Being Creative

The more it snows . . . .

 

We awoke last Saturday morning to a world iced with white. There is something special about the first snow of the season, particularly if you are up early to enough to appreciate its untouched beauty. Having dug up my dahlias - to my enormous relief - at the beginning of last week, I had spent the rest of the week catching up with indoor jobs. So when the sun came out by mid morning on Saturday it provided the perfect photo opportunity. The shed shown above is in the orchard and as the roof is reasonably weatherproof we use it to store the logs we split in the summer. In a past life it had been used as a hen house, although when we 'liberated' the orchard the integral nest boxes had all but rotted away. We have cleared quite a lot of the undergrowth at this end of the orchard and hope to keep hens in there ourselves at some point but we are are ever mindful of the presence of Mr Fox. When we lived in Wales our children spent their Easter egg money one year on hens that would lay them real eggs. In the run up to Christmas that same year Mr Fox visited nightly for his chicken dinner, leaving the very last one for his Christmas lunch!

 
These footprints probably belong to a cat but we have seen fox tracks criss-crossing the allotment during snowy weather in the past and quite often spot their russet forms amidst the undergrowth in the darker winter months. They do not trouble us, though the dogs catch their scent, and probably keep our rabbit population in check.

 
Some of our apple trees still have a few fruit clinging on. We have eleven apple tree altogether and with the bumper crop we've had this year that means an awful lot of windfalls. Last year we left them where they fell but this year we took the advice of the charity East of England Apples and Orchards Project and barrowed them to the north side of the orchard. This means that they are still available for wildlife to feed from but, since our prevailing winds are from the south, substantially reduces the risk of any potential disease spores or pests from re-infecting the tree via rotting fruit. The snow and the leaf together on this Bramley does rather remind me of a hat, with the icicle providing the tassel on the end!

 
Here are some of those windfalls after our resident wildlife have been feasting. I have been careful to tip each barrow load close to the hedge so that the feeding site is both sheltered from the weather and affords some protection from would-be predators. Presumably, that which is not eaten will rot down and provide nutrients to feed the hedge itself.

 
Likewise, there is a good crop of berries on the ivy, too. Ivy flowers quite late in the season and provides a much-needed food source for bees and other insects once other flowers are over. On sunny days in September and October this plant hummed with winged visitors and though the ivy is troublesome if it runs unchecked into the trees, it is welcome to its place in the boundary hedge.

 
I was also intrigued by the patterns the snow created on very familiar objects like the roof, above, and the pallets, below, and the contrast it created with the bright stems and berries, further below.

 
 
 
 

Since Saturday, though, we have had more and more snow culminating today in heavy showers more or less non-stop throughout the afternoon and this evening. We now have about seven inches of the sort of wet snow that sticks to the washing line and the telephone wires and renders them thick as ropes. And the forecast? Well more of the same, actually. So while my daughter, Lu', in London is just celebrating her first flakes we are all but buried up to our ears. Not to mention how cold our toes are growing. Never mind; it won't be long till Spring. Tiddely pom!!!

Feathered friends

 

