tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81433451460862422032024-02-21T09:16:12.038+00:00The World Is My CloisterLiving the simple life with amazing husband and beautiful sons. Poems, gardening, food and philosophy; other stuff too. Also: twentypoemsyoung.blogspot.comCloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.comBlogger429125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-49347863816647356862021-12-08T20:26:00.000+00:002021-12-08T20:26:22.789+00:00Pandemic in love<p style="text-align: justify;">Two years is a long time between posts. Wisdom would have it that you should have something to say before you speak. This year has certainly given us much to think about. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Relationships between and amongst those we love have been at the forefront of the minds of all of us as we endured one lockdown after another.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Human beings are not made for text, zoom, whatsapp, email or even phone calls; they were made to embrace, hug, kiss, to see each other eye to eye. All the technology humans have ever invented is a mimicry of the divine design. 90% of our human communication is body language, and without this as the mortar in our daily conversations the edifice of relationships begins to crumble. This year we have been forced to weigh-up the value of our body language against the risks it can pose: on the one hand we can only truly express love in person, through hugs, kisses, gestures - on the other, the risk of doing such may out-weigh the benefits.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Thinking of this, I was minded to think further on the nature of communication and human nature. I have mis-spoken to suggest that modern technology does not offer great advances. We can now share much, much more with those we love who are far away and that is truly valuable. Great love is shared across continents at an instant, between families spread worldwide, and amongst friends separated by work and geography. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The key to touching hearts in 2020 has been effort and consistency - the old hard slog of working at relationships. It is something that comes naturally to each of us when we are with those we live or work with. Daily we re-evaluate each other and make amends. Somehow, this is more challenging over an infrequent call, text, video call or email. Each of us has needed to trust more, forgive easily, give the benefit of the doubt and ask for clarification. In my own work this has been the case: kind requests, usually delivered in corridor meetings, have been transformed into email edicts with the usual verbal courtesy lacking, and they have required more patience and consideration than might normally be needed. Listening has required an attention to detail, and sincere deliberation of possible interpretations before finally choosing the most charitable. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps, what I have appreciated most throughout the pandemic is when I have seen and felt others make a genuine, time consuming effort: handwritten letters, long old chats, zoom meetings when everyone comes and has time to hang out, garden gate gifts given unexpectedly, home made wonders delivered through the post. There is an old adage that 'giving' is not giving until it costs you something - often this is related to the amount one might choose to donate to charity:a real gift to those in need might mean you go without. This year, however, our relationships have demanded that same of us: they have been cultivated by the time we are willing to give them without benefiting from the immediate reward of the company of those we love. I, for one, am grateful for every card, note, handmade gift, long phone call or garden gate visit.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday was the Feast of the Holy Family - one of my favourites. It would be a mistake to think that it is a feast about the perfect family living in a perfect world. It is a tale of struggle, disaster, trust, companionship, and faith: a national census, prejudice, genocide, refugees, and homelessness in the face of starting a new, vulnerable family. How much effort it must have taken for Mary and Joseph to understand each other and their own separate wills; how much more to understand the Divine will they were called to complete, and more still to communicate their situation and desires to others. 'No room at the inn' communicates more than the experience of the night of Jesus' birth, methinks. It was love, of course, which kept them going, kept them determined to find shelter in Bethlehem, throughout the flight to Egypt, on return to Nazareth years later. </p>Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-13456293259483292652018-12-07T22:25:00.000+00:002018-12-07T22:25:48.439+00:00How long?How long has it been?<br />
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My goodness, time flies by. It seems not a minute since I was nursing a baby in my arms, admiring my husband and 2 year old for their composure and soaking up the delights of newborn love.<br />
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I am returned to work now and spend my days torn between worrying for children I teach and worrying for the babes I have borne. The great disaster of being a working mother is that whilst you might hope to be all things to everyone, you feel as if you are half good to most. I have, therefore, long since concluded that one cannot be all things to all people. The very best I can do is make biscuits: my children enjoy the camaraderie of our kitchen, and my colleagues (hopefully) gain that much needed sugar boost needed when I bring our produce to school.<br />
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And now, Advent.<br />
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For a season that is all about waiting, it doesn't half sneak up! My hearts' desire is to be at peace (not rushing around trying to do things). Ironically, there is much to achieve to make this happen. #<br />
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I look back through my Christmas posts and realise I have changed so little! I always long for Christmas, but ultimately, I am waiting patiently for the business to disappear because:<br />
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When all the crowds have gone, I love to creep down the side aisle of my local Church to visit the beautiful crib scene. The figures there look real to me, I am child enough in my heart to make-believe them alive. The Christ-child reaches up a tiny hand, and I imagine that if I were to place my finger near he would grip it tightly, the way babies often do. I wonder what would happen if I did such a thing? What would happen if I had the courage to hold on? </div>
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Then there are the other quiet moments of Christmastide. The night I get to stay up later than everyone else and look at the tree. The winter walk with a loved and treasured friend. Time to sit and crochet little granny squares for the blanket of my dreams. I adore those moments, when all the talking has been done, and there is time to settle down with loved ones and say nothing. Too much of my daily routine is spent amongst hustle, bustle and noise. I like to turn off the telly, the radio, and yes, even the internet.</div>
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The year I wrote that, 2012, I was hoping to go an adventure of love - and I did - I married that 'loved and treasured friend'. Now I am filled with happiness to feel the grip of tiny hands each day. I know they are going to take me on a life long adventure.<br />
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But, what of this year? If I were to take courage once again, and creep down that side aisle, and grip that tiny hand, what then? My dreams are still wild: I'd love more children, to travel, to settle and make more of our amazing garden and become a little self sufficient family, to explore our country and the woods on our doorstep, to laugh and teach our children to laugh, above all to love.<br />
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Meanwhile, shall I crochet?Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-88368684053417594292018-10-14T19:30:00.002+01:002018-10-14T19:30:56.592+01:00Months passed<br />
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">I didn't see the seasons,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">I missed the glistening, powder puff snow</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">that lay on the ground</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">only fading away at Easter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">Crashing thunder and a deluge</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">passed me by completely, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">new green leaves unfurled without</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">my usual acknowledgement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">The sun beat down hot for months on end, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">yet I heeded it not.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">Summer clung on in warm strong winds, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">conkers fell all at once, as if to rush past</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">the scant attention I gave them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">All I saw was you.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">Then I looked up and winter was coming. </span></div>
<br />Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-20686986138240631452018-10-12T16:13:00.002+01:002018-10-14T19:36:48.861+01:00Last Day of Maternity Leave <br />
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">It didnt go to plan,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">much was left undone. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">Your arrival tore me in two</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">and made me the one</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">to care for you</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">in every waking hour, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">to mind you with your brother, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">to teach you two to love each other. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">And whilst now i must be torn again</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">and divide myself between you three, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">my husband and my boys, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">and another thirty three times three, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">I hope the one thing I did not leave undone</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">was to pass the love, and peace and gentleness</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">you gave me at your birth</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 1.00em;">back to you, and to our family. </span></div>
<br />Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-22878675934636341002018-04-02T19:56:00.001+01:002018-04-02T20:17:53.690+01:00Woodland Resurrection<div style="text-align: justify;">
At <a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/woodland-epiphany.html" target="_blank">Epiphany</a> I started the journey - the woodland CAL to create a double bed blanket for our cosy home. I set out to turn my project into a mini pilgrimage - my days of walking the hills and plains may be temporarily on hold, but that doesn't stop the journeying of the soul.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApz3ZVH4iKfDxcKUDs8Kh8kAs7qcXn9VpxNgUF7Zv20QM4wEaMQDnb3qHWKVwTiLVG2FDWHopIUKHnwnhEURyLGM08lFpd8j5cZk8u75Q4V2QeFekpxXtlhhJRDUiWG15ygbazyP6na4/s1600/IMG_20180311_203302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApz3ZVH4iKfDxcKUDs8Kh8kAs7qcXn9VpxNgUF7Zv20QM4wEaMQDnb3qHWKVwTiLVG2FDWHopIUKHnwnhEURyLGM08lFpd8j5cZk8u75Q4V2QeFekpxXtlhhJRDUiWG15ygbazyP6na4/s200/IMG_20180311_203302.jpg" width="150" /></a>My maternity leave started on Monday 26th February, and I was due to have our second child as we approached that great feast of Lent, St Patrick's Day. My first born boy was delivered early, so in my mind it seemed likely that in the first few weeks of March we would welcome our new addition. Thus, time was pressing and I had a long list of things to accomplish: exam papers to mark, remaining lessons to plan, baby clothes to wash and sort, a cot to set up, etc. Life was busy.</div>
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And so it was that I began part 6 of my woodland pilgrimage, a section of colour transition, looking up towards the sky through the treetops, colours that remind us the breezy fresh air which feeds the earthy woodland floor. As throughout the crochet journey I took time to think about each colour and set of stitches, seeing what reflections surfaced. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfKe6rDx-Os4-5CcVH-2KrfSkRhghNgA_NuNY9z2CfYglMVJ4_-skM2iO8xd1OMk2cbI3ozqUxpqPxNmNgv-9608cLu2OWiuEfM13-T1NkoenIVp0UTIxrF5bHdqllEq4p2KVWpzMVGc/s1600/IMG_20180315_115725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfKe6rDx-Os4-5CcVH-2KrfSkRhghNgA_NuNY9z2CfYglMVJ4_-skM2iO8xd1OMk2cbI3ozqUxpqPxNmNgv-9608cLu2OWiuEfM13-T1NkoenIVp0UTIxrF5bHdqllEq4p2KVWpzMVGc/s200/IMG_20180315_115725.jpg" width="150" /></a><i>Pistachio - </i>sometimes known as the 'happy nut' because it looks like they are smiling, pistachios are associated with good fortune, health and happiness. They are mentioned only once in the Bible (Genesis 43:11) - the gift that Jacob sends with the 11 brothers to the man Joseph, in charge of the food supply. The best gift that could be taken, that which was most longed for. That story, of course, ends with the best gift - the reunification of Joseph, his father and his brothers. The bringing together of a family.</div>
