Tag Archives: bears

Different Hills, Another Spring.

I’m sitting outside wrapped in assorted layers because today is the first day of British Summer Time, the sun has been shining bravely, the birds are singing love songs and it’s (slightly) warmer outside than in. With my slippered feet on the table and coffee mug balanced carefully on the bench beside me I can look over towards Maiden Moor and Catbells where groups of stick figures are silhouetted on the summits; a pair fell runners just puffed past and as usual I feel slightly guilty for being still and apparently idol. With all this Spring going on it’s hard to believe that just a week ago I was in Narnia, well Bristol. I travelled down by train and experienced the weird, dreamlike dislocation of hurtling through blizzards, the train tilting and banking like a fighter plane, through the occasionally looming Howgills, and eventually arriving in a city blanketed in white. City snow is not something I’ve experienced, not since a childhood winter in Providence, and it felt very surreal to be wandering deserted streets at 2am, following fox tracks and skittering about pretending to be a horse (this last means my phone is now smashed and held together with sellotape).
The rare treasure of three days with BOTH my children was made even more special by the peculiar, cocooning weather. The highlight (apart from snack suppers by the fire, snuggled up watching Paddington films) was a hair-raising drive to Glastonbury on the eve of the Vernal Equinox, where we had hoped to fly Jake’s drone for some exciting aerial photography. It was unbelievably cold though and so windy that flying was impossible so we just walked and talked and looked across the Vale of Avalon and wondered what it would be like to actually live there. A town so full of  crystal shops, vegan cafes and people wearing rainbow jumpers that it’s almost a parody of itself. It’s easy to be cynical and laugh at all the serious New Age types but I suddenly felt very much aware of a road not taken, or at least veered off in my 30s, and wondered if it wouldn’t be a more forgiving place to face life, particularly older age as a “crone”, than the Lakes with all it’s obsessive running, cycling and extreme swimming. I’m still a hippy at heart and there is something comforting about knowing places like that exist,  that not not everyone over 50 has to wear beige Goretex, run 10k before breakfast and stop playing horses. As Louise Chatfield  commented, on Twitter, it seems at least like a place that is non judgemental or about putting people in boxes. I can’t wait to return.

2am in Ashton, Bristol.

Back in the North I discovered (on #WorldWaterDay of course)  the the water had gone wrong again- this time either overflowing like Aira Force on to the doorstep or gone completely and I’m not going to deny that I feel at rock bottom, sorely tempted by some of the more outlandish forms of self-help therapies spotted in the Glastonbury Oracle. Unicorn interactions perhaps or a spot of Puppet Therapy; failing that a new umbrella so that the door step is easier to navigate! I love you Lake District but my patience is being tried.

Again I am pondering Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs particularly in relation to creativity – there are many exceptions of course and some would argue that strife feeds creativity but I do find it hard to justify drawing bears when I probably ought to be finding a more reliable way to help earn enough to meet the first level of the pyramid! Luckily I came home to a few welcome orders for wooden bears which ticks some issues in the “Esteem” box. I want to make more of these wooden pieces, perhaps a hare or a leaping fox… but so far this one has worked by far the best. I got some lovely new silk cords yesterday so he now comes with either a dark red or blue cord (or silver snake chain).

When I was in Bristol we had a look in Hamilton House where the Folklore exhibition organised by Gordy Wright opens next month. It’s a great place with loads of events, exhibitions and studios – what a dream it would have been to have something similar here in the old Cumberland Pencil Factory. Anyway, I’ve been working on a couple of illustrations and hopefully one will be getting printed and included in the exhibition… which one though ?

I’ve drawn myself a little hut by a lake and maybe if there is still magic in the universe and all that positive visualisation thing works it will one day be possible to find the illusive “Home” a place to belong, to build a garden again.

Meanwhile here is some proof of Spring, slowly unfurling .
( this time last year the pink blossom was already in full bloom and the white almost over)

Reading: A Line Made by Walking –  Sara Baume. Listening to : The Hazel Wood – Melissa Albert  and Spiro who make the perfect music for swooping along Lake District roads pretending you’re in a film to.