Here is my little friend, Robin, whom I was absolutely delighted to have captured succesfully with my camera this afternoon. We first became aquainted during the winter months while I was working on the allotment. As I cleared the ground of dead plant material he would hop within a few feet, waiting patiently for me to uncover some tasty morsel to eat. I didn't realise it at the time but robins need to eat almost half their bodyweight each day, during the kind of cold weather we've had this last winter, to survive. I'm very glad then that I'd remembered reading somewhere about mealworms being their favourite food and have put out a daily dish of food - with extra mealworms added - ever since. Robin has a mate now, who I call Bobbin, and they've built a nest in the allotment hedge, sheltered behind an old door. A couple of weeks ago, I was cutting down some overgrown elder when I heard a terrible twittering beyond the hedge. Fearing a cat had found their nest I tiptoed over to look, only to discover a fight had broken out between Robin and an intruder. The intruder beat a fairly hasty retreat but I have read since that about 10% of robins actually die as a result of battles over territory; it would appear that the perpetrator in the poem 'Who killed cock-robin' was most probably another robin! Apparently, they have been known to attack toy robins, bunches of red feathers and even their own reflections in an effort to defend their patch. Neither has Robin taken kindly to other birds encroaching on his dinner table; neither he, nor Bobbin, were prepared to tolerate other diners -in the form of dunnocks - near their nest spot until they had had their fill! In the last couple of weeks, Robin has taken - most endearingly - to feeding Bobbin with mealworms and other tasty treats. Presumably this is in readiness for when she begins sitting on her eggs and becomes totally reliant upon him for food. In the last few days Bobbin has been noticeably absent at feeding time and I hope this is a good sign. Now that Robin has become used to my daily contribution to his diet I think he looks out for me and is quick to come and serenade me when I arrive. At other times I do not hear him at all but look up from my digging to find him three feet away! I understand that only British robins have developed this affinity with humans and that in Europe they prefer to skulk about in the undergrowth instead. No wonder, then, that they were adopted forty years ago as our national bird. It's heartening to know, too, that robins are one of our more successful garden birds, with about 4,200,000 pairs in Britain and also that numbers have increased by about 20% over the last 25 years. It was as he was waiting for his tea that I managed to get these photos of him today. I'm thinking that if I'm going to be feeding an entire family of robins soon then I'd better start stocking up on mealworms now.

 

Although it's been a month now since I mentioned 'the secret', there has sadly been no further progress, which is a shame as I have so many potential posts that tie in with it. Never mind, though. We have had some lovely prolonged periods of rain to quench the thirst of our allotments this week and now sunshine is forecast for the weekend so that I can spend my birthday digging and sowing in my favourite place. The eternal optimist in me whispers, "all things come to (s)he who waits" and so I wait. Patiently. While my Robin sings  . . .

Keeping it under my hat!

I've got a secret. It's terribly exciting and I want to share it with everyone I meet. But I can't. Not yet. When something really exciting like this happens I come over all superstitious and worry that in sharing it before the ink is dry, so to speak, I might be jeopardising my chances of it reaching fruition. Silly, I know, but there we are. I can tell you, though, that it has been taking up most of my spare time over the winter months, luring me away from the comfort of my computer and stealing my blogging time. But I see it as an investment. Time spent now will allow my secret to blossom and bear fruit and will actually add to the things I have to write about here. Relevant things, to do with living well - on less. With pictures and examples to inspire you (I hope)! So please bear with me a little longer. I anticipate being able to tell you all any day now.

 

A colourful life

Last week, I discovered a blog I hadn't previously seen called 'Finding Simplicity', after Sharon - the author - left a comment on this blog. Her blog has been running for about the same length of time as mine and she writes some very well-researched, thought-provoking stuff about her endeavours to live a more simple life. One of the posts that particularly caught my eye is called Six years of change, where she examines a list of things she felt she couldn't live without six years ago to see whether they still hold true today. I've added Finding Simplicity to my typelist of Sites to Inform, Inspire and Delight if you'd like to catch up with Sharon yourself.

 

Reading Sharon's list prompted me to consider what might have been on my own list of things, that I felt were really vital to my life, as recently as twelve months ago. At that time any list of mine - had I written one - would have been bound to include 'retail therapy trips' and 'my credit card' in the top ten. Given that my family (including my dogs), a roof over my head and enough money to live on would have been on both lists, my new list would abandon the retail therapy and credit card and in their place would be 'our allotment' and 'time to do things properly'. Above both of these, though, would be 'colour'!

It will come as no surprise to regular readers that colour is such a vital ingredient in my life, given that this entire blog is such a visual feast of it. In fact, my appreciation of colour has developed further as a direct result of taking photographs for Being Creative. How the eye - and subsequently the brain - interprets colour depends on the changing light levels throughout the day and even the sun's changing position in the sky as we pass through the seasons. Depending upon when you photograph flowers, for instance - with their intoxicating combination of colour and scent - their brightness can scorch your retina at one extreme or look totally washed out at the other. My love of colour has become so profound, that I like to think that if I were cut in half, it would reveal a rainbow of colours running through my body, rather like the lettering in a stick of rock! I feel it has become part of the very fibre of my being.