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<i>Duck Egg - </i> an appropriate colour for someone who could now rest a cup of tea on the belly as if it were a tray. This colour brought reflections about the life developing within. Who would our little person be?<br />
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<i>Silver - </i>a colour with many meanings, but often associated with feminine energy, with intuition and natural energies which flow with the tides; the colour of the moonlit night. I was beginning to think carefully about the birth of our child now, expecting that any day our newborn could arrive.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYjKK3HqfGPv0Ovwuvk9fe498_EJrrD-kLLOcR7hFnVh0AAIi4gH0TCnbfxEW8fpnJlEV0H2DwwdOtU6uqBFCcqip5OzUEDVIWLtBdzxFrfLVMd2_yq9uMV3jT5A_79mV9WA-VYNl_0I/s1600/IMG_20180314_133615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYjKK3HqfGPv0Ovwuvk9fe498_EJrrD-kLLOcR7hFnVh0AAIi4gH0TCnbfxEW8fpnJlEV0H2DwwdOtU6uqBFCcqip5OzUEDVIWLtBdzxFrfLVMd2_yq9uMV3jT5A_79mV9WA-VYNl_0I/s200/IMG_20180314_133615.jpg" width="200" /></a>My pilgrimage through the colours of my blanket was repeatedly interrupted, my stitches were not flowing freely. Sickness came to our house, my husband and son were both struck with flu and I developed a hacking cough. My Ma also was struck by an awful flu. Meanwhile, each night I had bouts of strong, almost regular contractions which made me think 'tonight is the night', only for them to dissipate to nothing, leaving me exhausted the following day. A trip to the midwife reassured me that all was well with the baby, that the contractions were being caused by malpositioning and that some yoga exercises and careful focus on posture and activity should sort everything out. I was not yet due and so should relax. This advice was wholesome and served to be very effective. Contractions stopped, I rested and recovered.<br />
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<i>Storm Blue</i> made me think of that beautiful passage in 1 Kings 19: 11 - 14. Elijah is feeling alone and without support. The Lord tells him to go and wait for him on the mountain. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXMtpUnD7-yi2WvbX601Jb6YVqHIPuhL1lNBowhrhSV_MhBuKLZOTPX0SkPrDbbE35LXIBgT3ZJVNCqBZjo1wLr1Ymfl2Tl6Q4HMgK81UZ7r48KM0Hzd_ENjTAcl-kEt5haMIEN-HB6c/s1600/IMG_20180311_203057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXMtpUnD7-yi2WvbX601Jb6YVqHIPuhL1lNBowhrhSV_MhBuKLZOTPX0SkPrDbbE35LXIBgT3ZJVNCqBZjo1wLr1Ymfl2Tl6Q4HMgK81UZ7r48KM0Hzd_ENjTAcl-kEt5haMIEN-HB6c/s200/IMG_20180311_203057.jpg" width="150" /></a><i><i>Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'</i></i></div>
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What with everyone being under the weather, preparing for the baby and the 'false labour' I was tired, and feeling a little frayed around the edges. My twin sister said to me, 'Ina May (the great midwife) would be asking you, 'what is stopping you having this baby?' The truth be told, with my support team unwell and snow on the ground, I felt I needed spring to arrive and people to mend. So we approached 40 weeks, and I waited on the still small voice within.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfo8RLiakU7cK0s4n1JjqgPfngeR24IQTzpWKiadWBHSByESg_n6YoXpd8LAeWc9LneYbJLkxs3yKTT38WbDk5F6xXWFO912iT7RUmODL-WM3kImLgoghLI5JKtKwIQNrTXiJWeF8o3ok/s1600/FB_IMG_1522180889368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1283" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfo8RLiakU7cK0s4n1JjqgPfngeR24IQTzpWKiadWBHSByESg_n6YoXpd8LAeWc9LneYbJLkxs3yKTT38WbDk5F6xXWFO912iT7RUmODL-WM3kImLgoghLI5JKtKwIQNrTXiJWeF8o3ok/s200/FB_IMG_1522180889368.jpg" width="200" /></a>I finished my blanket! I was so delighted with it, I looked beautiful spread out on the bed and would be perfect for our little family to snuggle under.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKHnKXteVkOLZ_22g0CWThwtKWhHu21DAnaHds4ChSJK2lsok-59-Nc8ep6eI9a06X4Le2ztuTRGmQjA18aMWHYa8hp-L6NiMaWgbtbyGtOf4omJe6_U8_lvLXSGh-LdcAYvl64f6kiw/s1600/FB_IMG_1522180829182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1190" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKHnKXteVkOLZ_22g0CWThwtKWhHu21DAnaHds4ChSJK2lsok-59-Nc8ep6eI9a06X4Le2ztuTRGmQjA18aMWHYa8hp-L6NiMaWgbtbyGtOf4omJe6_U8_lvLXSGh-LdcAYvl64f6kiw/s200/FB_IMG_1522180829182.jpg" width="200" /></a>So along came Thursday, March 22nd. My mother, husband and boy were feeling better. My brother was visiting from Ireland. I was relaxed. The contractions grew through the afternoon, I called my husband and made arrangements for my boy to stay with my Ma. At home my husband and I lit the fire and the candles, put essential oil of sweet orange and frankincense in the diffuser and relaxed. I arrived at the John Radcliffe Hospital in established labour. Having delivered by first born via C-Section, we were hoping that this baby would be delivered naturally. However, after a short time attached to the heart monitors it became clear things would not be so simple. Baby's heart beat dropped each time a contraction came. Soon the room was crowded, and my husband was having to make tricky decisions as I was unable to respond to questions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdggnC1uD-ZnsSqbVGgwwgRGDDkgSiKngDyv_fMGuVxJ5iQ-QTvoZ4Omy0MFIl-dAdP6ZuI7P0EaTa8jk9t_LSceuGuuT2_2GQQnFbR1K0pfFdiH0iPX9TOo5uFhI2HfCn3cYJeePe8sE/s1600/IMG_20180402_192515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdggnC1uD-ZnsSqbVGgwwgRGDDkgSiKngDyv_fMGuVxJ5iQ-QTvoZ4Omy0MFIl-dAdP6ZuI7P0EaTa8jk9t_LSceuGuuT2_2GQQnFbR1K0pfFdiH0iPX9TOo5uFhI2HfCn3cYJeePe8sE/s320/IMG_20180402_192515.jpg" width="240" /></a>I had a spinal anaesthetic at 9.55pm and our little boy 'cried at birth at 10.03pm'. It was a category 1 C - Section, an emergency caused by a rare complication: the complete rupture of my uterine scar from my previous section. Our little lad had taken a wrong turn and entered into my abdomen, bringing his own and my life into danger.</div>
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The midwives and doctors at the hospital diagnosed and managed this difficult labour expertly. They remained calm throughout, and guided myself and my husband through the situation with care and reassurance. To them I will be eternally grateful.</div>
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I returned home on Palm Sunday, 25th March. And, I finally got that Ta Da! moment I had been waiting for: our little family all snuggled under our woodland blanket in our cosy home.<br />
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Happy Easter to you all!</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-42368649927252394632018-02-23T21:50:00.000+00:002018-02-23T22:00:22.220+00:00In like a lion, out like a lamb...<br />
The meteorological winter ends on the 28th February this year, whilst the astronomical winter will officially end on the 20th March 2018. Usually, I would feel more inclined to yield to the former, but this winter has been a fair margin harsher than many in recent years. In fact, it seems to be showing little sign of relenting as we continue to hit -3 or more regularly during the night. Nonetheless, I do want it to be spring. I want warmth, and light, and growth. Perhaps this is why Mrs Cloister and her mother regularly declare this season over before it seems to have begun.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FUzBx_Saw7E0iQKVgwD4wyAvBJJMWFXsn8EBDLqdqVfZHAklfiDyh6l5Sr1bZijjrcM7C-bf6Guwfmf1GKspqdIDnE0i540QVN3Ff-BvCx4MH9KECtd87JeYjW8YUdNTjdyVZ3WXYOg/s1600/snow+lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FUzBx_Saw7E0iQKVgwD4wyAvBJJMWFXsn8EBDLqdqVfZHAklfiDyh6l5Sr1bZijjrcM7C-bf6Guwfmf1GKspqdIDnE0i540QVN3Ff-BvCx4MH9KECtd87JeYjW8YUdNTjdyVZ3WXYOg/s320/snow+lodge.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The January Snows</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In preparation for the hallowed
day when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I </i>declare spring - probably
somewhere mid-way between the two official measurements - I have been making
preparations for our garden. The hedges have all been cut, a not insignificant
matter, and the compost heaps are coming on well. Most of the beds have been
dug over and I’m trying to impose some order on the barn and lean-to where we
will bring on our early sowings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Of course, last year was our
first full growing year at the Lodge. When we had finally cleared swathes of
bramble and scrub and dug out the growing beds we had a good and varied crop.
Some things worked better than expected, and others not so well. Nothing was
declared a disaster, which is rare, though the parsnips and carrots weren’t a
roaring success! The stored potato crop has just given way, as have the
cabbages, but the leeks are still going strong. Not bad for a first year and I
think we can be satisfied with our efforts. We had to tame the wilderness
indoors as well as out, which took a fair bit of time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY0y-fm5RdyXinGUNqxMH9GXQIOpYKH98vQku8uYbwfD9ZogpnQVLDKNppCjvSjrhb9VFkWQUlqBT507CczrHMVjzySADBOCVCNACQx_bUYKZ7DVUZu5Uj045Rw2DXaQfC82Ef9SIiMI/s1600/last+may+lodge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBY0y-fm5RdyXinGUNqxMH9GXQIOpYKH98vQku8uYbwfD9ZogpnQVLDKNppCjvSjrhb9VFkWQUlqBT507CczrHMVjzySADBOCVCNACQx_bUYKZ7DVUZu5Uj045Rw2DXaQfC82Ef9SIiMI/s320/last+may+lodge.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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This year, I’m raising the bar a
little and hoping we can build on the efforts made thus far. We’re getting to
know the soil and a little of what can be expected by way of pests and so
forth. Overall, the garden seems fairly forgiving, though perhaps this is a
result of having been so long dormant. Rotations will be key in trying to keep
it that way. Though the hedges and adjacent woodland provide some weather
protection we are relatively high up for the area and exposure to wind and cold
can be quite marked. In fact, the woodland hides an iron age hill fort which
once would have dominated the local landscape. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
We’re lucky that the Lodge
gardens have the space and I feel we’re ahead of the game when compared to last
year. Previously, I had to create beds; now I’m just digging and prepping them.
Whilst there is a lot still to do - and the vagaries of the weather, pests and
disease to be navigated - I have every hope that we can edge that little
further along the line toward a more self-sufficient life. Of course, the real
pleasure comes in simply growing and enjoying your own food for its unique
taste and quality. After all, why bother if the stuff produced looks and tastes
like everything else in the supermarkets? Rarely have I found anything as
satisfying. Conversely, a little hard labour is also good for the waistline.</div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-26839996091628490712018-01-08T21:15:00.001+00:002018-01-08T21:15:20.445+00:00Woodland Epiphany<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulo46SBw4Fz7AsAouWMXmN1dxR6G0sb6YHg9rcdySn7pJTHdFLfayyru_ltRciRJBYM6lgCNSCTrMqzf4ATMDK5uNL9j2BLBDRgxRtUCZ-cByWj7dSlnbtHneGwajaEXW3pJe8RaNM6M/s1600/woodland2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulo46SBw4Fz7AsAouWMXmN1dxR6G0sb6YHg9rcdySn7pJTHdFLfayyru_ltRciRJBYM6lgCNSCTrMqzf4ATMDK5uNL9j2BLBDRgxRtUCZ-cByWj7dSlnbtHneGwajaEXW3pJe8RaNM6M/s200/woodland2.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old oak swing, near home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Epiphany is one of my favourite feasts. I did not make it to Mass this Sunday - that happens so often now I have the small one to care for, I used to be able to count on the finger of one hand the number of times I had 'missed Mass'. However, the feast and the wise men were repeating on my mind. Little snippets of the liturgy, poetry I remember, hymns and scripture popped up on the soundtrack of my thoughts and helped me remember the Magi on their journey. My boy helped to - pointing out the wise men in the crib scene and telling me what they were up to.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It began early. On Friday I was unwell. I should have been in school teaching. I was in bed instead. But, I has less cover work to set than usual because the school would be celebrating the Epiphany Mass during the middle of the day. Confined to bed and feeling foggy in the head I was only good for a little crochet. There was a little project to finish - a storage bag for the bears, made out of odds and ends before I could embark on my new adventure - the woodland Crochet A-Long (CAL) blanket from Attic 24. As it happened, between sleeps, I finished the bag and could read the introduction to the woodland crochet blanket.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNNXyj0lUBLmjqcJM5BRtuogqcNqW1y1MDkLX5tQHK0koSZZERp9ljv8siQP32hFU9NjZzc-Q1hxXfmF-bjtGf_rzoY6CtrJ1x0KnG8hNf96cyfL240uHNtHxclYgrcNy31btzYpRRhw/s1600/woodland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNNXyj0lUBLmjqcJM5BRtuogqcNqW1y1MDkLX5tQHK0koSZZERp9ljv8siQP32hFU9NjZzc-Q1hxXfmF-bjtGf_rzoY6CtrJ1x0KnG8hNf96cyfL240uHNtHxclYgrcNy31btzYpRRhw/s200/woodland.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The woods of home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://attic24.typepad.com/weblog/2017/11/woodland-blanket-cal-introduction.html" target="_blank">Lucy, the designer of the blanket, spoke about everyone participating in the CAL</a> as embarking on a journey, taking a walk through the woodland, beginning an adventure. In my sleepiness this appealed to me. I have made many journeys through woodlands. I have vivid memories of crossing the border between France and Spain, high up in the Pyrenees, alone and on foot, beginning a long pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. I remember the musty earth smell of the damp trees the in the mist, a sense of apprehension, fear of getting lost. I rang my Dad and tried to explain where I was. Later in the pilgrimage there were the eucalyptus woods - highly perfumed, medicinal, dark trees which only just allowed the heat of the sun to penetrate to the leaf littered woodland floor. Their bark was sticky and sweet. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIkj8_tTyRMHS5LRdwNVAJj4VJs1DEQXYj3caRH5jsxrgay6JitS7OBxEW_odjN5lfutk7HO7A_cgAtexAGr6lvqFRt8ebfsPMoXg7h1IZtGUDrOkMf_oeeZq6z4_maEV85nf4bdxUKc/s1600/BlenheimTree.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="478" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIkj8_tTyRMHS5LRdwNVAJj4VJs1DEQXYj3caRH5jsxrgay6JitS7OBxEW_odjN5lfutk7HO7A_cgAtexAGr6lvqFRt8ebfsPMoXg7h1IZtGUDrOkMf_oeeZq6z4_maEV85nf4bdxUKc/s200/BlenheimTree.png" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy in an old oak tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of course, the camino de Santiago is not my only memorable journey through woodlands - just the longest. There are many memories fixed in my mind that have the trees as central characters in the landscape. The fir tree woodland near my Bedfordshire home, Chicksands woods, we used to play pine cone war games there. Wytham Wood in Oxfordshire, where my husband and I courted and learnt to love each other, learning each of the trees by name as we walked along. And, the woodland in which we now live with our young family. Now I have that young family I am unlikely to be found, like a wise man, packing my bags for a journey which will will have me travelling miles on foot, carrying all necessities. But, it does not preclude little fun filled adventures into the trees, armed with flasks of hot chocolate and time to play on the great oak swing a few miles from the old lodge house in which we reside. And, maybe this woodland CAL can be my longer adventure, a pilgrimage without ever leaving home. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZkiZRqjZPI9aa-Z04qrGB_HBuq7QoQAKv7Av_op6U-CSW6axKo9gK2DvGfp2lg6gyZkGqwteXxcoHZO9IRERdh_IzA-qL6ZxS_nKL1a_65jDU57z6BSCRtBQuTYaetUHg1WI4H7SfEE/s1600/woodland3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZkiZRqjZPI9aa-Z04qrGB_HBuq7QoQAKv7Av_op6U-CSW6axKo9gK2DvGfp2lg6gyZkGqwteXxcoHZO9IRERdh_IzA-qL6ZxS_nKL1a_65jDU57z6BSCRtBQuTYaetUHg1WI4H7SfEE/s200/woodland3.jpg" width="200" /></a>On Saturday Evening I began to make preparations for the CAL journey. I was to make a 'sample' - call it pilgrimage training, if you like - it needed to measure 17cm across and I needed to learn the pattern of our road. I failed on the first attempt, of course. Who wouldn't? I was also being tempted by all sorts of 'needs': all of a sudden I <i>needed</i> stitch markers and a new set of crochet hooks. Like a walker who <i>needs </i>new kit for a trip, I just felt I couldn't resist. However, after a firm 'word' with myself I started again, with the simple kit I have, a couple of old metal crochet hooks (3.5mm and 4.5mm), a measuring tape, scissors, and scraps of yarn for stitch markers. My second sample (it was Sunday by now) was 'near enough', so I started the journey.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LZb9KXiV6RJ_TCPM3522XYvNAgas_gMnjiL0HyQT9TRzvBpUnEzgjhu6EU9rVILgXLF5zKzSaeO_dM-3KsXrsu_9siCN00MmLRbZ7I9fLUubFBHsz0ahmk7uciYpUa0glRxPdvEmdnw/s1600/Linden+tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="220" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LZb9KXiV6RJ_TCPM3522XYvNAgas_gMnjiL0HyQT9TRzvBpUnEzgjhu6EU9rVILgXLF5zKzSaeO_dM-3KsXrsu_9siCN00MmLRbZ7I9fLUubFBHsz0ahmk7uciYpUa0glRxPdvEmdnw/s200/Linden+tree.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Linden (Lime) Tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The foundation of this pilgrimage was to be made in <i>lime</i> (the yarn colour). Lime trees, or Linden Trees, mark the approach to ancient churches. They are the 'holy tree' which the Baltic women spoke to as if they were human beings, asking for luck and fertility. It is underneath this tree that the truth can be found (and ancient court sessions were often held in their shade for this reason). It is on the wood of the Linden that Orthodox Icons, such as Rublev's<i> Icon of the Trinity (the hospitality of Abraham)</i> were painted. It seemed a good place to start a meditative journey of counting and crochet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the <i>camino</i> the way was marked by yellow arrows. On this adventure <i>tomato</i> strands of yarn showed that I was on track - one every 17 stitches, the pattern repeated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPi6sXJurH-BhoAy0e4hTjm-Kj8nbM7OeUvkWl3sTcKPv-tMdSJS4JzSQKsvhrEO2ENsAuzGs4q7yatUxA8D094ql0dH0ugutscrhBkVwwz00tgAVN8WHxMh3d3ja7DLsDmx0seP6s3k8/s1600/cypress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPi6sXJurH-BhoAy0e4hTjm-Kj8nbM7OeUvkWl3sTcKPv-tMdSJS4JzSQKsvhrEO2ENsAuzGs4q7yatUxA8D094ql0dH0ugutscrhBkVwwz00tgAVN8WHxMh3d3ja7DLsDmx0seP6s3k8/s200/cypress.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cypress</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo-x4v4X5a8886_DCg60McJHhto3JVo-ZLh6gILVnkg_rlxK2yPdDHa5t1vgSeLW_CuWDFNNyXfTrGepdjAB6wZmXV9vINOgR6L2KkGxOps524mzCrTjQlu_dpQVqaDybzdkbQYKZl78/s1600/woodland4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo-x4v4X5a8886_DCg60McJHhto3JVo-ZLh6gILVnkg_rlxK2yPdDHa5t1vgSeLW_CuWDFNNyXfTrGepdjAB6wZmXV9vINOgR6L2KkGxOps524mzCrTjQlu_dpQVqaDybzdkbQYKZl78/s200/woodland4.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lime and Cypress, <br />with MopMop and the Gruffalo, <br />residents of the woodland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Cypress </i>was the next phase of mountains and valleys in the ripple pattern. A tree that also graces many churchyards. This time it is often symbolic of death, re-birth, birth and new life. In the Bible Noah built his Ark from the wood of the cypress tree. 358 stitches (x2) - I'm making a double bed sized blanket - of thoughts about the things that need to be let go of, returned to the earth, renewed or brought to life.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Meadow</i>, it was Monday by now and I was still ill, confined to bed with a hacking cough. Meadows are the place of refuge in the Bible. A space in which you are cared for and looked after. Meadows are associated with beauty and a place of rest, a time and space to think about all those who love and care for you and who you love and care for.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlV-RZAOrRPHSOt_TtsHaU9vqNEOfYI3lwoiqV-DqtQcdA2SW0jYz2f2NN6agXJgJyeEKBt3p0ilS9xOwe2AlohHlMzSJQtHWVxg2lR_jWSvp2QjEtPyy1ckblp79l8-WeBoLG8UQz7s/s1600/meadow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="154" data-original-width="328" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlV-RZAOrRPHSOt_TtsHaU9vqNEOfYI3lwoiqV-DqtQcdA2SW0jYz2f2NN6agXJgJyeEKBt3p0ilS9xOwe2AlohHlMzSJQtHWVxg2lR_jWSvp2QjEtPyy1ckblp79l8-WeBoLG8UQz7s/s200/meadow.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodland Meadow</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Mustard </i> comes next and I can't help thinking of that short parable from Mark in which the smallest shrub becomes the greatest tree and birds come and rest in its shade. My blanket looks like a small shrub right now, but I hope it will grow and grow - and, that when it is made there will be room for all our small family, including the newbie due in March, and the cat, Moppet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqcyB0LN5z2FwtomFVHP_2xPLXRq9BbZGVUYTES9AY3StKaTlfwFxo15rHtjKFHrNht9SK6kaQ5nXS78LarmeF-i5i53nKcKvDNFvy7BCAVJ79yXZZlHlAnjwoDCuCil8DFRrQn2tFUc/s1600/Mustard+Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="660" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqcyB0LN5z2FwtomFVHP_2xPLXRq9BbZGVUYTES9AY3StKaTlfwFxo15rHtjKFHrNht9SK6kaQ5nXS78LarmeF-i5i53nKcKvDNFvy7BCAVJ79yXZZlHlAnjwoDCuCil8DFRrQn2tFUc/s200/Mustard+Tree.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mustard Tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so my journey continues. I am not sure what <i>tomato</i> will hold. Perhaps a little reflection on the fruit of our labours here at #lodgehousechallenge. We have been here more than a year, and our efforts to grow our own vegetables, live a sustainable life, make and mend, refuse to waste, use less plastic - it's all an ongoing journey, a pilgrimage - but, we are beginning to see the benefits.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfpB4D_DkXsTxGjdfBkGyqaaKBtlv2OI5cmqlDWoqP1vh3tGt0flppJW5ErvkAXdex671aJXAUvn-FIXqwuifHToBT22nJ4udMyzrdHh22yO1XFYh-W5No7gMyaSqsUTfI5z7TDpSaQ4/s1600/IMG_20180105_174221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyfpB4D_DkXsTxGjdfBkGyqaaKBtlv2OI5cmqlDWoqP1vh3tGt0flppJW5ErvkAXdex671aJXAUvn-FIXqwuifHToBT22nJ4udMyzrdHh22yO1XFYh-W5No7gMyaSqsUTfI5z7TDpSaQ4/s200/IMG_20180105_174221.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home and Boy</td></tr>
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So it is, that my journey through the woodland, has become a little <i>epiphany</i> pilgrimage. The Magi went of on a journey and found peace in an unexpected stable. They didn't have an easy time of it, as T.S Eliot reflects in his <a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/this-image-by-bonfigli-1465-1475.html" target="_blank">poem</a>, and they had to start, re-start, turn back, get lost and find their way again. My journey with wool will be little different, if more comfortable. But, I am hoping I too will find a little peace in the unexpected places of the woodland, most especially in my home with my boy and my husband and our child yet to be born.</div>
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Happy Epiphany!!</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-56491265183403325452017-12-09T21:10:00.001+00:002017-12-09T21:10:44.129+00:00Light the Advent Candle<div style="text-align: justify;">
Christmas is doing that usual thing of being too far away for ages, and then arriving all too quickly - sneaking up at the last minute.</div>
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It is a time of year when, of course, I think about my Da a lot. He and Ma spent his last Christmas with Graham and I - a memory I treasure. The following year, still grieving his loss, we cradled our newborn son in our arms. Bertie is two now, and our second baby is due in March. Time seems to hurtle by: birth and bereavement affecting all our loved ones and the world never slowing down to stop. Except, it seems to me, in precious moments of Advent and Christmastide</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmTZ7PsSh25_hJ0H-6TJWl6anjVabrUOBFI52dEqRuAiJWpGGncDL_9wUMynx-DifhSjvNjWNuRFbjRfyZJsMd2D-iwdg_ZK9HL2N2hcR3HFf6_1weDK5s6VzkiV7k6jzsdlXtGrW46w/s1600/EEE104A6-D0B3-4EFE-8586-AD1300253C33+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmTZ7PsSh25_hJ0H-6TJWl6anjVabrUOBFI52dEqRuAiJWpGGncDL_9wUMynx-DifhSjvNjWNuRFbjRfyZJsMd2D-iwdg_ZK9HL2N2hcR3HFf6_1weDK5s6VzkiV7k6jzsdlXtGrW46w/s320/EEE104A6-D0B3-4EFE-8586-AD1300253C33+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a>One weekend not so long ago now, Bertie and I went to Sainsbury's. Not an unusual event in itself, but we were making a special trip to buy the makings of Christmas Puddings. I had explained this to B and he was very excited about the thought of cooking. I handed him each ingredient and he threw it <strike>lovingly</strike> with reckless abandon into the trolley. I made the Christmas puddings with Da every year for as long as I can remember, including 2014 - his last Christmas. In 2015, with Bertie as a newborn, I had the emotional experience of digging out the well-thumbed, annotated, 'Christmas with Josceline Dimbleby' and making the puddings solo. This year, with Ma looking on to ensure fidelity to Tradition, Bertie and I threw everything into the giant festive pot. Bertie is old enough to play an active role in mixing and the feeling of passing on a family secret is palpable.</div>
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Meanwhile, the role of crochet in birth and bereavement has been sneaking back to me also. I was making a blanket for Ma and Da the year he spent <a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/a-weary-world-rejoices-for-yonder.html" target="_blank">Christmas in hospital</a>; I was crocheting a blanket for a new nephew when Da passed away quietly at 3am in April 2015; the making of Bertie's blanket helped me through some hard times after he was gone, the therapeutic concentration numbing, soothing. Since then I have made blankets for various purposes, and enjoyed each of them: one for a new niece, one for my own new unborn. Now, in January 2018 I am going to be embarking on a new project. A <a href="http://attic24.typepad.com/weblog/2017/11/woodland-blanket-cal-introduction.html" target="_blank">woodland blanket</a> for our #lodgehousechallenge home. I am so excited it is silly, and it feels much like the day I bought the wool to make our newly wed honeymoon blanket. A new era almost, time passing, changing; new life, new adventures.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx7La9QjA5l1Kg9r2HIx5zxtDVIP5eZvKoJN9TehTcle3_iRJQQjVSMirFdAlO9BbZgKD5XMykZ3KbzcwzL8wjTzuO8IeU1yMn_MwkShXqtQSyuJse3ND-em8q2Bw-WMswECMvSVHaiI/s1600/baby-holding-finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx7La9QjA5l1Kg9r2HIx5zxtDVIP5eZvKoJN9TehTcle3_iRJQQjVSMirFdAlO9BbZgKD5XMykZ3KbzcwzL8wjTzuO8IeU1yMn_MwkShXqtQSyuJse3ND-em8q2Bw-WMswECMvSVHaiI/s1600/baby-holding-finger.jpg" /></a>It is only Advent that gives rise to these reflections. It is a quiet time. As Justin Welby says: a time for listening to that which can barely be heard - the heartbeat of an unborn child. This year, although the future is as yet unseen, Advent is whispering <i>all change, prepare for change. </i>I do not yet see clearly why this is, but I am sure something will transpire. In the meantime, faithful and joyful hope fills the season. We will have Ma and my sister and her family with us at #lodgehousechallenge Christmas. The house will be full, and the fire lit. We have taught Bertie the nativity story and he delights on crib scenes with that child-like delight I aspire to. So, bring it on. Like I said once before, when the newborn Christ-child reaches out for your finger, <a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/hold-on.html" target="_blank">hold on.</a></div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-28639450942390654782017-09-29T21:41:00.000+01:002017-09-30T18:06:25.585+01:00Harvest and Archangels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RJIPrDjH2SGaNGlgpt05gPtGdQPube7L-dcPaSkzIF6-TTv7O7mF0o8-Pd2xlWuPq4cDCuTLtlPmK7_WJUJU9TWz9_Amydo-U9bqKghQhLCF-4Lbu3US71vxOTeW5qMNHqQbF7m4E6o/s1600/michaelmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="875" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RJIPrDjH2SGaNGlgpt05gPtGdQPube7L-dcPaSkzIF6-TTv7O7mF0o8-Pd2xlWuPq4cDCuTLtlPmK7_WJUJU9TWz9_Amydo-U9bqKghQhLCF-4Lbu3US71vxOTeW5qMNHqQbF7m4E6o/s320/michaelmas.jpg" width="233" /></a><br />