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

Advertisements

Wildlife, Water and Work in Progress

 

A little over a fortnight since my last blog post and I’m sitting quietly by the stove trying to work out if it’s even possible to coherently share some of the ridiculous things that have happened lately and where to start. This is where being a proper writer would help… or if only I’d taken pictures as proof. Well you’ll just have to imagine if you can:-  the aftermath of the snowstorms, the heating oil arrived at last, the cupboards restocked with Marmite and bread flour and all is as it should be; except that as the snow melted and spring seemed to be arriving, the water went off. Much of the country had similar problems including Jackie Morris and the designer/shepherdess  Alison O’Neil who both endured similar lengths of time with no running water (and electricity in Alison’s case). For 8 days, while waiting for the plumber, we wrestled with the ancient pump (the water comes up from a spring near the beck and it had frozen) and the horrible tanks in the attic; lugging buckets up from the beck for toilet flushing and wrecking my plastic free intentions by buying gallons of bottled water. It was horrible, one trip to the beck was enough for me, I ached all over and the romance of rural life was hard to see. It shouldn’t have taken so long to fix but the house is old and crumbling and the whole experience was incredibly stressful, dredging up memories of the last days at Snilesworth and making me militant about the absolute priority that should be given to making sure people all over the world have proper access to clean drinking water and sanitation. We take water for granted, especially in the Lake District and hardly ever stop to think how amazingly lucky we are. Water Aid do great work in this area, as I’ve mentioned before,  so maybe I’ll ask my landlords to make a big donation!

As a side issue we discovered that there was a monster living in the attic. We’d heard him moving his furniture around in the night but whilst battling with water tanks and  float switches in the terrifying attic, Rupert found the “droppings” of something evidently much larger than a mouse. Thankfully not rats, my friends assured me, but more weirdly … weasels or stoats. Really?! I haven’t been able to eat from the stoat plate since all our chickens got murdered when we moved here and now it seem the culprits live upstairs!

This house is connected to the old cottage next door, so we had a bit of sorting out to do in there too ( burst pipes, Aga issues etc) once the water was back on and I decided to put some of our washing up in their dishwasher since we don’t have one. The cottage is dark and slightly haunted, having been empty for a while, but I’m never too worried, even when I realised that the front door was ajar when I went in to collect my pots in the evening- I probably didn’t close it properly. In the back kitchen, loading my tray I heard a very strange noise and realised I wasn’t alone. Shuffling , scratching, banging sounds that were obviously a brutal burglar nicking the collection of Beatrix Potter figurines, came from the front room and I prepared to meet my doom armed with some crockery. Creeping round the corner I came face to face with a tawny owl who was jumping up and down on the windowsill trying to get out. As I write I can hear the owls, they call constantly even in daylight and I love them but not upset ones in a confined space. As I edged forward to try and open the door the owl swooped silently into the other room and eyed me from the top of a wooden screen before hurling itself into the mirror over the mantlepiece, scattering trinkets and old photographs.We played this game for half an hour- I considered taking photos and wish I had now but I just wanted to set it free without getting it’s talons stuck in me. Eventually the poor thing was so fed up of flying at the window that I managed to catch it (wearing an enormous pair of gauntlets that were lying  around- it’s that kind of place) and set her down on the gatepost outside, part of me wanting desperately to keep her. Away she flew, without a sound or a backward glance leaving me to recover from the shock. How did she get in, walking through the half open door or falling out of the attic after the plumber left a hatch open? Summoned by too many owl drawings and not enough flowers?

I feels though I’ve waffled on enough now, you probably had to be there, but anyway, it sets a scene. I live in a very odd place and I think if it weren’t for my precious, occasional bookshop days, I would be going a little bit crazy by now. It’s important to have a bit of human interaction and lately that has felt more important than ever.

