New World Week 18 In Review

For the last few weeks I’ve been staying here.

In this tiny little house.

Nestled in the corn fields.

It’s where I grew up.

I think its interesting to see where people grew up. Environments give us context. They’re part of the nurture that moulds our nature.

We inhabit a place and that outside place influences our inside place and we then relate to that outside place from our inside place and so the cycle goes on.

I’m not sure if that makes sense.

But anyway.

Coming back here for a few weeks is always like coming back to my motherland.

It’s where I feel most at one with the world.

Since we arrived the sun has been scorching and the grass has gone yellow.

It feels like summer has gotten late.

As default parent – and Roo at UKSA learning to be a sailor all week – it’s been just me and the man-cub.

So, as country kids do, we made lemon cake.

That’s not Deadly Nightshade btw. But I don’t think it’s edible either …

On August 1st it’s the ancient festival of Lammas.

Lammas is the first of the Wiccan/Celtic harvest festivals, the first hint of autumn.

And as if Life caught a sniff of this in the air, a lovely friend gave us some plumbs and exotic mushrooms … which felt quite harvesty.

Reid and I have spent disproportionate amount of time in the Maize fields.

Being lost in the labyrinth of pathways is waaaay too much fun.

If you haven’t tried it, do.

There’s been a crazy load of illustrative work happening.

In the very room that as a child, I used to sit and draw and dream of what I’d be when I grew up.

There’s also been a lot of lying in the desert sun on a rooftop veranda that didn’t exist when I was a little girl living here.

This veranda is as high as the chimneys and gives a panoramic view of the landscape.

One night I woke up because the dog was outside barking and I went out to call her.

The sky was black as ink and the stars were scattered like a pot of silver dust.

It took my breath away and I was hit by how incredible this tiny pocket of the world is.

Had a drawing that I did of Castlehaven printed on the July/August edition of Style of Wight.

They credited the image with the wrong name.

Which I’m not actually bothered about.

Because it turns out that’s what happens when you’re older.

You’re less bothered.

Is anyone else finding that?

It’s quite liberating.

Reid’s home education came to a grinding halt.

It’s been stuttering and stalling for a while, but this week it died completely.

Instead he’s done stuff like … found flowers in the garden and made them into nice arrangements for me.

And played a hell of a lot of games on his computer.

(This bit does bother me. But I’m trying to allow myself to be less bothered. Because right now I am doing two different jobs, have a major deadline to hit and am solo parenting two children 24/7).

Miraculously got to hang out with with this one – as well as another Harley riding skallywag.

And yeah – I may have drooled on his bike a bit.

Cropped all of the purple poppy heads with Reid.

As you can see, he wore his fluffy penguin onesy.

We accidently dropped a few million seeds on that patch of ground before we remembered to get a bag to catch them.

Meaning next year this patch is going to be very poppyish and purply.

Started reading this.

It is about a man who has spent many years of his life with a remote Amazonian tribe called the Piraha. He discovered that their language defies linguistic theory and reflects a way of living and perceiving that “evades contemporary understanding”. They have no concept of war, property, have no counting system or fixed terms for colour and they live entirely in the present.

As a child all I wanted to do with my life was to go and live in the Amazon rainforest with a tribe.

My dreams to be a writer and all that stuff was secondary.

Last year when the Amazon caught on fire, it dawned in a stomach turning way, that I may never get to go there.

Next January is a big birthday for me. When it happens I want nothing more than to be pressing my bare feet into the dusty ground of a tribal village in the Amazon. Reading this book is a humble nod to the Universe that I’m ready to get moving … and also a way of travelling to a distant land when I’m very much grounded on the Isle of Wight.

Where do you dream of going?

Waking up at 5am to vast skies and big sunsets.

Feeling my fitness coming back.

Getting to do work I love.

Good sleep.

Reid getting to see his little buddies.

Frida the Labradoodle’s massive love and best cuddles.

Living on this island.

Dolphins swimming in our bays.

A home that feels like home.

Someone leaving their handbrake off. Their car rolling down a very large hill. Said car smashing into the back of my downgraded car. New bumper required.

Waaaaaaaaaay too much to do and being totally behind on everything.

No time / full time parenting / too many jobs.

Trying to stop the children trashing my mother’s house.

Whilst I curb children’s destruction, Ads smashing my mum’s most beloved, sacred, sentimentally supreme wine glass.

Showing the wine glass to glass-blower friend and asking if it could be re-blown and fixed.

Glass-blower friend saying glass can be re-blown but would need to be hand-cut.

Hand-cut glass job = £ several hundred.

Fess up to mother that supremely sentimental wine-glass has been smashed.

Major house tidy/clean before said mother returns home on Sunday.

Did I mention too many jobs? (Including replacing a smashed up bumper).