One of the most wonderful things about colour - from the point of view of this blog - is that it is free to everyone who has the gift of sight; that is to say, almost all of us, yet it is a potential source of joy that is frequently overlooked. Our society encourages us to provide lots of bright and stimulating colours for babies and young children - just look at the colours of Playmobil - but similarly expects those children to abandon them in favour of more muted, serious tones as they become adults. Most of the paint and furnishing fabrics that are sold in this country are in subtle 'neutral' tones. I am going to stick my neck out here, though - like the child who announced the emperor to be devoid of clothing - and suggest that they are just dull. Where is the joy in waking up to a bedroom full of beige? My particular bete noir is magnolia. I imagine this is a highly popular shade, since all new buildings seem to be painted with it but for me, it's blend of pink, blue and yellow tones emulate the skin colour of someone who is very poorly indeed. How relaxing is that to live with?

My faith in both IKEA - through its catalogue - and Country Living magazine rose a notch this week after they both encouraged readers to embrace colour in their lives. IKEA's war cry of "Be brave not beige" mirrors my own maxim that 'life is too short for beige' and Suzy Smith has stuck her neck out -long overdue in my opinion - by writing, "Enough of quietly tasteful interiors and gardens: what everyone needs is an injection of colour to mark the last days of summer with a flourish". Here, here!!! To be honest, colour has only become so enjoyable to me, on a conscious level, in the last ten years. Before that I probably regarded it like most other people; nice in small doses but a minefield of possible expensive mistakes. Strangely, what changed my mind was going to work in a school. When I first started there, the library was a very small, under-used room which was painted in a shade which was possibly related to lilac but looked for all the world like something that had run in the wash. Everytime I came into the room my heart sank when I saw it. I persuaded the then head to let me re-paint it and selected a warm shade, the colour of vanilla ice cream. As the library increased in popularity I asked for, and was granted, a much bigger room at roughly the same time as the old head decided the whole school should be painted in the school colours of blue and yellow. Instead of primrose and navy, I bought turquoise for the walls and golden yellow for the noticeboards and painted it all myself. The room faced south and east and caught the sun for the entire day. The tranquility of the turquoise made for a most relaxing environment and even the Ofsted inspectors chose to write their reports in there in preference to the rooms they had been allocated!

Secondly, wherever I've lived and whatever I've been doing, I have always participated in fundraising of one kind or another and I gravitated towards this in my library role, playing an active part on the College Council. Quite early on in my time there, a Year 7 girl came to me and asked if we could raise money towards finding a cure for breast cancer, as her mum's best friend was suffering from the disease. Noting that pink was the colour chosen to represent the relevant charities, we held a Think Pink day throughout the school. I liked to play my part on such days and felt I should be suitably attired, though I had always associated pink with being an insipid shade knitted up for baby girls by doting grandmothers. Once I started wearing it - in several of it's many hues - I found it both suited my colouring and lifted my spirits. To the children - and my fellow staff - I became synonymous with pink!

One of the greatest influences on me - in terms of deepening my passion for colour - has undoubtedly been the work of the designer, Tricia Guild. She takes her inspiration from nature and as such combines colours that are traditionally seen as conflicting, such as blue with green or red with pink and orange. As she quite rightly - in my view - points out, there are no clashes in nature! Her only UK shop -  on the King's Road in Chelsea - is a colourist's paradise and a joy to behold even if you don't buy anything. It does, however, sell fabrics, cushions, bedlinen, etc, of exceptional quality and their sales are legendary for their reductions, particularly towards the end of the sale period. Occasionally, some of it ends up in TK Maxx which saves you the expense of a rail ticket to London. The more frugal - or financially-challenged - amongst us can order her books from the library. I particularly recommend the titles Think Pink, which is about the power of colour to transform our environment and Private View, a collection of images and impressions that inspire her as a designer. While you're placing your library order, another book to whet your appetite for colour is The Gentle Art of Domesticity by Jane Brocket. Jane has a blog called Yarnstorm, which started out as a blog about knitting but soon encompassed other crafts as well as her love of baking and gardening. She also illustrates both the blog and her book with her own beautiful photographs. In addition to the wonderful colour there are a handful of recipes, one of which - Oaty Vanilla Biscuits - provides the perfect base for Nigel Slater's Strawberry Mascarpone Tart.