When not fetching water or wrangling owls I’ve been drawing swans, preparing to send an image or two down for an exhibition in Bristol next month and being inspired by a folk tale based in Grasmere called the Hunchback and the Swan by Taffy Thomas , a local storyteller. I’ve just found this wonderful animation by Dotty Kultys based on the story today  


Isn’t it great and the music too! Now I need to keep drawing because I have lots of ideas but they’re not popping out how I want them too yet. Here is my swan, the Lady of the Lake.

Until next time. x

Reading: “A Line Made by Walking” Sara Baum  Listening to : ” TheBedlam Stacks” by Natasha Pulley ( audio book)

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

Life in the Snow Globe

March winds doth blow… This morning I was roused from my warm bed by a phone call from the oil company ” apparently you’re up to your knees in snow so we won’t be able to reach you for a few days” Ah well, it was only to be expected; the country is gripped by a sudden, belated burst of real, old fashioned winter and naturally, I have run out of heating oil and Marmite. Yesterday’s sparkling perfection has been replaced by a wild, knife sharp wind, stirring horizontal drifts which are interspersed with slow spirals of new settling snow. The flakes appear sometimes to rise back up again as if undecided. We are inside a snow-globe in the hands of a particularly rowdy child.

The first thing I did, once firmly wrapped in assorted layers and the stove had been fed, was to cook a pan of brown rice to feed the birds. They’re out there now, occasionally blown sideways and it’s quite funny to watch Mr Nutty the Nuthatch adapt his feeding style to eating from a pan on the ground-he would much rather be upside down and seems out of place on a flat surface. Blue, Coal and Great Tits as well as squabbling Robins and a Blackbird or two have also visited, but no sign of Mr Pecky the Woodpecker, I do hope he is safe somewhere.

If you have been reading this blog for a while you might know that normally I would be in my element, despite the lack of heating. Being snowed in has traditionally been my absolute favourite time for creativity, reflection and self indulgence; an excuse to re-read “The Long Winter” and  “Moominland Midwinter” whilst wrapped in blankets by the stove. This time I’m feeling a little out of sorts and thinking, be careful what you wish for. Loneliness  is a bit of a hot topic at the moment ( if you’ll excuse the irony) and whilst I won’t deny I love  my rural solitude and actively need periods of isolation to feed my imagination, it feels very different to the winters in Yorkshire. I suppose living on the edge of a community that one is part of  and knowing family and friends are close, is very different to living in a place where you realise that there is actually no one to call on if you need to, which is why today was encouraging. For the first time in 3 years our neighbour from the next farm drove over to ask if I was ok and if I needed anything! I think extreme weather brings out the best in people and it made me quite emotional. The past 3 years have brought so many new challenges but the main one has been dealing with feeling displaced and unsure of my own new identity and here is a thing… don’t assume someone will ask for help or company, it’s really hard to ask, especially if you’re shy, fiercely independent or have a historical reason to mistrust neighbours on quad bikes. That thing about checking in with people is really important though, we should all try to reach out moreI think.

Last weekend I was in Grasmere house and dog sitting for the bookshop people. It was the most perfect crispy clear, sunny winter weekend and I even spent time snoozing in a chair outside listening to an audio book. In the evenings I sat by the Aga and became hopelessly addicted to watching  “Anne with an E” on Netflix. Oh, it’s been a very long time since I first met Anne Shirley and something about the opening credits, the Tragically Hip soundtrack and the story of a girl just wanting to belong somewhere made me weep like a fool, and laugh and then weep again. There is something especially moving about revisiting childhood stories as an adult and if I had worked harder at school I’d be able to write you a learned essay on why Anne of Green Gables is more than just a cute kid’s book…for me it’s something to do with optimism and a sense of place, the importance of  landscape, acceptance of difference and feeling at home…  “Its strange to love a place like you would a person, but I do!”. Anyway I bought the book when I worked in Sam Read’s  and will spend the rest of World Book Day reading and channeling my inner Anne.

