Bedtime Story

'Life is not peaceful', said Snufkin, contentedly.

- Tove Jansson
   Finn Family Moomintroll

Intention

Once upon a time there was a very normal underachiever. As soon as her child was asleep, she'd decide she couldn't be arsed to wash up and instead sit numbing herself with sugar and salt and screen. She talked about writing, but mostly just scribbled notes on newspapers and failed to open old Word docs. In a town swarming with artistic talent, she produced amateur images of flowers and trees, like a schoolchild. Her house had terrible trouble with piles and there were corners unhoovered for so long they had been declared off-limits. She was pathologically single, but leaned on her friends like a poorly-rooted tree in a wood, sharing the strain whether others could take it or not. When she noticed how little she contributed, she would weep and moan and dream about the difficult things that had happened years ago and those which might happen in the future.

And it happened that also there was a woman of remarkable strength and grace and courage. Her widowhood, still serrated and not blunting with time as she'd expected, infused her with a constant sorrow and great surges of pain. Her mum was living under a cancer cloud and the fear of the first, fat drops sat quietly in her, not yet pouncing but never really retreating. Against these griefs and fears, she held out a daring hope for another child - one last before her ovaries were taken away. Already without breasts, it would be a strong sorrow to not give that baby mothers' milk, but she would do all she could to give it life and love. Daily she did her fluctuating best for her child and herself, putting what she could into words and images and dreams for a time when joy was king again.

This coming year, I will try to love both these women equally.

Solstice Lamp

The night - that last night - Thomas came home from hospital, I lit a lamp and hung it outside our gate so, as he was driven back to us, he could see home from the earliest possible moment. I couldn't wait those extra seconds for him to know how much we wanted him back.

The dark is good for me this year, a good time to be trying to brew new life.

But still, the tiny lengthening of the light feels like the world hanging out a lamp for me. I will get home. And if I am very, very lucky, I will see the sunrise.

A Rumour Quashed and a Rustic Disco Shining Meadow

An accusation has been made, to my face, in a most discourteous manner and I want to take this oppportunity to tell my side (which is the truth) before this rumour spreads further. It's not the kind of thing I would usually respond to, but I'm concerned people might start believing it. So, once and for all: I am NOT a poo poo head.

Right. Now that's settled, let's have some art. I am so woefully behind showing you what I'm creating that this has already sold. This is Shining Meadow. Each flower is drawn with metallic ink, giving it a kind of rustic disco finish. I'm wondering if I've invented a whole new genre there, or even a strapline for my work. Lunar Hine: Rustic Disco

I am clearly in too silly a mood to talk about my brother's lovely wedding or my less fun wedding anniversary, so they can wait. But I have some gorgeous photos of the flower girl :o).

Cosmic Dancer and Blackberry Squeezer

Cosmic Dancer by Thomas Hine, now appearing in an Etsy shop near you.

We are back into a new term-time schedule. I am remembering what I like about that, such as being able to write during the day, returning to Forest School to find it full of mushrooms, and walking into Pickle's nursery to find her deeply focussed on playing a steel drum. I am also remembering how very much Pickle hates having her flow interrupted because I want her to be elsewhere. Sometimes it is important that she be given unlimited time to sit on the floor snipping and taping bits of card and any suggestion that she might need to stop can create a banshee response. Pickle is a girl who knows her mind, as all the best of us do. 

However hard it is to get out the door, I am glad to have these bits of time now. I can feel the dark loom of my wedding anniversary approaching and am already spiralling down. It is good to vent some of my maddest moments while Pickle is impressing her teachers with her new-found number skills or (right now) attending a dog birthday party with her Gappy.

On the very last day of our holiday we went to a fantastic event in the woods. Everyone who's anyone in these parts, and several of us who aren't, gathered for a day of wonder. Chagford bloggers were out in force... but we have all been sworn to secrecy... for now...

And since, we have progressed from T-rex brownies to T-rex gluten free flatbreads and the most delicious blackberry tea picked from our garden and squeezed by a delighted Pickle through muslin. Here she is enjoying the leftover mush with yoghurt. Our table may never be the same again.