 

As I said earlier, I think a lot of people are scared of introducing colour into their lives for fear of making expensive mistakes.If you have never thought of yourself as someone who enjoys colour but would like to give it a whirl, try starting with a bunch of flowers - or even a single flower - in a shade that really appeals to you and keep looking at it now and again throughout the day to see how it makes you feel. Flowers are relatively cheap - or you can pick them from your garden, if you have one -  and either way they don't last, so you won't have to live with something you hate. The next step is to replace things you use regularly - once they wear out - with a colourful version. This could be anything from a tea towel to a dog lead or even a 'bag for life' from the supermarket. One of the best and cheapest ways to enjoy colour is by sowing a packet of seeds or bulbs. If you don't have a garden you could grow them in pots on your windowsill. If you want to go the whole hog and start re-decorating, paint is one of the cheapest mediums and can easily be painted over if you dislike the result. Better still is to paint a piece of lining piper with a matchpot of your chosen shade to see if you still like it over the space of a few days.

 

Our own house faces south, so gets plenty of light throughout the day, while the back can be quite dark, especially in winter. To maximise the available light, all the walls are painted white and colour has been added with soft furnishings - such as the rug above - and certain pieces of woodwork, like the doors or our kitchen cupboards. The impact that colour has on us will be different for everyone and discovering your own favourite combinations can be exciting in itself. Some time ago I banished black from my wardrobe, as even in the summer months it makes me look pale and drawn. Instead, I've discovered that both of my favourite colours to wear - most pinks and turquoise blue - combine much better with shades of brown, from caramel to chocolate. So I urge everyone who reads this - at a time of year when nature is at her most bold and brilliant - to embrace a little colour in your lives. As Tricia Guild so aptly states, "One of the joys of developing your sensitivity to colour is that every day offers an opportunity to savour the satisfaction of what colour can do; a shaft of sunlight illuminating the petals of a rose; the dusty sheen of black grapes on a blue ceramic plate. And life is always the richer for such moments."

Libraries are wonderful places . . .

I used to have this quotation pinned to the library wall where I worked. I remember coming across it once in a catalogue of children's books and thinking how much it stressed the potential that libraries have to offer. Indeed, there really is nowhere like them, with their opportunities to sample every topic imaginable, free of charge, and they are a godsend to those living on a limited budget. On so many occasions I have come across books that have been recommended in magazines, or other books, and have subsequently been able to get hold of them through our county library service. I find the online catalogue particularly valuable, as I can search by keyword as well, so if I'm after books on breadmaking, as I was quite recently, I can look through everything they have on the subject, held in all the public libraries across Lincolnshire. To help me decide which titles will be most useful on any subject, I have the Amazon web page open simultaneously so that I can read other people's reviews and see how they've rated each title. It costs 25p to reserve a book from the online catalogue which, considering some of the books cost £25.00 to buy, counts as an incredible bargain in my book (excuse the pun)! Of course you only have the book on loan for a limited period but I think the beauty of this is that you are much more likely to read it, knowing there is a time limit, than if you actually bought the book and could read it whenever. The book then goes back to the library - rather than taking up space on your bookshelf - for other people to borrow which is, I suppose, the ultimate in recycling. I borrow all my fiction from the library but will often borrow non-fiction titles, prior to buying them, to see if I think I'll get the use out of them. Amazon's 'used and new' listings can often be a source of good buys here, as can Munn Books. They are both worth checking on a regular basis as their stock changes all the time.