I’ll be drawing the winner of my Newsletter Subscribers Draw later, I can’t quite believe it’s March! April marks the 1oth anniversary of this blog as well as 10 years since I graduated from CCAD with my shiny First Class Honours degree and set out to make my fortune. Hmmm, fortunes are hard won and the road is definitely full of pot holes but in the mean time I’ll keep on feeding the birds, drawing bears and wondering about the further adventures of this character…

Hell’s teeth it’s cold…keep warm. x

Reading “Anne of Green Gables” L.M. Montgomery Listening to: “Ahead by a Century” Tragically Hip

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

“Tracking Treasure Down”

This week has been a particularly odd one ( in good ways)  and I blame Jackie Morris. If you’ve been reading this blog for long enough you’ll know that almost exactly 7 Novembers ago I spoke about discovering Jackie’s work, whilst contemplating the universal imagery of  “the bear and the girl”. My own “bear thing” was caused by a mix up in which I had my heart broken by a young bear-man who went to Canada, just after I’d based my entire final collection at University on bear related myths and legends. It was a weird time, including the worst winter for years, being snowbound in my beautiful cottage and subsisting on a diet of whisky, cigarettes and fruit cake. By the time I wrote that blog post I was starting to emerge from the forest and had begun to visit the Lake District with Rupert ( at which point I quickly realised it was unpleasant to climb hills with a hangover and downing neat rum before heading up Haystacks isn’t advised)

So, fast forward and somehow I’m living by these lakes and mountains, still dreaming of bears, still feeling a little lost in my new world, wondering who to be now that I’m grown-up, uprooted, finding myself, as if by magic, an occasional bookseller in the tiny treasure of a bookshop and then… who’s coming in to sign books but Ms Morris (that’s her pretending to be a snow leopard in the squeaky bookselling chair)

Ok, to be fair its not all Jackie’s fault. When I knew she was coming to Sam Read’s and that I’d be working that day I had tried to work out when I’d first mentioned her work on this blog and of course that meant I trawled through the past and my net came up full of  pictures of “home” so my memory was jabbed  and I lay awake all night listening to the owls conversing on the window ledge and lived most of the lines from that Talking Heads song …”this is not my beautiful life…how did I get here?” Anyway, Jackie and Robin arrived in the bookshop and we talked and drank coffee from Lucia’s and ate the peculiar bear shaped biscuits that I’d made and I’m pretty sure I was completely uncool, like an overenthusiastic puppy (I am excited about so many things and it’s a shame that shyness makes that feel awkward, I wish it was considered un-cool to be cool and that people could really feel free to express their joy without worrying that they appeared foolish and agonising about it afterwards). It was lovely to talk about art and nature, printing blocks, sketchbook paper, conkers, and the book “The Lost Words” ( a subject Rupert has often talked about as he returns from work sometimes with stories about children not knowing the names of trees, or animals, calling the lake a river or a pheasant a “ginger squirrel”!).

We also talked about some pictures she’d posted on Twitter of a painted stone hidden in a tree and so today I set off on a quest because I was pretty sure I knew where it was.

Even though I know being outside will lift my spirits and that walking is the best way to work through ideas and emotions, it is often the hardest thing for me to do. Actually motivating myself to leave the house can feel like wading through bread dough and yet, and yet…it never fails to work subtle magic, mood lifts and thoughts start to race. Today, because I wanted so much to find and photograph the stone I was not only inspired to get out but observing everything around me even more carefully. I had a mission, like arty geocashing, no wonder Masquerade caused such a stir.  The first sight of the lake made me gasp out loud, it was one of those perfect, oily mirror days that send you off balance and made me wish more than anything that I’d brought my swimming stuff. Viscous water, that’s what it is; you can almost see the surface tension and imagine that it would hold you. I used all my Landscape Detective skills, learned in geography lessons where  we were given a photograph and an OS map and asked to pinpoint the view. I got it wrong and set off from the wrong side of the lake.

