.



*Parkin is a type of ginger cake containing oatmeal.

Announcements

And the winner is....(drum roll)......

Jenna!

Jenna wins the give-away announced last week.  The draw was made from my very best tweed hat and the book will be in the post tomorrow.  Hope you enjoy it, Jenna!

My second announcement today is that I've added a new page to the site.  Click on Dixon Hill Supports on the navigation bar above to read about some of my favourite ways to give.

Pumpkin Playtime

Pumpkin fun brought to you courtesy of Mary, Claire, Frances, Madi, Hannah, Rebecca.....and me.