It's hard to believe that public libraries, in this country, have only been around since the mid-nineteenth century, following the Public Libraries Act of 1850. Even then, they were restricted to larger towns and the amount of money that could be added to the rates to pay for them was capped. It was not until a further Public Libraries Act of 1919, that the foundations were laid for the public library service we have today. Our own town library, shown above, was opened in 1905, the year my grandfather was born. When I was little, the twin joys of a trip to the library were the coloured wooden chairs and picture book boxes in the children's library and being able to 'skate' up and down on the slippery floor of the foyer! Until I was a teenager, it still had it's original reading rooms with long wooden tables and shelves of encyclopedias. Given that I am such a frequent visitor  - and having liaised with them through my former job - I have become good friends with many of the staff there. They very kindly bring me their empty jam jars to recycle and in turn I 'test' my new baking recipes on them now and again. When I ran my school library, I was always encouraging pupils to join the public one to give them access to a wider range of books than one school library was able to provide. I suppose I had my ideal job, in many ways; taking such an enormous joy in books and reading myself, it was very rewarding to pass that enthusiasm on to my pupils. When they first started at the school, I always pointed out to them just how frequently I visited the town library to fuel my own passion for books. Judging by their shy smiles and greetings when I bumped into them there, I'm not entirely sure that they thought I'd been telling the truth!

2008 is the National Year of Reading and events are being held up and down the country to celebrate. Though books are at the centre of this, all reading 'counts, apparently, even reading blogs like this one, so you can pat yourself on the back if you've read this far for having participated. The year is divided into monthly themes and December's includes blogs, so I must get plenty of posts planned for then! Of course, libraries are not just for books. Ours has free computer access, CD's and DVD's to hire - at a cheaper rate than local hire shops - photocopying at 5p per sheet and noticeboards full of posters and cards promoting local events and services. You can even read the daily and weekly papers for free! Appointments can also be made to view their collection of historical documentation on the town, including old maps and postcards. In fact the more I write here, the more I realise - like most of us - that I could make much more use of our library than I do. My current borrowings seem to reflect my current interest in food and cooking, with a smattering of gardening, green living and fiction thrown in for variety. Just at the moment, though, they are having to compete for my attention with the growing amount of bounty that needs harvesting and storing from the allotment. It's as well really that I have all those recipe books from the library at the ready! News and recipes from the 'soft fruit glut' coming soon!!!

A silver lining

Last week I had a little accident. I wasn't going to mention it but thought that readers might be asking themselves why, at the beginning of April, I wasn't jabbering on about growing and getting to grips with my allotment all the time. I cut my hand whilst out dog-walking on Tuesday of last week; only a little cut, mind, but it did look like it might need a stitch or two to help it heal. The local minor injuries unit steri-stripped it instead of stitching, bandaged it up and sent me home, saying I must keep it raised and rested for 24 hours. So no washing up (I said). You musn't get it wet (they said). What about dog walking (me)? Absolutely not until it heals (them). Si' leaves for work quite early in the morning, so the dog walking has fallen to Lucy, who has been an absolute star about it. Within half an hour of being home I wanted to scream. How could one little cut - that didn't even hurt - prevent me from doing so many everyday and necessary things? Si' will tell you that he christened me, 'Mrs Impatient Patient', as I grumped around for a good hour, getting on the nerves of my only-too-happy-to-help family! I fretted about the washing up. My family create dirty cups in the same way that a conjuror pulls rabbits out of a hat - frequently and as if by magic! Then I worried about the washing and got agitated over the allotment, whilst constantly chastising myself for my carelessness. "What about my blog?", I screamed inwardly, as by now everyone else had left me to grouse on my own, in the hope that the storm would soon blow over. Then I thought, "what about my blog?" No washing up, no dog walking, no serious housework; I could see my day unfolding with all these things taken care of and leaving me lots of time for about the only thing I was still allowed to do. And so we arrive at that silver lining moment, where adversity is turned on it's head to become almost a blessing. Even in our downshifted state, time is not an endless resource, as you replace a lot of things you would formerly have paid for with your own labour. So to have a few days of virtually uninterrupted time was a novelty, to say the least.

Twenty four hours later, I had my dressing changed, and while I still had to keep it dry, and not do anything too strenuous, I no longer had to hold my arm in the air to prevent my hand swelling up! It was at this point last week, that I wrote about looking for the photograph of my sister and myself. Here we are, pictured above, on Christmas Day 1967. This followed on from my rant of the previous day about home-made jam. On Friday, I was able to accompany my sister's card with a nice long letter, and a photocopy of the Rayburn instructions. By Saturday, Lucy was on holiday and we were able to make a team effort with the blueberry muffins, to be repeated on Monday with a blackberry version, which were equally delicious! At this point, I remembered that we had a large pair of rubber gloves in the cupboard under the sink and, held on with a rubber band over my bandaged left hand, with a normal small glove on the other, I was able to help wash up. In the meantime, I had plenty of time for pootling about, catching up on all those niggly little jobs that somehow I'm always too busy doing other things to get round to.