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Michaelmas. I can never explain how much this feast means to me. It is the name of the home of my parents, the feast of the school in which I rekindled a teaching career, a moment at the crux of summer and autumn. Michaelmas. The Feast of St. Michael and the Archangels, closely followed by the Feast of Guardian Angels: a time to remember those we care for and those who care for us.</div>
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Having rocked my boy to sleep, quietly singing, as everyday. the <i>Angel of God </i>prayer, I headed out to fetch wood from the barn. I stopped just outside the lean-to door. The Michaelmas Daisies were in flower. They were not there yesterday, they had flowered today - on time. I ran inside to fetch my phone and take a picture. I would later send it my mother from whom I had taken the plant earlier in the year. I smiled from ear to ear and felt an excited fluttering of butterflies in my tummy.</div>
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We have been just a shade more than a year at #lodgehousechallenge. We have accomplished so much and been so blessed: the garden whilst still untamed in large areas, gave us a fabulous harvest of potatoes, tomatoes, chillies, sweetcorn, cabbage, peas, beans. carrots, parsnips, beetroots. Where fir trees once grew we have planted a herb garden with rosemary, thyme, sage, lavender, loveage, sorrel, mint, lemon balm, woodruff, parsley, Greek basil, and basil. Inside all our main rooms have been cleaned, painted, decorated and transformed by the hard work of Mr. Cloister and his Dad. Mopmop, our mouser and pet has arrived. In short, #lodgehousechallenge has become a home.</div>
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<a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/peace-at-michaelmas_29.html" target="_blank">Last year</a> I wrote of the work still to be done, now I know the list is endless, but I do not mind. The pheasants have returned, and the geese still fly overhead each evening; the owls hoot in the woods each night. We will order wood for the winter soon, and put many of our 'allotment' beds to rest. I am beginning to learn the rhythm of this house: it is hectic and peaceful all at once</div>
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Next year new life will come again to us: in spring as we plant seeds for the season we will welcome our second child. Baby Cloister will be 2 and a half when he becomes a big brother and begins a journey of love and caring for his sibling - becoming something of a guardian himself. I thought of that today - and the care I receive from my own siblings. I hope #lodgehousechallenge will be a place the Archangels and Guardian Angels are not only welcomed, but copied.</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-15849258289563466612017-05-03T19:20:00.001+01:002017-05-03T19:46:59.066+01:00A Proper Job<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Wds7AbUt_ORvTsSgZ7XwjVWG5vj_oc_iJFJHwpgo8DIwf4wkv0_M6UA1Aps9AhzyNK6dvGXKKJNsb8fkhK5_QLt8JG1OJ5LIfROGm1HEvR9dgEer0S44DZUQRYn-qzUrqHV1ThS4AVM/s1600/Potatoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Wds7AbUt_ORvTsSgZ7XwjVWG5vj_oc_iJFJHwpgo8DIwf4wkv0_M6UA1Aps9AhzyNK6dvGXKKJNsb8fkhK5_QLt8JG1OJ5LIfROGm1HEvR9dgEer0S44DZUQRYn-qzUrqHV1ThS4AVM/s320/Potatoes.jpg" width="240" /></a>I recently remarked to Mrs Cloister that Spring seems to be hurtling by at a very unforgiving rate. We’re just about keeping pace but the garden seems to be mocking us for our ‘days off’ during Winter or time spent on other tasks. <i>‘Ha-ha!’</i> it says, <i>‘Still clearing ground, are we? Should have done that months ago when you had time!’</i> But when is time ever abundant? There is, however, no escaping what needs to be done and no quick way to do it. That’s the rub with gardening; there are few shortcuts and fewer still that won’t come back to bite you. There’s no computer that’s going to dig and manure the beds or help us drill line after line of vegetables. There is no labour-saving device that will help to pot-on seedlings or turn a compost heap. Preparation and hard work is all, and I believe in getting things right.</div>
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This is where an element of frustration comes in. The inevitable tension between the time available and the need to do ‘a proper job’. Of course, time must also be spent acquiring the knowledge and skills applicable to each task, and for novices like us, this takes us all the longer.</div>
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The concept of ‘doing a proper job’ is not new to horticulture. It’s always one that I associate with our Victorian forebears and the pre-war, ordered walled gardens of the English country house. It’s also one I associate with the amateur (not amateurish) gardener, on their allotment patch or private garden, whether ‘digging for victory’ or growing for pleasure. When visiting my parents, I still like to thumb my Dad’s worn copy of the late and great ‘Percy Thrower’s Every Day Gardening – In Colour.’ Yes, in colour! It draws one into a methodical world of horticultural wisdom, laced with practical common sense. The pictures also allow one to muse on such thoughts as; how long could I double-dig for in a jacket, collar and tie without expiring?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtDqAflONJ38pBK9qq30ouN6UIPKksm9J8hpfbpcEAvRLyIydzVM6Ge_3eF2icknpRUqhFxmLZRDKRJ5m6kTDQgpDbMOV5X1r38lr-czG-iybVPqzGreXiOeP0aucOAvBSfDGd_Rblss/s1600/harry+dodson+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtDqAflONJ38pBK9qq30ouN6UIPKksm9J8hpfbpcEAvRLyIydzVM6Ge_3eF2icknpRUqhFxmLZRDKRJ5m6kTDQgpDbMOV5X1r38lr-czG-iybVPqzGreXiOeP0aucOAvBSfDGd_Rblss/s320/harry+dodson+2.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://lifeonpigrow.blogspot.co.uk/2017/05/celebrating-victorian-kitchen-garden.html" target="_blank">Pig Row</a> recently posted on the thirtieth anniversary of the airing of the <i>Victorian Kitchen Garden</i>, a gardening classic full of charm and insight. The late Harry Dodson with his engaging Hampshire burr takes the viewer effortlessly through the seasons and back into a seemingly forgotten world. The encyclopaedic knowledge, the correct techniques, the right tools for the job – and the time to do the job properly. It’s hard not to feel some sense of nostalgia for this world and a desire to stamp upon one’s own garden a good dose of Victorian order. In fact, I bore Mrs C with just these concepts most weekends. But there is a serious point to be made; there is reason behind neat rows of beans and correctly spaced drills of carrots. The aesthetically pleasing spectacle of a well-ordered vegetable garden is often only a by-product of the hard-headed science and geometry that ensures a garden meets its productive capacity and is accessible to tend and maintain. I don’t enjoy numbers <i>per se</i> but a garden is all numbers, a rich tapestry of practical mathematics. If you can count, the chances are you can begin to grow vegetables successfully.</div>
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Few of us have the time (or perhaps inclination) to replicate the exactitude of the <i>Victorian Kitchen Garden</i> even on a small scale, but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to do a proper job. Our rows may be a little wonky, our soil not quite as conditioned as we may wish for; we may yearn for a tenth of the knowledge of a Victorian journeyman gardener, but the desire exists to bring some order from the chaos and use our land as productively as we can. We still want to learn new skills and develop existing ones, and we want the satisfaction of downing tools at the end of a day and being able to say that, come what may, we’ve done a proper job.</div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-34300151054517874452017-04-30T21:51:00.000+01:002017-04-30T21:51:06.544+01:00Growing Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If there is one thing that makes Mr Cloister happy, it's growing things. And, now that 'growing season' is upon us life at the Lodge House is chaotically delightful. </div>
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We are not in danger of waking up with frostbitten toes, for starters. </div>
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In the lean-to there are a multitude of plants. There are three types of squash: Turk's Turban, Potimorron, and a squash I call Avis, after the wonderful lady who gave me the seed. Every single seed has sprouted, and I spent the afternoon potting on and re-homing them to a hand crafted cold frame, viz. old IKEA bookcase with Velux window found in garage.</div>
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There are three types of tomato, chilli peppers, brussel sprouts, purple sprouting broccoli and sweetcorn. For me, there is hollyhock and lavender. And, for immediate use we have thyme, basil, parsley, chives and mint. Next to be sown are the carrots and beetroots, the peas and beans, as well as some salad crops.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExMZXRh6EtStLNTuwxitdnfvmmXMlflgIh3kocHE6oBuu5SbCcm2TGpY3sy3HiSuA-jxSk9_fixKkL40DbMDkekDKeanC2HS1g3iIh3oqLarupeT3m43FU-pfWT-vD03JEHFqb0pdk6U/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExMZXRh6EtStLNTuwxitdnfvmmXMlflgIh3kocHE6oBuu5SbCcm2TGpY3sy3HiSuA-jxSk9_fixKkL40DbMDkekDKeanC2HS1g3iIh3oqLarupeT3m43FU-pfWT-vD03JEHFqb0pdk6U/s320/045.JPG" width="213" /></a>It is delightful to come home to a house full of growing things. We are all growing too, especially little B. For each new seedling, or for plants we have not grown before, we have to research, learn and put into practice our findings. Added to that, you can build some muscles digging a half acre! It is good to see barren land being brought back into cultivation.</div>
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We have now planted three long rows of Wilja potatoes, my favourite variety of spud. They make the most delicious roast potatoes in the world. I cannot wait to dig them up!</div>
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Leeks and savoy cabbage are starting off in the nursery bed, and broad beans are sprouting under our cloches too. In the end we dug our vegetable patches out of part of the back lawn. The clearing of the original kitchen garden proved too large a task for now, and we wanted to have a harvest this year.</div>
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Where the Wiljas are sown will become, in time, my medicinal herb garden. It was covered with St. John's Wort. Never before have I seen such tangled root systems. It was a nightmare to clear the area and get the potatoes in. After breaking our garden fork, Mr Cloister bought a mattock - a heavy duty tool like a pick-axe for breaking up tough soil and woody roots. Once we had the right kit for the task we made better progress, and finally, finally, we have cleared this patch to home the spuds, rhubarb, asparagus (maybe, not yet in) and sweetcorn. </div>
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Where the old conifer trees have been cleared I have followed the advice of my Ma. I dug holes from between the old stumps large enough to hold herb plants. These plants have now been bedded with good compost to create a lovely border: lavender, thyme, lemon balm, marjoram, loveage, rosemary, bay, forget-me-not, sweet woodruff, sweet cicely and chives. It looks as though we have a cared for garden as you drive in. I am very proud.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TgehWqfKECqMGtUM046fm-kYqPGpnm7QSvMA4RLf3UiAYOjAf15zQri-8nfWE6YAuF0ao2fp3jZi1JUKT8Y9MOb80YkvwD3k73k6cJYF7TuWhnJzzzPP-DmuIUBHqS-q_Qfg0ydpuuI/s1600/102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5TgehWqfKECqMGtUM046fm-kYqPGpnm7QSvMA4RLf3UiAYOjAf15zQri-8nfWE6YAuF0ao2fp3jZi1JUKT8Y9MOb80YkvwD3k73k6cJYF7TuWhnJzzzPP-DmuIUBHqS-q_Qfg0ydpuuI/s320/102.JPG" width="213" /></a>Bertie has started to enjoy gardening. He crawls around after us and gets in a pickle: with mud on his face, his hands and his chest! He seems idyllically happy. When there are tasks he can help with, like planting potatoes or helping to collect stones from a cleared patch of earth, he approaches the task (game) with enthusiasm. Under instructions from Mr. Cloister, he crawled around the lawns picking every Dandelion. I made him a daisy chain crown.</div>
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Visitors come and we love to have people over! Bertie seems to think the best days are when we have 'visits'. There is always a good meal to be had, we buy car loads of vegetables at the market and love to find good cuts of meat and fish when we go into town. It is great to share a good feast with friends and family. Soon we hope to substitute the home grown for the bought.</div>
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The next creatures to call our place home will be the chickens. We have the coop, but need to find the time to build a run that will keep Mr Fox at bay. Of course, Bertie will be in charge of collecting the eggs.</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-6890480387801583602017-03-19T20:18:00.000+00:002017-03-19T20:56:02.528+00:00Of things which do not matter and things which do<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l3uePBD1oXnVQx9fj70FvrhgUw4cv8FM2j_nrBhINb_ES_dIdp9yTbCAn8CoLcBQNsYP2KMXAjgSOxr5-eKjwt6ELasJxrEQkpYNIpBL7aJoh0esAciECbtUccO32bBSapAv9QjOJas/s1600/Boy+Planting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5l3uePBD1oXnVQx9fj70FvrhgUw4cv8FM2j_nrBhINb_ES_dIdp9yTbCAn8CoLcBQNsYP2KMXAjgSOxr5-eKjwt6ELasJxrEQkpYNIpBL7aJoh0esAciECbtUccO32bBSapAv9QjOJas/s320/Boy+Planting.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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#lodgehousechallenge can be a hard station, as my Irish tongue would have it. The reference to a 'station', particularly apt in this season of Lent, not that we are quite at Calvary yet. I merely mean our present circumstances force from within realisations which, altough true, we wish we didn't know. Like the fact that we cannot make ends meet, for example. We have tried, failed and tried again. And we will keep trying, but we have now come to know that it cannot be done without taking up additional work.</div>