I nearly gave up but then I worked it out and there, nestling in the crook of a branch was the golden treasure! Well hidden, not at all obvious if you weren’t looking. I invented a quick spell, toasted with a flask of coffee, which will hopefully channel some of Jackie’s skill and success into my own work via my “I am an artist” ring.  Well, you never know. Of course I replaced the stone, making sure no-one but the raven saw me, because I’d had such a lovely time searching that I hoped other people would too. Returning, I passed another tree that had had flowers and a plastic notice tied to it with red ribbon last time I’d walked this path. It was a memorial to a lost loved one and moving in it’s own way but it made me think how many of us feel the need to leave these offerings and memorials and how fine the line is between honouring a place and damaging it. The red ribbon was all that remained on the tree, jarring in the soft winter light and what happened to the plastic? Jackie’s stone was as natural as the tree it rested in and will weather and fade, if allowed to, but people who find it will feel a little joy at their discovery.

On the way back to the car I lost my bearings and found a tiny creature on a wooden bench, another little treasure, on a path I would never otherwise have discovered. That sounds a little bit like life, so, now, by the stove (which needs another log) I’m trying to find the words to express this magical walk without straying into the sickly realm of motivational quotes and New Age, pseudo pagan bullshit but actually I’m not sure I can (talk about Lost Words eh) To me it feels as though it reinforced the fact that everything is connected , that getting lost can help you find what you really need and that the treasure you find, however tiny, is the reward for all the bad stuff.

Look, this bear found treasure too…

The kettle is about to boil and I have a parcel to carefully wrap as these two lamps are heading to new homes in the far North this week. I’ve added a custom order section to the website so it’s now possible to easily commission your own bespoke lamp to light up your winter. I’m also entering the Wraptious competition which was a spur of the moment thing so I’m not all that worried, but you’ll be able to vote and for a short time buy the designs on their website. It’s worth looking because there are some beautiful designs by loads of different artists (I’ve voted for lots already). Until next time x

Reading : ” The Keeper of Lost Things” Ruth Hogan    Listening to: ” The Amber Spyglass” Phillip Pullman ( Audio Book) oh and this… “Tracking Treasure Down” Gabriel and Dresden ….my heart missed a beat, more memories and some kind of residual ecstatic rush.

Blossom and Ice

The colour is just seeping back in to the day, as the morning snow gives way to more seasonal rain and I’ve settled by the stove to write. Slowly, outside the big window, the delicate prettiness of pink blossom and ice has returned to over saturated green and yellow ( is it a crime to live in the Lake District and not like daffodils? shhh, don’t tell ).  It’s been a day of little tasks, printing order forms and making price labels, sorting out boxes of exhibition “stuff”; the kind of things that make it seem as though I’ve been busy all day but haven’t achieved very much. It was exciting to wake up to snow this morning and the cat was beside herself with joy, skittering about like a kitten, staring wide eyed through the window and asking to go out ( and immediately back in again) at least 20 times. Cat has always loved snow but there seems to be much less of it these days and certainly less than some of the winters  in our old  home. I miss it and the strange excitement and magic it brings. But it’s unseasonal now, and mostly I suppose, unwelcome after all the celebrations of the first day of Spring. Yesterday was so cold I gave in and put the heating on early. I’d spent the morning sharing a chair and a hot water bottle with that cat- neither of us normally so affectionate- until the Archers came on the radio and the sound of hounds sent her clawing herself free to hide under the table.

Some really lovely things have been happening lately. I’m now recognised in Keswick Post Office, or at least the red bear stamp on most of my parcels is, which must mean that sales are getting a bit more regular. This week for the first time since leaving the Herdy shop I earned the same as I would have done had I stayed – a combined income from my own sales and the almost unbelievable treat of a day’s work at Sam Read’s Bookshop in Grasmere. I think you could begin to understand the strangeness of finding myself looking OUT of the bookshop from behind the desk, rather than IN through the postcardy door, if you looked back at previous posts or searched “Grasmere” in the side bar. The happy/sad of being here in the Lakes instead of “home”, the feeling of unreality and uprootedness that comes from building a new life where there are no familiar touchstones, the lack of confidence after various “work” events – sometimes something nice happens out of the blue and you find yourself looking over your shoulder to check for Fairy Godmothers. Anyway, it was a fun day and I’m very grateful to Will for thinking I might be able to help out… especially as we only really know each other through Twitter and there was that time I was in the shop and mentioned the possibility of assassinating him so I could steal his job (social anxiety can make you say the dumbest things).