By yesterday, I was indulging in a veritable flurry of activity again, in the belief that they would be relieving me of my bandage later that day and that I would be good as new. I cleaned the cooker, juiced and cut up the peel of sweet oranges for marmalade (no mean feat wearing rubber gloves), washed all the dogs fleeces and baked a lemon cake. At six o'clock, we trotted back to the minor injuries department, where they cut off my dressing and pronounced me ......not quite healed and in need of another dressing (though not, thankfully, a bandage) for a few days more. And, by the way, I musn't get it wet. Grrrrrrrr!

Success

I first found this piece at the front of a book I was reading and it made a great impression on me, although I can't now remember which book it was that I got it from. I typed the piece out and stuck it on the wall of the school library I ran until earlier this year, where several other people saw it and asked for a copy. What I think makes it so interesting is that at no point does it equate success with money.

Success

To laugh often and much;

to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;

to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;

to appreciate beauty;

to find the best in others;

to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;

to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Gandhi famously said, "My life is my message". I am working towards making my message this kind of success.

Lost and found

Usually, I am quite an organised sort of person and the member of our household the others turn to when they can't lay their hands on something but when it comes to things I haven't seen/used for ages then it can be a different matter. Yesterday, for instance, I was trying to find a particular photo taken of my sister and myself together when we were little. I wanted to get Si' to scan it into the computer (haven't mastered that technological wizardry, yet) so that I could print it out today to make her birthday card. I began by looking in the drawer where we normally keep photographs and instructions for how to work the various gadgets that we've gathered together over time. There are lots of photos in there and most are still in the envelopes they came back from the developers in. I was soon immersed in the baby photos of my children - sleepy babies, sticky babies and babies smiling those first toothy grins.Then there were the toddlers - with unsteady gait - at home, at the seaside and enjoying a bedtime story. First one, two, then three all at school in their little uniforms - first bikes, enjoying the snow and wearing Easter bonnets. These gave way to bigger uniforms, by which time we were becoming digital with our photographs. Certain of my children have been known to remove the photos they consider most offensive of themselves lest I show them to their friends/boyfriends/girlfriends. I'm mentioning no names! By this time I was nearing the bottom of the drawer but was no nearer to finding the photo I was looking for. I did, however, find photocopied sheets of the instructions on how to work/clean the Rayburn cooker (circa 1950) that was in the cottage we rented in Devon. I put this to one side to copy for said sister who is after a Rayburn herself. I then tried the next drawer up and 'bingo', I found a folder, containing not only the picture I was looking for but a collection of letters, cards and postcards that I'd sent to my grandmother towards the end of her life. We were living in Wales then and were a long way away from my gran at a time when she was making the decision to give up her own home and move into residential care. When she died, some time later, my dad found all the correspondence together and asked me if I'd like it back. At the time I took it for sentimental reasons but reading them again I realise what an important contribution they make to my own family's history. Each card and letter is dated and describes our lives then and records the milestones of our children's development. It is easy, as your children get older, to forget which child did what and when. There was a lovely one which describes how Lucy - aged about three - got hold of my embroidery scissors and cut all her fringe off, right down to her scalp! I didn't read them all but have made a mental note to, somewhere in the near future, before I forget where they are again!

I then went in search of an article I wanted for a future post that I thought I'd stored in my 'Inspiration' folder. I could see the pictures in the article clearly in my head but couldn't recall the precise nature of the information it contained, which was what I was really after.I never did find it but having trawled through the entire folder I did find all sorts of other articles that can be put to good use as inspiration for posts spanning a wide range of subjects.

