Norwegian Independence Day, vintage hi-fi and trying to live on an even keel

Today is Norwegian Independence Day, a yearly event marking the end of nearly three centuries of control by Denmark. In Norway it's a mad happy day, filled with parades and parties.

Here is my Norwegian flag flying on the edge of the garden, the first time I've hoisted it myself as flag-flying was Frog’s domain.

The Norwegian flag has double significance for me as, unbeknownst to me, Frog had ordered me one just before he died and it arrived the day after he died, along with some brackets for hanging spotlights, which was a project he was engaged on at the time. (As you can see, his death was a surprise to us both.)

Frog was a hoarder and I’ve been clearing his stuff continuously for the last two and a half years. On Wednesday the lovely AtkinsAuctions from Axminster, whose strapline ‘Old style values, New style auctions’ describes them perfectly, arrived to take away Frog’s collection of what’s called ‘vintage hi-fi’ but most of which he still used. I’m hoping their online auctioneering will reach the geeks, and Frog’s equipment will go to good homes.

Even though I have exciting plans for the space that’s left, it was a sad and momentous day and yesterday my back gave way as I was clearing weed from the pond. Was it connected to the loss or was it the result of all the outdoor work I did last week when the weather was so beautiful?

Either way, it’s given me the day off today, which is actually rather nice, and all sorts of sedentary possibilities have been flooding in, including this blog post.

I do tend to drive myself, probably in order not to think and feel too much, and have begun to veer between manic activity and depressive slump. Not good or pleasant. So, in an effort to get out of that pattern, I’ve cut my coffee consumption by half (from a double espresso at breakfast to a single one). It seems to be doing something.

Ellie’s a bit like me, in that she finds it hard to slow down, even at the age of 14, but here she is recently in peaceful mode.

A winter's walk by the sea

I’ve been getting in a terrible tizz about my future – to move or not to move, whether it’s OK to sell some of Frog’s stuff (do I want to keep it as a memento or is it better to move on?), how long will it be before I’m too old to manage on my own and what will I do then, ?

So yesterday, the dog and I took off for a walk by the sea.

During the walk I met a lovely woman and we had a long talk that started with our dogs - what else? -  and went on to range from reincarnation to quantum mechanics, stopping off on the way at Tolkien and Philip Pullman. As Bilbo Baggins used to say, you never know what's going to happen when you step outside your front door.

The weather was perfect – bright but not too sunny, a light wind, moderate temperatures – and there weren’t many other people about. All my worries blew away and I wanted to keep going all day but I realised that I’d come out without any money and no map and had left my water bottle in the car. 

So after a couple of hours I took the sensible option and walked back to the car along a filthy farm track, my feet squelching in a mixture of animal excrement and mud. I was glad of my hefty boots and knee-high waterproof socks.

Next time, I'll go better prepared.

Probably.

It's hard when the way ahead is so unclear.

June to January - a round-up

I haven’t been blogging much recently, mostly because Frog’s death (2 years ago) has made me less confident and more negative (What’s the use? Etc etc.). Also, I have twice as much to do as before and I don’t know how to do half of it.

Recently however, as I feel stronger and more capable of dealing with my new life, I’ve been looking for something extra. Or, rather, I’ve been scratching around frantically, trying to fill the emptiness left by Frog’s departure.

Two days ago, two things happened. First, a cousin heaped praise on my pictures and my writing (I think she was talking about my blog). Thank you, A. Then, a friend sent me a link to a scheme in which each day different writers and artists suggest creative things people can do. That day’s piece was by Michael Rosen, former Children’s Laureate, and I found it inspiring. Thank you, C.

I took that conjunction as a nudge from the universe. I had been thinking about writing. Like being out in nature, it takes me to another world, it gives me faith, and I’m a dead loss at 'good works' - things voluntary and for the community which are the usual solution for people in my situation. I have been keeping a sort of diary for the last 2 years but that's definitely not for public consumption and I wanted readers. The first line of a novel did come into my head and I already had a vague plan for one but I became overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. Blogging seemed to be the answer.

So here goes - a round-up in pictures of the last 7 months.

  

June and a heatwave. Ellie takes advantage of the garden's shade-sail. 

                 October and a muddy, misty dawn. I’m up early these days and it has its advantages.

 

November and autumn colours. (Spot the dog.)

 

The ever-photogenic canal in early December, where I bumped into a friend who made me coffee beside the water with his wind-up machine that ground the beans and frothed the milk. Frog would have loved it.

Mid-December. Sunset, with crows in my wild cherry tree. I once freed three crows that I found trapped in a crate for some nefarious purpose, and I believe that crows now look out for me because it has become imprinted in their lore that I'm a friend of their species.

Dusk on Christmas Eve and a walk with my family in Kent’s beautiful North Downs.

New Year. I have a cold and C brings me a jar of her home-made onion pickles, which she says are good for infection. I put some on my wintry salad of red cabbage, toasted pumpkin seeds and raisins. It is a new taste sensation.

By the sea last week. People are swimming, some in wet-suits and some in nothing but bathing costumes. Brr. But I’m sort of envious.