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When we feel a little overwhelmed and that we cannot manage we ought to think about the things which do not matter and the things which do. I make mental lists. Things which do not matter comprise: bills, cars, money, possessions, fashion, holidays aboard (that's hard). Things which do are: family, caring for Bertie, friends, planning future fun together (like parties and such like), making the dream work and sticking together like glue.</div>
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This month when we ran out of money weeks before payday we went out and bought seed potatoes (wiljas, since you ask).</div>
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Then we sat down and worked out a way to ensure that next month the same doesn't happen. </div>
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Meanwhile, we are making progress in the garden! And spring is springing. Today we sowed pumpkin, sweetcorn, tomatoes, broccoli, brussel sprouts and chilli peppers. We have fresh herbs already growing. Outside the vegetable patches are marked out and being dug through stage by stage. </div>
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We have cleared fourteen years worth of bramble from the 'herb garden', and will plant potatoes there soon - enriching the soil for the medicinal patch which is to come. You can see from the 'before' and 'after' pictures the work we have been doing: the fir trees have been removed, the lean-to rebuilt, a new gate fitted, brambles cut down, dug out and burnt into oblivion. By harvest time this little corner will have transformed to a life sustaining heap of spuds.</div>
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The garden gives us hope that our new life, the dream for which we came, is still growing, unfurling, coming to life as slowly as the tree top leaves in the cold, fresh sun of a new gardeners' year.</div>
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And Moppet, the cat, catches mice.</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-75388393410471035312016-11-16T21:43:00.000+00:002016-11-16T21:53:07.712+00:00Advent approaches<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtnFS6yUqUWac8vQ5c5Vbk3nKKTl8y5rLtCLUT7lPrMr6wX2rrPYJUmNdVplGWUzYUIQNmzaRkxDa3ouzff47MvZhyphenhyphenBKKuMi3mKuTEeXSMVT7xUDBTrlt0G5TsWe4mNoF2oQj-pDn4eM/s1600/Bertie+Goat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBtnFS6yUqUWac8vQ5c5Vbk3nKKTl8y5rLtCLUT7lPrMr6wX2rrPYJUmNdVplGWUzYUIQNmzaRkxDa3ouzff47MvZhyphenhyphenBKKuMi3mKuTEeXSMVT7xUDBTrlt0G5TsWe4mNoF2oQj-pDn4eM/s320/Bertie+Goat.jpg" width="320" /></a>"Advent fast approaches and I've accomplished nothing", so says my husband - but he doesn't mean it. It is just that living in a #lodgehousechallenge# is, well, truly challenging. Take for example, getting an extractor fan fitted in the bathroom...</div>
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We lease the property, so we must ask the estate people to come. Six weeks later they arrive, but fit an extractor so basic it is Neanderthal, open to the elements, the perfect nesting site for birds, and filters an icy gale through the bathroom. So we get back on the email. Everything is fixed, eventually. And we are thankful. Right now our lean to is being re-built. I mean, it was a danger to all those near by in high winds. And the chaps that are rebuilding it are brilliant, skilled carpenters. We are thankful, truly.</div>
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The compost bins were meant to have been built, by us, in September. They are now done! Hurrah! It happened by happy/unhappy accident. G was in our old banger trying to drop B to childcare and get to work. The car broke down post childminder but pre work, leaving him stranded near home with 'nothing' to do. Nothing. Ha!</div>
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In a moment of inspiration we have asked a lad from the nearest village to help us at weekends when he can. It makes the world of difference. Progress gets made.You see, one of the biggest challenges we have faced is that we thought there would be two of us working outdoors, but there is not. Bertie, who turns one this weekend, doesn't like watching gardening from his buggy. He wants to do other one year old stuff, like play and crawl and giggle. Who'd have thought? So, with the best will in the world, only one of us gets to garden. I want to dig my herb patch, just outside the lean to. G wants to get started on the 'kitchen garden', viz the jungle. Somehow or other we needed to work a way of pleasing us both. Getting a little help has proven the miracle solution. We thank God for Archie.</div>
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To keep chipper we have to keep reminding ourselves why we have come, and what we are aiming to achieve. We have to keep thinking about how much we have already achieved. Inside, we have redecorated half of our small home. Outside, we have cleared the old barn. Tools have been organized, cleaned and oiled. We have started to dig a herb patch. The compost bins and leaf pens are built. The gates have been painted. Wood for winter has been split and stored. Plans laid for the season ahead...</div>
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Money is not easy, and we are struggling to make ends meet each month, but, as my Ma would say, 'the struggle is all'. And, my Da would have said, 'it's only silly old money.' We have come here because we want a simple life, filled with fun and family - and that's it. Family comes first, all the great concerns of the world, like Tellies and iPhones and Shopping and Clothes and Bank Balances and Stuff, come later. Much later. So much later in fact that getting a haircut needs advanced planning at the moment. Maybe I'll buy scissors? And we still can't afford bedroom curtains - just as well there are no neighbours!</div>
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Ironically, the simpler you try to live, the harder it seems to get. Sometimes the task seems too much. In such moods, we light the fire and give each other a pep talk about how everything that people think matters doesn't really matter. That helps. Then we buy wine. We are going to have to give that up and start making booze. Such is the self sufficient life.</div>
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As Advent does approach we know one thing...we haven't any money for Christmas. And we have faith in another, we are going to have the best Christmas ever! We have wood for the fire; enough for a hearty meal; I've saved for a new toy for little B; last years tree is growing in a bucket; I've made the puddings; and loved ones will come and we will visit. Maybe we will buy ourselves some curtains...</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-48790189635835474472016-09-29T20:34:00.003+01:002016-11-16T20:01:45.956+00:00A year in my arms<br />
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One year.<br />
One year you've been in my arms,<br />
not counting the months<br />
you grew inside me.<br />
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One year and nine months -<br />
let's face it -<br />
you didn't know<br />
you weren't me,<br />
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until one day -<br />
you became you -<br />
- and I became I<br />
once more.<br />
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But I am still you,<br />
defined by love,<br />
my image remoulded<br />
because you're enfolded<br />
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in my arms.<br />
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<br />Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-1069376427889270002016-09-29T20:31:00.001+01:002016-11-16T20:09:38.571+00:00Peace at Michaelmas<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAA7k0OYu6HrUkYr3-6Y63MJ0UO_wpCFra7pkx1KKomKHYVjWFYY1XHVmKH6a7kQ6uNMyzLNvTQbZxnoH1EG4isKXpPXNvhasQ5BSYi2cM9g4-K9aX1mKSvafPprl9EFHsoo__0eNhgY/s1600/GFire.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAA7k0OYu6HrUkYr3-6Y63MJ0UO_wpCFra7pkx1KKomKHYVjWFYY1XHVmKH6a7kQ6uNMyzLNvTQbZxnoH1EG4isKXpPXNvhasQ5BSYi2cM9g4-K9aX1mKSvafPprl9EFHsoo__0eNhgY/s320/GFire.png" width="239" /></a><br />
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Hallo all. It has been a while, but #lodgehousechallenge is going strong! We have a very peaceful life in the woods. Even when we are both working we come home, cook the dinner, light the fire and cuddle under a blanket to listen to 'story' before bed: SJ Parris' <i>Heresy</i>, since you're curious, we love a bit of historical fiction.<br />
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I adore, yes, adore, the feast of Michaelmas - the Feast of St Michael and the Archangels. It is my favourite, frequently marked by Michaelmas daisies growing in the garden. But there are none this year! The garden is new to us and whoever loved it before did not share my passion for this little delicate flower. Ah well, in years to come it will grow abundantly. In the meantime, each morning at 7.30am forty to fifty pheasants graze on our lawn before passing into the adjacent field, and well they are quite a sight to see! Geese fly over in the evening, making a journey to their night resting place. I've never seen them, but they are quite a thing to hear!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICwVkl7IeX6hqCjTckWctKSbQhsVIbQFAbCg8243dnbJTTcEjBRCVUNLrMY5uoCMEbEg5Cj5Jsb3SfNL45RYT9NFnkHwhyB4X9pKc0XmbVoRllOi2i7xqjwo3ohnpZ3iaBPNoxqD4zvk/s1600/BlenheimTree.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjICwVkl7IeX6hqCjTckWctKSbQhsVIbQFAbCg8243dnbJTTcEjBRCVUNLrMY5uoCMEbEg5Cj5Jsb3SfNL45RYT9NFnkHwhyB4X9pKc0XmbVoRllOi2i7xqjwo3ohnpZ3iaBPNoxqD4zvk/s320/BlenheimTree.png" width="239" /></a>G and I have worked out a few domestic things, as well has making excellent progress on making our lounge the cosiest place ever, and improving the facilities in the bathroom. Our biggest victories have come in the form of food and drink. We were spoiled in Lane End with <a href="http://laceysfamilyfarm.co.uk/" target="_blank">Lacey's </a>Guernsey herd producing creamy milk just down the road. I did not think we would meet their match. But we have landed on our feet: <a href="http://northastondairy.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">North Aston Organic Dairy</a> has a little herd of 12 - 17 milking cows, and we are in lactose heaven. Next door <a href="http://www.northastonorganics.co.uk/" target="_blank">North Aston Organic Farm</a> organise us a veg box to pick up each fortnight, full of delicious fruit and vegetables - a surprise each time - enabling us to get creative in the kitchen. Both of these local sources of sustainable food are admirable businesses and fascinating to G and I. On the alternate weeks, I am off work on the Thursday and pay a regular trip to Witney fruit and vegetable market where I happily stock up on all our needs. We have even had some amazing organic beef from the North Aston Dairy, <i>osso buco</i>, and little Bertie certainly did enjoy the stew we made from that!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoC5V64DTxAhHgoAH_22UxZh33Pc9dFCr3IrtYM9KBQ6P-jabU3WhPmtRLGSghe6RUbCjnNkwkqH4hUmgLi6JiQlKlGpErvM3_-ftZAkEGzukW09ClinfX9-i2wrR_oGtngWXj9_ybCY/s1600/WheelbarrowHome.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoC5V64DTxAhHgoAH_22UxZh33Pc9dFCr3IrtYM9KBQ6P-jabU3WhPmtRLGSghe6RUbCjnNkwkqH4hUmgLi6JiQlKlGpErvM3_-ftZAkEGzukW09ClinfX9-i2wrR_oGtngWXj9_ybCY/s320/WheelbarrowHome.png" width="320" /></a>Amidst the peace of the house, there is the chaos - boxes still packed, jobs still to do, tasks which seem overwhelmingly huge, but slow and steady wins the race! One of the jobs that is on out mind is to make the place ready for Autumn and Winter. This weekend we will sweep the barn and lime wash it, and on Tuesday we expect a delivery of two tonnes of logs (and a man to get rid of the moles). Next weekend we should build a leaf pen and compost heap (but we have an appointment with the bank manager, hey ho). In the mean time, well, tomorrow I might make <a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/if-michael-brings-acorns-christmas.html" target="_blank">Orange Cake</a> and tea, just for the Archangels, me and the family.</div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-86697411316903581722016-08-14T21:28:00.001+01:002016-08-14T21:30:55.281+01:00The Garden Journal<div style="text-align: justify;">
Everyone says we should keep a garden journal. The purpose I suppose is to record progress, and have a record of which plants went where year on year, and how they performed. I am a prolific keeper of notes, diaries and records, and there will be, no doubt, an old fashioned hand written school notebook with spidery scrawl and pencil line drawings, but for now I thought I'd start here. With pictures. To show exactly how much imagination G and I are going to need to make this place happen.</div>
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<b>The Kitchen Garden</b></div>
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The Kitchen Garden needs to evolve slowly, it will provide all ou<b>r</b> basic staples as well varieties we enjoy which are not easily obtainable. Potatoes (Cara, Wilja, Charlotte, etc); Roots (Parsnips, Carrots, Celeriac, Beetroot, Turnips); Onions (Bedfordshire! (It's where I'm from!) Pinks, White and Reds); Brassicas (the usual suspects to feed us year round); Summer Veg (peas and beans); Squashes (Pumpkins!); Salad crops;Tomatoes; Everything Else.</div>
