used to be

I used to be a teacher, a rower, a daughter. I used to be employed, and healthy. I used to be a blogger.

Now, I’m not quite sure.

I’m busy and motivated and exhausted. I’m a volunteer and a dance mom and an occasional blog reader. I still have ME, I juggle all the things, and I sleep.

It used to be that I’d go for a walk and tell you about it; taking pictures in the museum and sharing my random thoughts on creativity or elephants or the chap who sounds just like Sir Humphrey.

You’d see my new purple nail varnish, or a tidy room, or the silly thing that made me laugh while my family rolled their eyes in despair.

Then I shared less music and more ranting. I’ve bored myself with the ranting.

Brexit leading to threats of war, Trump, NI politics, the Irish police– all of these are beyond parody. Unbelievable behaviour from those who simply don’t care about the rest of us. We appear to be beyond all norms of acceptable behaviour and nobody is being held to account. I don’t know what happened or what to do about it. (Social media is probably not the solution.)

I’ve felt defeated, and pictures of pretty things haven’t helped. I’ve been missing my wee mate Jake- always one to distract me from too much introspection when we were home alone. I’ve taken on extra responsibility with our charity, but nobody wants to read that sort of detail.

Alternatively, I’ve had loads of new experiences, I’ve joined a political party (in an attempt to divert the ranting into something constructive), I’ve got access to spontaneity via a new to me car, and it’s spring. The world is coming back to life, maybe I should, too.

I used to be in a bit of a rut. Bear with me as I work my way out.

each and every blade of grass

While one of us feel a bit like a vegetable these days, another is investigating all the vegetation. Every single bit.

Now the calendar and the weather seem to have reached a vague agreement on Spring, Jake’s enthusiastic sniffing has taken on new vigour. It’s not just soft greeny brown stuff- it’s grass. In different shapes and sizes. There are weeds. Everything is smelling. Everything is growing. There is even, oh joy, cut grass.

And all of it needs to be examined in some detail.

Especially the daffodils. The beautiful daffodils. Sorry, daffodils.

Sniff, sniff, sniff.

Step about. Sniffing some more, and squashing.

Wee. Another bit.

Wipe feet, throwing mud all over the daffodils.

Exhausted, over stimulated, we return home for a sleep.

Busy times.

image from here

I blame Caravanman

The sun was out, the sky was blue. We came back from a day trip to the seaside to find a letter from Caravanman.

Forms, instructions, an invoice.

I don’t often get excited by bills, but this one had me looking forward. Soon, we’d be heading west regularly, stocking up the throws and cushions and sleeping bags and blankets. Cleaning away the winter uugh. Letting in the air and the sunshine.

Bored children and board games. Walks on beaches. Waking up in the wild. No wifi.

Soon, soon, it will be soon.

Ha!

In the last few weeks we’ve had rain, more rain, cold and then more rain. More recently there’s been snow, ice & blizzards. The temperature hovers around freezing point. We have a snowman in the back garden. The top of a hill in the middle of nowhere will have added wind chill.

Nobody in their right mind is planning on caravanning any time soon.

We will visit over the Easter weekend.

We need to pay Caravanman.

the tease of spring

We had a few dry weeks. Blue sky, fluffy clouds, daffodils. We began to think of spring. To feel that we could smell it.

Ha! That smell was just jubilant Jake who discovered something foul to roll in while I was dreaming of spring. (Four wee legs wiggling in the air in delight while he makes sure as much of him is covered as possible is a fun sight; but not quite fun enough to make up for the clean up.)

Rain, snow and sub freezing temperatures have returned. I had to hunt out my gloves again.

I’d been hoping to spend next weekend in Donegal. I’ll be home alone, so I was going to pack the car with all the bedding, cushions and throws that make the caravan cosy, and head off. Jake and I patrolling the beaches. Getting the caravan habitable in one run, because three people won’t be here, taking up space in the car. That seemed perfectly reasonable during those almost spring days.