Well, I’m sure all work can become mundane (and I’ve always resisted applying for jobs in places I really love in case familiarity breeds contempt) but it was so nice to have interesting conversations and learn new things and it seemed auspicious that as I drove over Dunmail Raise, before the signal gave out, someone was reading Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” on the radio.

Back on Witchmountain with less than two weeks until Harrogate I’m busily doing last minute preparations for the show as well as trying to learn how to use my new camera… an early birthday present to myself because I’m suppose to try and take proper product photographs. The wooden jewellery has been really popular and I can’t wait to get some more designs made. The special “design sample” price ends this weekend but I’m sure will still want them at the real RRP. which properly reflects the costs. How I wish I was a hardened business woman with no qualms about pricing, instead of a bit of a hippy idealist with a basic mistrust of Capitalism! Yesterday I listened to a radio programme that talked about spending and “peak stuff” and found that I agreed so much with the philosophy that we all have too much “stuff” and that we buy too much, waste too much. How can I reconcile this with trying to sell my own stuff?! I wanted to call the programme and say that maybe if people chose to buy more from smaller independent businesses, to choose for love rather than being on the “upgrade” treadmill – could that work? Perhaps I need to look for a good book on economics and philosophy…

The hungry stove is asking for another log, the radio’s brought unwelcome news from London and Rupert has just got back from a chilly day at work in the mines across the valley (as an outdoor educator not a miner) so it’s time for tea. Apparently the sun will reappear later this week and the brief brake on Spring will be released.


Reading:- “Basic Nest Architecture” Polly Atkin ( from Grasmere – poems that have kept me awake at night searching the internet for Moon pianos and memories of home) and “Swell, A Waterbiography” Jenny Landreth ( to be published on May 4th )

A Secret Garden

Newlands Valley , the garden in Spring

March is upon us; the wheel is turning again, creaking at first as the brave new buds appear but before you know it we’ll be rushing headlong towards summer and taking it all for granted. Do you ever wish you could slow it down, press pause at a certain point; the first snowdrops maybe, or bluebell time? In melancholy mood I want to savour every moment, my 50th spring; when you put it like that each new season has a greater value – how many times will I see the wild garlic or the willow flowers?-  and I know I’m so lucky to live in a place where those seasonal signposts are a daily joy. My dad recently told my brother he had lost his feeling for where he was in the year, unsure if it was snowdrop time yet, since moving from the farm to the town and so spending less time outside. As for me, I’ve been in the next door garden this week, discovering the Victorian “Barley Twist” edges of the lawn which I doubt have been seen for years under the overgrown borders and tumbled rockeries. The garden isn’t mine, it has strange plants that I don’t recognise and it makes me miss “home” and my own lost garden again, but it’s a haven and I’m glad of it. I’m never happier than when I’m lost in a garden.

reflection , design by Kim Tillyer

Apart from my occasional trips in to the garden, to gather sticks or hack through the undergrowth, I’ve been busy with all sorts of odd BCTF preparations, whilst wrestling with guilt trips about my lack of a regular income. I call myself so many mean names before I’ve even got out of bed that it’s not surprising confidence is low… but so far I’m managing to meet all the targets I’ve set for myself, new work is happening every day, spread sheets, catalogues and even the odd drawing are being created and I’m starting to really look forward to April.

polar bear lantern by Kim Tillyer

One useful thing I discovered whilst filling in last month’s sections of The Makers Business Toolkit planner was that many of the people who buy from me via my Etsy shop or Facebook are people who have followed Witchmountain in one way or another for a long time. I really love that I feel as though I’ve known some of you for years, what would I do without you?! But, in trying to train myself to be more businesslike, I realise that I need to reach new people too; BCTF will hopefully do that but I wonder how else to do it? I’ve made a little survey just for fun and it would be great if you could take the time to fill it in , it’s multiple choice, anonymous  and very quick. Thank you.