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This should be an idyl, the perfect productive garden (Nine bean rows shall I have there...).</div>
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<b>Herb Patch</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU83-Dup08TK5P0Gwm0wjBD3U71OFFNoIg5zxkp70m7GuBtRZC2B-qAT1CX_CmQsRMnhrpeGYz6-bsHg5XR2bCpf1lyeGSFSw2hFuVPm6_YYRH8E8Rx-7XGpE1kfZDXgxLo-Bu81Pqiew/s1600/IMG_2491.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU83-Dup08TK5P0Gwm0wjBD3U71OFFNoIg5zxkp70m7GuBtRZC2B-qAT1CX_CmQsRMnhrpeGYz6-bsHg5XR2bCpf1lyeGSFSw2hFuVPm6_YYRH8E8Rx-7XGpE1kfZDXgxLo-Bu81Pqiew/s200/IMG_2491.JPG" width="200" /></a> </div>
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With herbs we need all things. Herbs for cooking, herbs for healing and herbs for bathing: rosemary, thyme, sage, parsley, marjoram, angelica, fennel, sorrel, bergamot, lovage, chives, mint. You name it, it will live here.</div>
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<b>Wild Garden</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZabzcZ5IqfegMvu8MzyXxmTmwwDwn20kTvU91KgsJkykP7M12fIBSAVlJSO6KwJ4i9s_RsvTkvJq9T9O-SB_4H_dxZXT3RXHLMqlReDASVTnoV9tVVDd0WLyK1fZJSpne6KtoE4PDnE/s1600/IMG_2493.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZabzcZ5IqfegMvu8MzyXxmTmwwDwn20kTvU91KgsJkykP7M12fIBSAVlJSO6KwJ4i9s_RsvTkvJq9T9O-SB_4H_dxZXT3RXHLMqlReDASVTnoV9tVVDd0WLyK1fZJSpne6KtoE4PDnE/s200/IMG_2493.JPG" width="200" /></a> The wild garden remains a bit of a mystery. We would like to eradicate perennial weeds such as bindweed and establish native species to attract even more bees and butterflies. We will research and take advice on the best plants to flourish in this little tended 'wild' patch.Ultimately it should be largely self sustaining.</div>
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<b>Blind Alley </b></div>
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The previous occupants had the conifers drastically cut back outside the lounge window, now the view is a brown dead mess. We hope it may green up, but in the meantime we aim to treat the weeds in this dark area,and put down a weed suppressing mat and some gravel to join our driveway and brighten up the whole damp sorry patch.</div>
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<b>Concrete Paradise</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigPm0Z5TsMhhU6TaRl4sboflqTasQqvy2NHDctnBTmsPGxGQCWHoRr4EndKnK4MIcOnir545p9OYluKB8vfLjuBolOMvES2gHECCRp4psekVgtOmS-PmtMzkdt-prhmuIGCildl3BxXQ/s1600/IMG_2490.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigPm0Z5TsMhhU6TaRl4sboflqTasQqvy2NHDctnBTmsPGxGQCWHoRr4EndKnK4MIcOnir545p9OYluKB8vfLjuBolOMvES2gHECCRp4psekVgtOmS-PmtMzkdt-prhmuIGCildl3BxXQ/s200/IMG_2490.JPG" width="200" /></a> I have visions of an eight by eight checkers board; G has visions of a greenhouse (large), with compost bins conveniently located behind. We shall see. He may win on shear practicality.</div>
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<b>Lavender and Rosemary Borders</b></div>
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G brought home sixteen half-dead lavender plants from Homebase. They were free. Now they are nearly all dead. Still the precedent lives, and the front garden will be a lavender and rosemary garden. In fact, all around the house, in the borders underneath the windows there will be lavender and rosemary to waft in refreshing and soothing smells. We need to take cuttings from the Ma's.</div>
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And so endeth the tour of the work that is to do in the garden.. The visions are big, the labourers few and the work is much...,but paradise beckons. We live in eternal hope.</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-68459148412641213272016-08-08T20:21:00.001+01:002016-08-08T21:22:12.103+01:00The chaos and the calm<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74d-fYCyBuUh8w-fnsgR1EUDZIjdx73pOB2QMQQpTRLeX9IOjRUL-nE5Hqb5PClMz6uGBDt_yOJ2xUlByzfKiNQq-dOLegPWJgJJHDYbUm3XeboBUQU9ixbhxkF80QABayjldAxeLDGk/s1600/P1130626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74d-fYCyBuUh8w-fnsgR1EUDZIjdx73pOB2QMQQpTRLeX9IOjRUL-nE5Hqb5PClMz6uGBDt_yOJ2xUlByzfKiNQq-dOLegPWJgJJHDYbUm3XeboBUQU9ixbhxkF80QABayjldAxeLDGk/s200/P1130626.JPG" width="200" /></a>Anything called #lodgehousechallenge has to have an element of, well, challenge. And so began our journey into the lodge house. Moving day arrived, and the vans pulled up, G and I still hurling things into boxes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQf95pKb4Of3hUH3ymaTrgFmQ13k84hAheYWcjYXB4A3pXS6ezlfg3j_nTliXXyXxAMenbW-xi2A_sp-6OtTKj6Q8xH9BaHSO53P50u9ugVrwd3U6qOuBD2mjVUjQF0jGl0D4V45BKMc8/s1600/CompIwIXEAEWIQG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQf95pKb4Of3hUH3ymaTrgFmQ13k84hAheYWcjYXB4A3pXS6ezlfg3j_nTliXXyXxAMenbW-xi2A_sp-6OtTKj6Q8xH9BaHSO53P50u9ugVrwd3U6qOuBD2mjVUjQF0jGl0D4V45BKMc8/s200/CompIwIXEAEWIQG.jpg" width="200" /></a>My sister called, Mum had injured herself, badly. In fact, as a trip to the hospital some days later would reveal, she had torn a tendon and ligament in the groin - a typical footballers injury, and it would take some months to recuperate. So, mid move, Bertie and I abandoned ship and headed to see the injured patient, bringing food, and later transporting her to hospital. Happily, now home again, Ma is on the mend.</div>
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Meanwhile, my husband's parents arrived to stay and help us get everything shipshape. We didn't really unpack. All our possessions are in the garage, with a skeleton of stuff to make the house operable, scattered around the various rooms. G and his dad set to in the kitchen. Five days of 10 hour shifts and, sweating at the brow, they <i>transformed</i> the place. G's mum, set about helping me get the piles of laundry through (our washing machine in old house packed up a week before we moved), and sorted. Soon, little B was able to abandon disposable nappies and return to his favourite brand of cloth (Charlie Banana).</div>
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Meanwhile, in the garden, we have been attempting to tame the wilderness in preparation for clearance come the winter. Brambles that stretch 10 metres deep need to be brought to heel, bindweed must be annihilated, nettles, thistles, thorns, ragwort and encroaching woodland all need to be banished. We admit we may need heavy machinery and help to complete this task in the end, but for now, it is us against nature. </div>
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Oh, and then there's the bees nest in the empty chimney, brought to my attention by the chimney sweep who gave our working chimney the all clear for a wood fire open grate.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pFTnZjZx6zKfcw2IkZw5whBoQ4LZT-xiBHMaahii_A3pODFdp-KTErK-9Ktaqe8gc6NEMXCAVd3A29UkTjp-IZuu8-7LfbZ2TXM81HA9JdllZDDVe_S_3WDGK6Rv6TS_Fsm7VDLgkT0/s1600/index2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-pFTnZjZx6zKfcw2IkZw5whBoQ4LZT-xiBHMaahii_A3pODFdp-KTErK-9Ktaqe8gc6NEMXCAVd3A29UkTjp-IZuu8-7LfbZ2TXM81HA9JdllZDDVe_S_3WDGK6Rv6TS_Fsm7VDLgkT0/s320/index2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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G's parents left last Wednesday, and today he returned to work. We have done our best to make the house 'workable' for the next while. There is an oasis of calm amidst the hive of activity. #lodgehousechallenge is, after all, our home.</div>
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Next we will transform the sitting room, turning it into the cosiest lodge house lounge ever.Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-63411994140829615102016-07-21T22:20:00.001+01:002016-07-21T22:20:52.572+01:00ab initio...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7DLOuP26b-5gKcdQvjq5uZHYH3C6meDCkaFQ1sNxBTbiTZKj0pWSlIgEQirvdbGHLkHNXSWh9kECIOAdqkwpbiBhxYz_IIrKV53hKF4VJQCmYi33c-JiPdjR92QpFtSlKeS5q5JMdJM/s1600/P1130637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7DLOuP26b-5gKcdQvjq5uZHYH3C6meDCkaFQ1sNxBTbiTZKj0pWSlIgEQirvdbGHLkHNXSWh9kECIOAdqkwpbiBhxYz_IIrKV53hKF4VJQCmYi33c-JiPdjR92QpFtSlKeS5q5JMdJM/s200/P1130637.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FYITvanOpcfeMYeq5Z09q42ISinjtuEXt7gvsWoWKMNmxAUQIehWjzgERJBDUHgV5EQ9m1jJodqQw9ByzTNbW3PdPGgAE2S13PR5crVepxejFWjvunv6ofWr6_v1aqYhxlO6UsTk-78/s1600/P1130662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FYITvanOpcfeMYeq5Z09q42ISinjtuEXt7gvsWoWKMNmxAUQIehWjzgERJBDUHgV5EQ9m1jJodqQw9ByzTNbW3PdPGgAE2S13PR5crVepxejFWjvunv6ofWr6_v1aqYhxlO6UsTk-78/s200/P1130662.JPG" width="200" /></a>It's tomorrow. We officially become tenants of the Lodge House at midnight tonight. G is picking up keys in the morning. After that, despite the excitement, everything will be fairly humdrum whilst we pack up our one bedroom flat here, make arrangements with electricians, plumbers, chimney sweeps and removal men and, finally, put everything into transit on Monday.</div>
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The real work will begin in earnest on Wednesday when the tradesmen depart. There are rooms to paint and decorate, outbuildings to lime wash and equip, tools to organise, borrow and beg for. There is furniture to restore, and amidst it all, a baby to mind.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0xJxq90SRut9IFXONYvn0VlHhoSVVIV4R-1ON6hR5CflcPbIl-zKsJtHA01nvLblZWyH-Iaqi6ZtijBw5Q9QrXnetDY73SCCbaUbJlYXTTETtZqxK6Pv0FRZ_SDnaoxFgINQ57efIVU/s1600/P1130650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk0xJxq90SRut9IFXONYvn0VlHhoSVVIV4R-1ON6hR5CflcPbIl-zKsJtHA01nvLblZWyH-Iaqi6ZtijBw5Q9QrXnetDY73SCCbaUbJlYXTTETtZqxK6Pv0FRZ_SDnaoxFgINQ57efIVU/s200/P1130650.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMo1wa8l2edGJpvsteJXtzTDWxCNbcpRSmjtYcxgrY98KSVQu78BCqOI0m89WWdRjIc6BoLJQMoo45Bf1jbmrev5WjBXyrxsxSyOFy_AgSej0L7zNQ7PGVRdwSOmfv07dvdZ3_BoS7COg/s1600/P1130656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMo1wa8l2edGJpvsteJXtzTDWxCNbcpRSmjtYcxgrY98KSVQu78BCqOI0m89WWdRjIc6BoLJQMoo45Bf1jbmrev5WjBXyrxsxSyOFy_AgSej0L7zNQ7PGVRdwSOmfv07dvdZ3_BoS7COg/s200/P1130656.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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Oh, and then there's the garden.</div>
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The harvest truly <i>is</i> plenteous, but the labourers <i>are</i> few. It's going to take a while...watch this space!</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-84976946516125585012016-07-08T22:02:00.004+01:002016-07-08T22:06:53.596+01:00Good Vibrations...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-Q-FyvnvwAMCbe0xXeZnawvt2C-19QHRyuh0DhahMNcW26cS7GB3uOzqq74kvJoQu0gjAX6XvU1FMkgc_qaF_4eDJBqF4Y7FIug55nCOWF-mHD1g35k0fdJ4mBBZWE7rPoTZkYTPXJg/s1600/Good-Energy-Shop-Interface.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-Q-FyvnvwAMCbe0xXeZnawvt2C-19QHRyuh0DhahMNcW26cS7GB3uOzqq74kvJoQu0gjAX6XvU1FMkgc_qaF_4eDJBqF4Y7FIug55nCOWF-mHD1g35k0fdJ4mBBZWE7rPoTZkYTPXJg/s320/Good-Energy-Shop-Interface.jpg" width="320" /></a> It is exactly two weeks until we move. Excitement is not the word. I think both G and I are suffering from that childhood experience of moving through time as if we were wading through jelly. Neither of us can wait for the day to come, but more than that, neither of us can wait for the moment at which we can look around ourselves and think, 'that's it, we are settled'. Both of us think this move is the most exciting thing that has happened to us since Boy was born.</div>
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We have done a few things to prepare. Not much, I hasten to add, we are both working round the clock in the old 'nine to God Knows When'. However, G did spend a lunch time looking at our energy suppliers. Unsurprisingly, it is not a conventional set-up. Electricity is solar and mains but gas is via an LPG tank. Recently G heard an interesting talk at a work seminar by the founder of <a href="http://www.goodenergy.co.uk/" target="_blank">'Good Energy'</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/DavenportJuliet" target="_blank">Juliet Davenport</a>. They are the UK's first 100% renewable energy supplier and currently partner the <a href="https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/" target="_blank">National Trust</a> on some of their renewable energy projects. As we have solar, and can sell our energy back into the grid, they seem like a natural choice. So, we can be sure that all the electricity we use will be either our own or from another renewable source.</div>
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As for LPG, it's a bit of minefield, because it's pretty niche for domestic; most rural properties are oil if they are not on mains gas. We are looking at various farming co-operatives but are committed to using local wood fuel for the majority of our heating needs through winter. </div>
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Friends have offered an unusual array of house warming gifts, including chicken wire, a sledge hammer, straw, feed, and planks of wood. All of which we are delighted with. The in laws have bought us a bed. Hurrah! We will be 'upcycling' the old shin splitter to a new incarnation as yet undetermined (leaf pen?).</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the background we have been keeping a detailed inventory of all 'household waste'; it makes shocking reading but we need it to benchmark for future improvements. More on this subject anon...</div>