I suppose, from all this, that the point I'm making is the change I've noticed in myself in the short time since I gave up paid work. At one time, not being able to lay my hands on something quickly would have driven me frantic and would undoubtedly have ended in a bout of self-reproach. Today, I'm finding myself to be much more philosophical. I found one of the things I was looking for but failed to find the other. It didn't really matter in the end as I found the information in the misplaced article elsewhere instead but in looking for what was lost, I also found so much more than I'd bargained for.

Good Friday

I haven't just had a good Friday today but a really rather excellent one. Si' was on holiday, so we didn't have to get up quite so early, and after breakfast we went to show some prospective new starters around the allotments. Si' is the allotment secretary and he has been very successful at letting some of the overgrown vacant plots in the last couple of years. Can you believe that in other areas there are waiting lists for allotment plots? Anyway, the couple seemed very keen and wanted to get started right away. Then we took the boys for a windy walk in the sunshine, up through the cemetary and saw our first green woodpecker of the year, with his startling blood-red cap. On returning, I donned my apron for my annual Good Friday ritual of making my own hot cross buns. I've done it every year since we got married, except for last year when the reminder that I'd always taken one across to my dad, as they came out of the oven, was too raw to bare. We really find the shop-bought variety too sickly to stomach and I enjoy marking the season by making them myself.I had some organic stoneground strong white flour to use up that I bought from Mount Pleasant windmill in the autumn. I got it originally to make bread with but my hands crack terribly during cold weather and I'd not managed to co-ordinate bread-making with a warm spell. Once I'd made the dough, and it was smelling good and yeasty, I put it to rise in the sunny front window before nipping into town. As I returned the sun had gone and it was trying to rain. The dough had not risen as much as I'd have liked and the strong wind kept causing our central heating boiler to cut out, which didn't really help. So I knocked the dough back, divided it up onto greased tins and set them on the hob of our gas cooker, with the oven turned on to create some warmth. Within the hour they had risen beautifully and the oven was nicely pre-heated to cook them in.

After ten minutes I take them out of the oven, briefly, to glaze them with a little sugar dissolved in milk. Just after they'd finshed cooking, and I was easing them off the tins, the sun came out and I whizzed them onto a plate to take this picture. We ate them for tea with lots of butter and they were delicious!

Just as I was about to download the pictures onto the computer, I noticed that the daffodils I'd brought back as buds from the allotment on Wednesday had opened, presumably in the morning's sun. They are a mixture of yellow ones I'd planted in the autumn, for picking, and some that are orange and pale yellow that I'd inherited with my allotment. They had been sitting in the window but I'd moved the vase next to the computer whilst photographing the hot cross buns. I'd mixed them with some dogwood stems, with pinky-tipped leaves just emerging, and I was quite overwhelmed with what a bright splash of spring colour they made, especially as the sun had disappeared again. I never think of daffodils as having a strong scent but these smell lovely, even sitting two feet away from them as I am now.

So today has been full of lots of little treats which were all about noticing and appreciating and none of which involved a shopping bag. Perhaps when Lucy, her boyfriend, Siffy, and myself make Easter nests tomorrow, I will be able to think of it as 'even better Saturday'. I hope so. Enjoy you're Easter holiday, whatever you have planned!

My Other Half

Today it is my husband Simon's birthday and I feel it is quite apt that he should be the subject of my first post in the 'Inspiration' category as he inspires me every day. We are totally different in temperament; he is the chalk to my cheese. I am small and full of beans, keen to tackle everything all at once and wearing myself to a frazzle in the process. Simon, on the other hand, is tall, much more laid back and measured in temperament and often possessed of patience and perseverance of saintly proportions! Whilst I ranted and became disillusioned with the teething problems of this blog, Si' systematically tackled each one as it arose, calmly and without fuss.When my father died fifteen months ago, Si' was a source of gentle light in the darkness that was bereavement. He also has a very kind heart which, now and again, a foolish person mistakes for meekness. It was he who first suggested I might give up my job some months since, for the sake of my health and - knowing me better, perhaps, than I do myself - he was absolutely right. Although different in disposition, we share a love of such a diversity of things and I see that as being our glue when times get tough. He's gone off to work today in his zingy orange Ted Baker tie with a box of home-made ginger biscuits under his arm to share with friends. Happy Birthday, darling; you are the icing on my cake!