Last night I went out (I was shocked too!) to an African dance class. We learned a Zimbabwean harvest dance, complete with brow-wiping and snuff-taking-then-sneezing moves. I loved it, but it made me confront how unfit I am. Luckily I only have to harvest blackberries and cherry tomatoes, although Pickle has grand plans for her garden next year.

Other than that, I have been painting in the evenings as usual and will show you the results soon. I think I need to do lots of these little posts to catch up with myself.

Mr Right Has Been Found!

Change is coming. Already there are touches of lemon yellow weaving the greens and the children are full to bursting with blackberries and apples and all good things. Pickle and I have only a few more days of moochy mornings in dressing gowns, reading stories on the sofa between sips of coffee (just me, obviously) and making hazy plans for the rest of the day, typically including the park, the garden, a friend, an icelolly and a thwarted request to have pasta again for tea.

In the mainstream way of things, Pickle would be starting proper school on Monday! I'm very glad she won't be, although I think she would cope fine. Instead, she'll do another term at her lovely Montessori nursery, then start school part-time in January. Although I am feeling increasingly confident about my ability to homeschool without losing the last shreds of my mind, I know I'll appreciate being able to work more. I have been adding to my Etsy shop in the evenings. Here is a drawing by Thomas which I have titled Contemplation. I think it is a fantasy drawing of a different type - actually where he would like to be, taking some time to let his mind drift on a beautiful hill, with a spot of archaeology when he feels like moving. And always the joke is on the humans - the magpie, unseen, removing the best find of the day.

During the days, Pickle and I have been making the most of our time together. We visited a donkey sanctuary with some friends and I enjoyed, as I always do, seeing Thomas's gentleness in Pickle when she is with animals. Here she is grooming a lovely rescued donkey called Rodney. (She later speculated that he might have been pregnant.)

Chagford has had its annual Show. It's been a big farming thing for aeons with proper 'best veg' competitions which are taken absolutely seriously and Dartmoor bluefaced and greyfaced sheep winning beauty contests, but it has expanded into a funfair and art/craft event as well, with heavy horse and bird of prey displays, vintage steam-powered tractors and the like. I tried to photograph the sea eagle as it flew over us, but failed, sorry. Walking across one of the fields we found a teepee and crawled inside. There, Pickle was shown how to light a fire. She knows the theory from me and from Forest School, but this is the first time anyone's given her a bundle of dried grass and a striker and the time to try again and again and again until this happened:

I have read about the different ways mums and dads parent and I try to do some of both, which mostly means being less risk-averse than I would naturally be. This is the only explanation I have for taking Pickle on this:

We were so scared! And so excited! Pickle wisely opted to spend the time we were halted at the highest point with her eyes shut and her face buried in my chest. I wisely opted to hold on to the bar and to her tighter than I remember holding on to anything else ever. The best bit for me was watching Pickle's adrenaline rush afterwards. She really felt brave and that she had done a very Big Girl Thing - and so did I.

Danger and excitement followed us home. A friend gave Pickle a big egg. We put it in water and Pickle ran downstairs as soon as she woke every day to check the progress of the cracks ... what would come out? This came out:

A stegasaur! It is now right out of its egg and still growing! We are very relieved it is not a carnivore.

Keeping with our dinosaur theme, we have also made these:

We were very proud.

We have been to the Aesop musical put on by the older children round about. I had a bag full of shushing food, but needed none. Pickle was rapt for the whole performance and has said she wants to take part when she's old enough. Chagford Carnival has whirled past and Pickle was very much a part of that. We were in the square all day watching innocent children being drilled through the middle, or having knives juggled over their prone bodies. We watched the unicycling fire juggler play dodge-the-bunting. Pickle was first up for every dancing opportunity - we even did some morris dancing because Thomas would have loved that. Pickle bounced on the castle, had her face painted like a dog and was entranced again by songs from the musical. There were bands and locals singing and playing divinely and squiggly tail things on sticks which went viral within five minutes of the arrival of the curt cart man. Then there was the parade. We got ourselves seats on the graveyard wall and cheered as all the fantastic creations danced, chased, swam, sang, played, rode and toddled past. They were all amazing, but the one I will show you is the Save Our Library gang. What you can't tell from this photo is that a certain Tilly-walker is the dormouse.