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Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-14320103648068853112016-06-28T20:09:00.001+01:002016-06-28T20:09:06.464+01:00Lodge House Challenge<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUiE2PSKs738vCVQH267ex3d7HskArIcpe4BshlSoRmpWfX_dh8PrHchuHFw4ZHMtW7t5XjGYrLICaBnajEiJ3l33iu84vzR7gSR-Gdkl-vHOnGNOEGccnfWvpt3qepau5xeFbCXB2e7M/s1600/IMG_2045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUiE2PSKs738vCVQH267ex3d7HskArIcpe4BshlSoRmpWfX_dh8PrHchuHFw4ZHMtW7t5XjGYrLICaBnajEiJ3l33iu84vzR7gSR-Gdkl-vHOnGNOEGccnfWvpt3qepau5xeFbCXB2e7M/s320/IMG_2045.JPG" width="320" /></a>Perhaps parenthood has changed my husband and I irrevocably.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not perhaps.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Let me start again.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Parenthood has changed my husband and I irrevocably. We seem to have suddenly developed the capacity to see into the future - to peer into the mists of the unknown - and imagine the world as it might be when our son is grown up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It's frightening.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So frightening, in fact, that we are making whole scale, radical changes to the way we live. We are going to 'opt out' as some might call it, 'go back', regress to a past in which children played outdoors, vegetables grew in the garden, time moved slowly and life was altogether more simple.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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Here's how it goes:</div>
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<br /></div>
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Instead of earning over forty grand a year as a Senior Manager in a lively Secondary school, I am going to teach a little part time and do my best to be a stay at home mum.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Instead of belting it in opposite directions down the M40 each morning, we are reducing our commute to work to 20 minutes. I'm renovating my bicycle.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We've taken a lease on an 18th Century lodge house on a large estate in Oxfordshire. There are no neighbours. There is about 0.5 acres of garden, some good stone outbuildings and a serious amount of woodland. It needs a lot of work, but we will just about afford it on our new limited budget.....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
....if we stop buying stuff.....</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So, the plan is to buy less and make more.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We've very little furniture, so upcycling is the order of the day. A trawl of local tidy tips, antique markets and charity shops will need to produce a kitchen work bench, wardrobes, chairs, cabinets, towel rails, shelves and tables.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUeGf23Jl9akGnQGEkgk1HxDj1d2ESNHhho5DSO4feR7U2pAN3sQCUsAR2NbY3E4S7Osz9d8oVgJ8b55wG98P4SE-wbmJRQliklY0OwiIQ5cSRIpcmzx8y1D5Pn32lHldNuWvIBtLzJU/s1600/glass+jars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfUeGf23Jl9akGnQGEkgk1HxDj1d2ESNHhho5DSO4feR7U2pAN3sQCUsAR2NbY3E4S7Osz9d8oVgJ8b55wG98P4SE-wbmJRQliklY0OwiIQ5cSRIpcmzx8y1D5Pn32lHldNuWvIBtLzJU/s200/glass+jars.jpg" width="200" /></a>All those household chemicals - bleach, surface cleaner, fabric softener, fire lighters and polish are all going to have to go. They are bad ecologically and economically. We're going to replace them with some old fashioned wizardry with bicarbonate of soda, lemons, oranges and white spirit vinegar. Landfill will be spared the plastic bottles they come in.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Glass bottles and jars I am going to start hoarding. I'm planning to store the preserves, pickles, jellies, jams and delicious cordials we create in those. Our restricted budget means regular wine is off the list. We drink too much anyway. We thought we'd have a go at hedgerow booze - elderflower wine, sloe berry gin, that kind of thing.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAq0Spw9YtvpUIy6lT0e1X2iA8tdHFjWazXqMoePEdk6titcpUV4Tu7rwqVGDiH-N0JHi1QZ4iK4uiOEuXLqZh20Eyxjii09ujI3M1JJEvawG2pDR_TIt-owh_gToMt_GnPu_JEDGDygM/s1600/IMG_5796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAq0Spw9YtvpUIy6lT0e1X2iA8tdHFjWazXqMoePEdk6titcpUV4Tu7rwqVGDiH-N0JHi1QZ4iK4uiOEuXLqZh20Eyxjii09ujI3M1JJEvawG2pDR_TIt-owh_gToMt_GnPu_JEDGDygM/s320/IMG_5796.JPG" width="212" /></a>In a nod to greener energy we shall be using some solar power and wood, our sustainable local fuel source. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, and most importantly, our aim is to create a kitchen garden and build a chicken run, becoming self sufficient in eggs, veg and herbs in 24 months.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All because we had a baby.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For the record, I don't call this 'regressing' or opting out. I'm not harking back to an idyllic past. We are 'opting in', building a future, making waste a thing of the past and the great outdoors a pleasant place for the future. </div>
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<br /></div>
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It is all rather daunting. Our new adventure is an ethical choice - it might not be for everyone, it might not be for us, but we are going to have a go and hopefully we will have much fun along the way. Keep us on track and follow our journey at #Lodge House Challenge, learning to #livelightly. We are bound to make some funny mistakes and we won't be shy in sharing them!</div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-22081151479844039922016-03-10T12:19:00.002+00:002016-03-10T17:27:20.588+00:00How precious the young, how precious the oldI saw from the window of my car,<br />
As I was speeding by,<br />
An old man.<br />
<br />
He walked like my Father did,<br />
one short shaky step after another,<br />
looking forward with concentrated eyes,<br />
that told you in no uncertain terms<br />
that this was work.<br />
<br />
The world had changed<br />
from a place of confidence and freedom<span id="react-root"></span><br />
to a whirlwind of frighteningly infrequent familiarity.<br />
<br />
My Da would, as he walked towards you on his shaky pins,<br />
give a characteristic wave and a happy smile.<br />
To see a friendly face, a welcome in the road,<br />
made him happy.<br />
<br />
I looked in the rear view mirror,<br />
and glimpsed you, the future.<br />
The one I named after the Father I loved.<br />
And I wanted to stop the car,<br />
and chase after the old man,<br />
and show him you,<br />
and watch him smile,<br />
that I might glimpse what Dad's smile might have been.<br />
<br />
How precious the young,<br />
how precious the old.<br />
<br />Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-29617307797854736142016-03-10T12:12:00.001+00:002016-07-02T20:13:08.054+01:00Home Spun MumI often cook and bake with little Bertie. It's chaos, but fun. When I'm in the kitchen, Baby Cloister is on the work surface in his bouncer, and we play the 'Mummy is pretending she is on a TV cooking programme' game! I narrate everything I do, pass things to Bertie for him to hold, let him sniff the smelly ingredients, stick his hand in the ones that won't be too messy to clear up. It sounds and looks ridiculous:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqiyQhxWYotFTFp6DoX2LAM8Kvdb9jXjtppADBtGnTUtqVMj80r9gHCT8qxABwxigJDkBcDEzs18AL4p_qhixaNAP6YcwTqW-4r8gL5lS6TKrXqBEhtnfwzPfPAStnBJNMMk7iho9ek4/s1600/orange-white-chocolate-muffiins_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqiyQhxWYotFTFp6DoX2LAM8Kvdb9jXjtppADBtGnTUtqVMj80r9gHCT8qxABwxigJDkBcDEzs18AL4p_qhixaNAP6YcwTqW-4r8gL5lS6TKrXqBEhtnfwzPfPAStnBJNMMk7iho9ek4/s320/orange-white-chocolate-muffiins_6.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
'Today, Bertie, we are going to be making, Orange, Vanilla and White Chocolate Muffins. Okay?'<br />
'Goo, GAH!'<br />
'Here, have a wooden spoon to hold, that's interesting isn't it?'<br />
*Wooden spoon flies across the work top* 'GOOOOOGAH!'<br />
'Oh dear, you dropped it, would you like it again?' *pass spoon*<br />
'What we'll need is<br />
2 Eggs, (no you can't hold those)<br />
125ml Vegetable Oil (It has a red label, look at that!) *grins* 'GURGLE'<br />
250ml Full Fat Milk<br />
200g Brown Sugar<br />
400g Plain Flour *Bertie sicks up down his suit, needs to be mopped up, a commentary on this ensues - 'Oh dear! What caused that then? I need to mop you up, don't I? Shall I sing a song? <i><b>-The big ship sails on the ally ally oh, the ally ally oh, the ally ally oh... </b></i>' - <br />
<br />
3 tsp Baking Powder (comes in a funny little box, would you like to hold it?) *Baking powder is observed then thrown down*<br />
1 tsp Salt (For a reason I do not understand, you're not allowed this until you are big)<br />
200g White Chocolate Chips<br />
Vanilla Essence <br />
1 Clementine, squeezed<br />
<br />
'What we do is, preheat the oven at 180C, that's quite hot. We line these muffin tins with cake cases, they make a good noise, feel?' *scrunch, scrunch, smile, chew - a few less cake cases are now useable*.<br />
<br />
'We crack the two eggs into this big bowl (that makes a good noise, doesn't it!) and whisk them with the electric mixer *<i>Whirr Whirr </i>wide eyed face*.<br />
'Add the sugar, and whisk until smooth' *<i>whirr, whirr:</i> <i>smiles and giggles</i>*.<br />
'Add in the vegetable oil' *<i>whirr whirr:</i> <i>gurgle, slight grizz, pass the wooden spoon back</i>*,<br />
'and the milk' *<i>whirr whirr*</i><br />
'We are looking for a nice smooth batter, what do you think?' *<i>Bring mixture closer, spoon it up and let it fall back*</i><br />
'We should squeeze this clementine now' *<i>Cuts little orange in half and squeezes into cake mixture it with hands, pulling a face, laughing and saying </i>'<i>Ewwww'*</i><br />
'Here, smell this' <i>*Lets Bertie smell orangey hands, he tastes the juice left on my fingers and pulls a face, then smiles - his first taste of of orange juice* </i><br />
'And add the vanilla'<i> *Let's Bertie sniff the vanilla essence from the bottle, he pulls a face*</i><br />
'Mix!'<i> *Whirr* </i> <br />
'Now, we need to fold in the flour, baking powder and salt, very gently, we don't want to make the muffins tough!'<br />
'Add the chocolate chips! You'll love these when you are big'.<br />
'Now we are all ready to put this into the cases! We need to fill each one three quarters full, look like this *demonstrates as if she's on the telly, looking to camera (sorry, I mean baby)*. It gives them room to rise *said as if she's a pro*.<br />
'These will smell yummy in the oven, we need to bake them for 25 mins, stand back (as if a baby in a bouncer on the work top can stand back), it's hot.'<br />
<br />
Cooking is often interrupted, and things have to be left half done whilst we play games, change a nappy, feed, nurse to sleep or do some other thing.<br />
<br />
***********************************************************************************<br />
<span style="color: red;">EDIT! I make these using CLOTH now, and they are ace. They just get washed alongside the nappies and then I make up the mixture and start all over again.</span><br />
<br />
Yesterday, after we made these muffins, we made baby wipes for the first time. I have been using <a href="https://www.waterwipes.com/" target="_blank">WATER WIPES</a> until now, I like them because they have no chemicals, but they are expensive, so a little internet research and we have now made our own according to a recipe which pleases us.<br />
<br />
1 1 / 2 cups Boiled Water, cooled<br />
2 tablespoons Almond Oil<br />
Tiny squeeze of Organic Lavender and Chamomile Baby Soap<br />
3 drops Lavender Essential Essence<br />
Premium Kitchen Towel (the sort that won't break)<br />
Plastic Storage Tub<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQXaB6rYXwL_L8Fpmpmc5s6YO_9w-oX9Cw8fjJm7dy6NzI_qVhWLncbnBuSQGYXZ-JAksYPq1NOvyMavYGba5nagx5gCnsqWSCjBPjpcaRiahDq3ATVvT6XQopkCIABz7YXAZsPiKgY8/s1600/homemade-natural-baby-wipes-11-475x356_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQXaB6rYXwL_L8Fpmpmc5s6YO_9w-oX9Cw8fjJm7dy6NzI_qVhWLncbnBuSQGYXZ-JAksYPq1NOvyMavYGba5nagx5gCnsqWSCjBPjpcaRiahDq3ATVvT6XQopkCIABz7YXAZsPiKgY8/s320/homemade-natural-baby-wipes-11-475x356_thumb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The hardest part is the first part, you need to cut the kitchen roll in half, length wise. Use a very sharp knife and be determined. Place the half you are planning to use into your plastic storage box. Mix together the other ingredients in a jug. Poor them gently over the top of the kitchen roll. Leave for 10 minutes. Gently remove the inner cardboard core of the kitchen roll. Place the lid on top of the container, and squish it down to close it. Turn the container over and leave for a further ten minutes.<br />
<br />
Ta da!<br />
<br />
You can use these for about a week (if they last that long), then make some more. It works, it's got no chemicals, and its cheap! You can find a version of this recipe on <a href="http://blog.earthmamaangelbaby.com/how-to-make-your-own-non-toxic-baby-wipes/" target="_blank">Earth Mama</a>, and better instructions!Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-82800856074325115432016-02-23T15:56:00.002+00:002016-02-23T15:56:27.030+00:00Hush Little BabyThere's a lullaby I sing Bertie, you'll know it:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXrWwnBfvkM" target="_blank">Hush little baby</a>, don't say a word;<br />
Mama's going to buy you a Mockingbird,<br />
and if that mockingbird won't sing<br />
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring...<br />
<br />
It's all very commercial and about possessions being the thing that will calm your baby. But, it is sweet and the tune is addictive.<br />
<br />
Then I found an American version by <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Hush-Little-Baby-Sylvia-Long/dp/0811822907/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank">Sylvia Long</a>. She changes all the bought items for things you can find in nature, or things you might do with your child. I use her board book to sing this to Baby B all the time, and think it very beautiful to sing about the natural world. It begins....<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZ6juxhzkm76CSiO-i7w33jinG64s7ETKYs3W5L3Z9ie3WFT1wCYgOVq5cj4Enm4gMhuack8OGdrWXdSMHHH1Mbu6i-5dsQuqeSeQT_6hFR58CKaDYhTFuwxHhFQZesiogSjDphhnR_s/s1600/oak-tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZ6juxhzkm76CSiO-i7w33jinG64s7ETKYs3W5L3Z9ie3WFT1wCYgOVq5cj4Enm4gMhuack8OGdrWXdSMHHH1Mbu6i-5dsQuqeSeQT_6hFR58CKaDYhTFuwxHhFQZesiogSjDphhnR_s/s320/oak-tree.jpg" width="320" /></a>Hush little baby don't say a word,<br />