SURVEY

display by Kim Tillyer

Now the night has crept upon me and the fire has got low, it’s time to think about sleeping and talk to the cat about her plans for the evening; it’s raining outside but I don’t want waking up at 4am by beast scratching at the bedroom door like a demon.

kitchen sink drama

Reading: “Dip” by Andrew FusekPeters Listening To: “Dead in the Boot” elbow

Website: Wooden-boy the arty adventures of musician Sycamore Sykes, including my favourite greetings card of the moment for book lovers and introverts everywhere 🙂

White Horses

img_0276

This week I am practicing the philosophy and art of hygge, or gezellig if you want an even harder word to pronounce, because its definitely Autumn now and the average temperature in this house during the day (even with the stove on) is 16-18℃. I’m creating the illusion of warmth and coziness by building a nest in my little room and wrapping up in a friendly old, orange wool blanket.It’s silly that my fingers are so cold and it’s not even winter yet but I can warm them up by slipping my hands under the laptop, which is on my knee like a hot water bottle.

I’ve been driven a little bit mad by technology lately and the fact that I now have a computer that is so out of date the browser won’t even load Wikipedia (I’m keeping my fingers crossed WordPress stays as it is) and an iPhone with a splodgy camera lens and a battery life shorter than a goldfish’s memory (since it updated to ios10 it lasts about an hour). These are actually tools of my trade so I really need to think about investing in replacements but built in obsolescence infuriates me; constant software upgrades and “improvements” never seem to be worth it and always seem like a plot to force sales but maybe I’m the problem; reaching a point where I’m resistant to change and all fuzzy in the head from lack of brain stimulation. The thought of setting up a new computer makes me feel exhausted so I struggle on with Hot-water-bottle-Mac and Goldfish Phone and may as well be using a Box Brownie and a ZX81…besides I can’t afford it just now.

img_0282

After I finished writing the last blog post I was so wide awake that I ended up watching old TV programmes on You Tube (which I never do) until 3am, before reading in bed until 4. The thing I watched was “The Moon Stallion” which was a BBC childrens’ TV series from 1978. I was on my own in the house that night, curled up by the fire watching something from my childhood- ultimate gezellig. I was struck by how much it had affected me at the time – when I was 11 and living in Wiltshire not far from the places in the story. It was slightly spooky. I think I was terribly serious and geeky about it when I was 11 which must have been either funny or annoying for my family, so watching it now I cringed a little in memory of my younger self and I wondered how a child of 11 would feel about it today; apart from a slightly cheesy fight scene it had aged quite well and will always be important to me, perhaps because it was part of  a year that marked the almost imperceptible “beginning of the end” of childhood. I remember being taken to see the White Horse at Uffington and Wayland’s Smithy and frightening myself by trying to climb the steep grassy banks… it’s an amazing place where it’s easy to believe in magic. I’ve been back several times over the years and even took my children there, one hot summer day, to spin around 3 times in the horse’s eye (don’t tell English Heritage).

img_0291

You can see a little etching I did from around about that time in this post from 2012. I can see the etching from where I sit and the house does look so much like “home”.

Meanwhile in another century a woman on the cusp of 50 draws galloping white horses and lonely bears surrounded by papery flowers and wonders where the time went. You can see a little etching I did from around about that time in this post from 2012. I can see the etching from where I sit and the

img_0266

I’ve been slowly adding more pictures to my Artfinder shop as well as listing some new Winter Snow Bears cards on Etsy which are selling really well so THANK YOU to everyone who has ordered so far. It really is true that “Just a Card” can make a big difference – not just financially but by boosting confidence too, making it so much easier when people ask “what do you do”. I’ve been baking too, making this stupidly delicious Ginger Crunch slice from the recipe given to me by Lucia’s in Grasmere. More addictive than crack but hopefully better for you, despite the butter and sugar, it makes me feel happy when I eat it because it reminds me that some people are kind and generous and friendly in a world that isn’t always so ( also a lot of these people seem to live in the Lake District). However I will soon be too enormous to fit in my wetsuit so I may have to learn self control.

img_0297

I hope you are feeling gezellig where ever you are. Until next time x