So, these have been our happenings since last time, but what of Mr Right? Well, I know which city he is lives in, his hair and eye colour, his height and his weight. That is all. And on the strength of that I have selected him to be the donor dude for my next child. If this sounds like a flimsy foundation for faith, let me tell you a little story about an omen which came my way.

Some weeks ago a man appeared in my garden as I was hanging my pants on the line and beseeched me to buy into his charity lottery. No, I said, I already do the Air Ambulance lottery and that is all I can afford. Have you ever won? he asked. More people win with ours. No... But it's not really about that. I won't switch.

A letter arrived from the Air Ambulance Lottery. Sorry to trouble you. Mr Hine has won some money. We see he is deceased and have no next of kin contact.

I phoned the number. Yes, we can re-issue the cheque in your name. Hang on, I'll find out how much it was...

I am on hold, hoping it's the big £100 win, but knowing I'll be grateful for a tenner.

...Ah yes. Mr Hine has won one thousand and three hundred pounds. 

At this point I start crying and telling the poor woman this couldn't be better timing because I really need the money.

The cheque duly arrives and the bank clerk takes it like this is a normal amount of money for me to pay in. It is a huge sum for me; nothing like what the IVF will cost, but a big help.

Then I am sent my Blind Date info about all the men I might like to mix genetics with and plump for Mr Birmingham. And THEN it transpires that if this all comes off in the first go, I can now cover the costs without borrowing. Thomas may yet, against apparently insurmountable odds, be able to give me the baby we wanted to make together.And if that isn't an omen then nothing is. Which may well be the case. But for me it feels like a blessing from Thomas on this new child and a sign from the universe that I am making good decisions. It feels like there is a real chance that my dreams will come true: that I can complete my family and no-one else need get very ill or die. We can simply live happily ever after.

Reptiles, Robin Hood, Pirate Treasure and C

We have been LOVING this summer.

Things are hotting up in preparation for my little (taller is irrelevant) brother's wedding. Pickle is going to be a Flower Girl. I thought I was unsentimental, but she did a little twirl when she tried the dress on and it brought a tear to my eye. The day may be very emotional. It will be the first wedding I've been to since my own and I hope I have what it takes to read the words Jake and Stacey have asked me to. Meanwhile, Pickle has been getting into the theme with her cousin, making good use of my mum's old chemo wig.

We have been to field parties. Here Pickle is wearing pirate trousers, a flamenco dress, a train engineer tabard and a hard hat.

We went to Chagstock, the festival with the most amazing views, and discovered that if you get right to the front and stand right in the centre, you miss a lot of the amplification which is too much for Pickle's ears, so there we stayed and had a brilliant dance to reggae and ska bands. Earlier, Pickle had been very enthusiastic to hold all the snakes and reptiles she could get her gentle hands on.

She was even unafraid of the T-Rex we met in The Eden Project. I was a bit scared, though, so she cuddled me tight. Turns out dinosars are hard to photograph.

We have gloried in the longtime sun,

 found shade when it got too hot

and water just when we needed it.

Although we have mostly been about dinosaurs lately, we did make time for some interactive theatre sword and bow training with Robin Hood himself at Powderham Castle.

We have had cooler days, but they have just been an opportunity to make fashion history. (Read that whichever way you like.)

Even at home there have been adventures. We have, over the course of many hours, tunnelled through the unexpected raspberries and totally expected brambles to reach Thomas's shed and found many wonders therein. And only last night, Kwazi (a pirate cat Octonaut) gave me a real pirate treasure map for Pickle.

 

She started hunting straight after breakfast and found real treasure! THEN she discovered it was made of chocolate. I think she was pleased.

Meanwhile, Thomas's work is accruing in my Etsy shop. I might do some mini-posts when I put up a new artwork, but here's his C picture for now. How many can you spot?