Mama's going to show you a humming bird.<br />
And if that hummingbird should fly,<br />
Mama's going to show you the evening sky.<br />
As the night time shadows fall,<br />
Mama's going to hear the crickets call.<br />
As their song comes from afar<br />
Mama's going to search for a shooting star....... </blockquote>
Now, my husband says that these lyrics are lovely, but too American, and maybe I should compose new ones that reflect the view from our window and the things we do together.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPnscecJ2NokXP4zo_aqJ_cwR1_Dv2SoCIaqdDGw14gqO1ojzsCh0wVAVIOVGy2iKk6vtXOcDNbKWsdyeRzfn4mJ5Gh8BtltL53qNXUQdfmn0VdFNkGXd3VJomXw7D6e8DG8H2dQwxP0/s1600/robin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPnscecJ2NokXP4zo_aqJ_cwR1_Dv2SoCIaqdDGw14gqO1ojzsCh0wVAVIOVGy2iKk6vtXOcDNbKWsdyeRzfn4mJ5Gh8BtltL53qNXUQdfmn0VdFNkGXd3VJomXw7D6e8DG8H2dQwxP0/s320/robin.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><i>Hush little baby don't say a word,</i></b><br />
<b><i>Mummy's going to show you a small blackbird.</i></b><br />
<b><i>And if that black bird flies away,</i></b><br />
<b><i>Daddy's going to show you an oak tree sway.</i></b><br />
<b><i>If that oak tree falls to the floor,</i></b><br />
<b><i>Mummy's going to show you a red kite soar.</i></b></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><i>If that kite goes out of sight,</i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-Sdgvcoz7xL2iJDGUgqiQ_-dAHVoNS1-xYBRiGrNLJL3bs_-p82-IfrMgNRLT8p4Zm-a8ULPqk7muWmuhayEJY8x2sjMidnrgrKEyXtwC0LDpn9z9pCBn3-BfgeggxFQvvuaRY9c-8M/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-Sdgvcoz7xL2iJDGUgqiQ_-dAHVoNS1-xYBRiGrNLJL3bs_-p82-IfrMgNRLT8p4Zm-a8ULPqk7muWmuhayEJY8x2sjMidnrgrKEyXtwC0LDpn9z9pCBn3-BfgeggxFQvvuaRY9c-8M/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="240" /></a><b><i>Daddy's going to show you the firelight.</i></b><br />
<b><i>As the fire embers burn,</i></b><br />
<b><i>We will hear the rooks return.</i></b><br />
<b><i>As they settle to their nest,</i></b><br />
<b><i>we will count ourselves as blessed.</i></b><br />
<b><i>Robin, he will come to play</i></b><br />
<b><i>at our house at break of day.</i></b><br />
<b><i>Hush little baby don't you cry.</i></b><br />
<b><i>Mummy's going to sing you a lullaby.</i></b><br />
<b><i>And in the morning when you wake</i></b><br />
<b><i>A new adventure we will take. </i></b></blockquote>
<br />
I keep changing it, looking at all the things we see each day. It has become my infinitely adaptable lullaby. I long to draw the pictures to match the different versions composed for each day. Maybe one day I will.<br />
<br />
<br />Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-5331148193410699212016-02-23T15:00:00.000+00:002016-02-23T15:14:14.654+00:00Maternity Leave CookingI adore being on Maternity Leave with our beautiful son. Each day is a new adventure in growth, giggles and development. Each day I have faced new challenges and, together with my husband and little one, made it to bedtime in one piece. Each day I have felt blessed when I look upon my husband and son tucked up cosy, warm and peaceful.<br />
<br />
I'm not about to turn this blog into a mother's forum for talking about her baby. Although, I could talk about Bertie at great length if called to do so. This blog was always a place to talk about religion and food, so I aim to keep it that way.<br />
<br />
This was the first Ash Wednesday in my adult life that I have not marked the beginning of Lent by attending Mass. Motherhood makes church going challenging. Bertie and I marked the day quietly at home with a little bit of peace and quiet, whilst I explained what it was all about to him. Not that, at three months, he is particularly theologically adept, but that he likes the sound of me nattering on, and vocalising the significance of the day forced me to pay it due attention.<br />
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I was not fasting either. Breastfeeding a baby really does use every ounce of energy you have, and if I fast I would be inflicting that same behaviour on my baby boy. Not on, thought I. So, this morning with Bertie happily watching me from his bouncer I made peanut butter cookies. I have been baking a lot recently. I developed a very sweet tooth after Bertie was born. Mostly I send the goodies to work with G. His office colleagues are very happy about this. And, sending a few sweet treats with G help him through the day, especially if sleep has been lacking!<br />
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<b>Ingredients</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q7IduwBaGyeHJhIDSvRrCKarh8zyWmFgCPH38ZHZ6_kRJ_0qgK0_XqlrYbYHMZnntmqDQo1wplTWCv2YH3eXoUtTuG8ei6lihRtVHWqmmJU9CGbhoqtubWVOwAQDSzMx_jWHH7EmRA0/s1600/750ED5C0-355C-49C3-8BC5-C51CF704815F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q7IduwBaGyeHJhIDSvRrCKarh8zyWmFgCPH38ZHZ6_kRJ_0qgK0_XqlrYbYHMZnntmqDQo1wplTWCv2YH3eXoUtTuG8ei6lihRtVHWqmmJU9CGbhoqtubWVOwAQDSzMx_jWHH7EmRA0/s320/750ED5C0-355C-49C3-8BC5-C51CF704815F.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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8 tbsp plain flour<br />
2 tbsp caster sugar<br />
2 tbsp crunchy peanut butter<br />
1 free-range egg yolk<br />
50g/1¾oz butter, softened<br />
icing sugar, for dusting<br />
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Preheat the oven to 180C. Combine all the ingredients in a bowl and
use a knife and your fingers to bind them into a sweet dough. Knead a
little until you are happy with the texture. Pull walnut sized pieces
away and roll them into a ball. I then squished mine with a little star
cutter, but you could use a fork. Place on a greased baking sheet. Bake
for 10 minutes until golden brown. Once cooled, dust with icing sugar.<br />
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Actually, I have been really into cooking and baking since I have been on maternity leave. I enjoy using those spare precious minutes making something that all three of us can enjoy. I'm not particularly health conscious, but eat a fairly balanced diet. My only 'food fad' is that I hate the idea of chemicals or weird additives in my food. So, cooking things from scratch is a way of ensuring that what goes into me, and then into Bertie's milk, is known to me. Sometimes, if Bertie is awake, he helps by holding a carrot or stick of celery and waving it. I put his bouncer on the worktop so he can see what is happening, and we do a little running commentary to each other about the proceedings. I've had a few little triumphs, and I hope to share with you some of the recipes in due course. I record them here to remind me of what I've been up to.<br />
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<a href="http://theworldismycloister.blogspot.co.uk/2016/02/of-baby-adventures-cakes-and-being-at.html" target="_blank">Mini Bakewells</a>; Lemon Madelines; Plain Cakes; Oat Mincemeat Slices; Date and Orange Slices; Scones; Flapjacks; Chocolate cookies; Lemon Drizzle<br />
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Seafood Pancakes; Spaghetti Bolognese; Lasagne; Salmon en Croute; Chilli Tortillas; Chicken Crown roasted with Red Peppers and Olives; Macaroni Peas; Barley Risotto with Lamb; Steak and Kidney Pudding; Giant Cous Cous PeppersCloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8143345146086242203.post-16067871902293233682016-02-23T14:56:00.001+00:002016-02-23T15:03:03.812+00:00Of Baby, Adventures, Cakes and Being at Home<div style="text-align: justify;">
The greatest adventure of my life to date happened recently - my husband and I welcomed a little baby to our family. There was so much advice and help for us along the way. That was a good thing, but it was also confusing. Sometimes I appreciated the information that was coming my way, sometimes it was pure opinionated fiction. Sorting the wood for the trees has been a constant part of pregnancy and early parenthood.</div>
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Here are some of the myths I have come across, and how Mr. Cloister, Baby Bertie and I have responded:</div>
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1. <i><b>Once you have a baby you will not be able to cook a meal: order take away! Cook for the freezer while your expecting! </b></i>- Every book, blog post and person I spoke to mentioned this. It made me nervous. What would we both be doing? It may well be true that one of us cannot cook, but there are two adults in this team - right? <i>Right. </i>Mr Cloister made me steak, chips and green beans on our first night home with little one. Not a day has gone by where we have sat down, looked at each other and declared 'we cannot cook, we must starve!' Cooking is a life skill that does not disappear. Thank God.</div>
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2. <i><b>You'll not leave the house for weeks.</b></i> I was honestly frightened of this. It turns out, it is rubbish too. Basically, if you want to go out with your newborn baby, you go out. Yes, you have to think about what to dress your baby in, and how to keep him clean and comfortable, but no one is going to force you to stay inside. In the same week Bertie was born Mr Cloister and I walked round the local farm, went to Church as usual, went to the shops - you know, normal living. That was essential for me, especially post C-Section. Since then, wherever we have wanted to go, Baby Cloister has joined us. Simple.</div>
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3.<i><b> There is a right way to do everything (and you're probably doing it wrong). </b></i>We have broken all the 'rules'. Baby B feeds when he wants, sleeps on the sofa (before we go to bed) and in our bed (when we are there), hops in the bath with me, goes out in cold weather, and sometimes even sleeps outside too - he seems fine. Meanwhile, we eat what we like, drink as we please and share the many jobs (washing nappies, mainly) - we are fine too. Pah! to rule books. Following our parental instincts and keeping things simple works for us.</div>
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Some things have been really important to keep in mind, and I've found them helpful. For example, everything can't be perfect so don't try and make it that way; your family is made of love, keep loving; my husband, my baby and I are all beautiful (and I'm not just being big headed); snoozing in the middle of the day is not only okay, it is essential; sleeping through the night is overrated, the medievals never did it; complaining ruins morale, keep chipper; do nice things for your partner; hug whenever you get the chance.<br />
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On sleep, I admit, that Mr Cloister and I love snoozing and so have adapted very quickly to a routine of eat dinner, tidy house and do chores, take peppermint or chamomile tea (wine on Friday's) to bed and listen to audiobook story really rather quickly. We are normally all three tucked in by 9pm, but then we don't worry about being up changing a nappy at 2am. From the cosiness of bed we conduct our evenings, chatting, listening the radio, even folding nappies and laundry when needed!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhXWLnnxpG75bpzskp8TK0WDl9PPOVlPvJf78RHtyaZy70jU_SRzu7GFXUcx5FfJQIXG6VZcykRSJq8sx1v6DIWelBpUdS1z5NxWgKPUxzHbLbGO05Ank4VgPjmmLYwk4RgBLR9_57Cs/s1600/12495174_10101219066714565_3539691601623684149_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhXWLnnxpG75bpzskp8TK0WDl9PPOVlPvJf78RHtyaZy70jU_SRzu7GFXUcx5FfJQIXG6VZcykRSJq8sx1v6DIWelBpUdS1z5NxWgKPUxzHbLbGO05Ank4VgPjmmLYwk4RgBLR9_57Cs/s320/12495174_10101219066714565_3539691601623684149_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Well, that's my baby post. I don't think I'll do another - there are too many out there. </div>
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Being at home has its challenges for me, I find four walls difficult to handle. For this reason, Baby Cloister and I have been going out on some adventures. I have asked the other mums I know from antenatal class to let me plan a little walk (with buggies or slings) for them every now and then. They will do the same for me sometimes, I'm sure. Here's a picture of us out and about enjoying ourselves.<br />
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Cake is the other essential to motherhood. And lots of it. I make cake all the time, but try not to eat it all myself. I made these mini bakewells to send into my husband's work and they got a good review! Enjoy.<br />
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225g / 8oz plain flour<br />
110g / 4oz butter<br />
80g / 3oz sugar<br />
1 egg<br />
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Crumb together the butter and the flour by hand, add the sugar. bind the mixture quickly by mixing in the egg, and a little milk if needed, to form a soft dough.<br />
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Preheat the oven to 180C. Grease a baking tray with 12 x fairy cake tin. Roll the pastry out and use a round cutter to cut shapes a little bigger than the pattie rounds. Place the round pastry shapes into each space and leave to one side (in a cool space preferably). I cut little star shapes out with left over pastry for decoration later.<br />
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Strawberry or Raspberry Jam<br />
150g unsalted butter<br />
150g caster sugar<br />
3 eggs<br />
1 egg yolk<br />
150g ground almonds<br />
almond essence*<br />
1 lemon zested*<br />
flaked almonds*<br />
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*all optional<br />
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Cream together the sugar and butter until light and fluffy. Add the 3 eggs, whisked, slowly. Add the last egg yolk, slowly. Fold in gradually the ground almonds, almond essence and lemon zest. To your pre prepared pastries spread a little strawberry/raspberry jam at the bottom of each tart. Add a little of the cake mixture to each and smooth out. Add flaked almonds or pastry stars to the top. Bake for 20 - 30 mins, until soft, golden and springy.</div>
Cloisterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01420935883178551476noreply@blogger.com0