Blessings

I don’t do it often, but once in a while, I really do count them.  After a lovely weekend away, we drove home in that  comfortable manner of not really talking or having a proper conversation, but sharing the occasional thought, recollection or observation.  The radio was on but neither of us were really listening, because we were each lost in our own thoughts – mine, admittedly, fuelled by two large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc at lunchtime!

Having spent a couple of days last week working with the ladies in Exeter where one of the topics of discussion was reflective practice, this was still quite high in my subconscious.  I always explain this concept as the “mulling over” of events; in my case it’s often in the car on the way home and the perfect time for a little blessings count.

We’d spent a happy weekend with friends in Kent, a part of the country I knew next to nothing about.  The sun had shone, the days had been cool but clear and the sky was that shade of blue that makes everything look its best.  From the minute we arrived, we relaxed and settled into an easy routine of gentle activity, interesting conversation, shared stories and comfortable company.  We visited Knole and Chartwell, saw a little of the beautiful countryside and admired the small towns and villages that characterise the landscape of West Kent.

We saw great swathes of forest that had been devastated in the great storm of 1987, now growing again and looking lovely in the autumn sunshine.  We admired the beautiful house and gardens at Chartwell and learned a little about the man who lived there (and who sat in that chair to paint his garden).  Perhaps we all owe him one or two of our blessings?

The best thing of all was that the pair of us didn’t plan a thing.  All we did was “go with the flow”  (spoken in a good Hull accent…goe with the floe!)  from beginning to end.

And drink tea.

And eat delicious meals, cooked for us without our having to lift so much as a finger.

And share Kindle recommendations.

And look at photos.

And play Balderdash!

Hopefully we left before we’d outstayed our welcome, straight into the capable hands of another couple of friends who suggested we meet for lunch here.  No wonder we felt blessed – we didn’t even have to make a decision about that, either!

Words from a wise man

“There’s no point in talking to your friends (to make peace), you should be talking to your enemies”

We heard Kofi Annan speak at the Cheltenham Festival last night.  He came across as a man of noble spirit, immense patience and the ultimate diplomat which meant he was extremely adept at ducking any question about Tony Blair.

It’s Bond, Basildon Bond

I am in Exeter, working with a group of delightful women who are training to be WI Craft Judges.  One of their tasks is to judge a "Village Show", including the confirmation of all the arrangements.  Of course, they can't just turn up at the show but have to invited...and who invites them but the legendary President of Lower Puddle WI, Mrs Ophelia B Joyful.  Generations of WI judges have corresponded with Mrs O B Joyful, the earlier ones responding Dear Madam and the later ones Dear Ophelia.  How times change, eh?

Anyway, here we are, the night before the show and no letters have been sent. Not only that but there's no one else here to write them but me, minus a computer.  But I have a pen and I can write!  I decided that Mrs O B Joyful wouldn't send a letter written on any old paper, so on my way back to the hotel I stopped off in WHSmith to buy some notepaper and envelopes.

Hah!  Could I find it?  What do you think?

I stopped a member of staff and asked for writing paper and envelopes - explaining that I wanted the kind you write a letter on, not take notes.

"Oh, do you want the lined stuff?  It's over there".  She pointed to the "student" section.

"No," I replied, "I want letter paper,  not the kind you take notes on"

"Yes, it's over there, it's in books you can tear a sheet out"

Slowly, it dawned on me that this young woman didn't know what Basildon Bond was.  That the concept of buying a pad of special paper and matching envelopes was totally alien to her.  I thanked her and found an older colleague to ask, who pointed in the opposite direction.  There on the end of a display was the full range of writing pads and envelopes.  I made my selection and went to pay.

The youngster had the last laugh though.  I discarded the lined guide page and began to write the first letter.  I continued onto a second page and forged Ophelia Joyful's signature before carefully tearing the two sheets from the pad.  But it wouldn't tear off neatly.  Muttering something about Basildon Bond not being what it used to be, I looked more closely.

I had written the first page on the blotting paper.

Hands up anyone who needs an explanation of what that was used for?

Finished!

The last pages of my journal tell the story of the last few days quite well.  I’ve learned quite a bit and it turned out to be easy to identify a clear focus each day.  Samuel’s visit on Wednesday revealed what we all know already, but forget: How fast babies grow!  My visit to the dentist on Thursday was a rare reminder of how it feels to leave needing no further treatment…for now.

Friday and Saturday provided the last double page spread of the book and the greenish brown collaged surface was perfect for the photograph of Martin, which featured on the order of service for his funeral.  I was able to tuck the details behind the photo, because at some point in the future, I might look at the picture and wonder who?  what?  why?   But as I recorded in my previous blog post, the service taught me to take every opportunity to listen to the stories people tell of their lives – as well as to make the most of every day we have. 

The large purple splodge on the facing page might have been formidable, had I not created a purple card during a demonstration in the class I taught on Saturday.  Pure coincidence, serendipity, whatever, but with a clear message not to forget to have fun in the middle of all the form filling and administration that’s required in any adult learning situation these days.

The final page records our friend’s birthday party.  She will be ten this week and I provided the craft activity for her friends at her party yesterday afternoon.  When I was first married, I taught in a girls’ school and had a class of thirty ten year olds, so sitting at a table chatting to a couple of them about dragons took me right back to those happy days. 

I completed the journal with a list of the events which prompted the journalling.  I know that at some point I’ll need just that bit of extra information to put the page into perspective, so added a short sentence for each day.  I printed it out in my handwriting font…good fun and just a bit spooky, because although it looks just like my writing, at the same time it doesn’t really look as though I wrote it.  Hmmm.

So that completes the Learn Something New Journal for another year.  Tomorrow, as well as beetling down to Exeter to work for three days, I am going to begin a new project.    I have observed (and indeed, been a little bored by) so many blog posts recording their everyday life in this way, but ultimately, my curiosity has been piqued too.  So, I’m giving it a try between now and the end of the year and if it proves a comfortable and effective alternative to my photo a day, then perhaps it’s something I’ll continue.  Though I bought the “kit” to use during this first stage, I envisage including all kinds of things and will probably break free of the formula at some point.  We’ll see.

In the meantime, I’ve put everything away from the four bags full of things I took to my class on Saturday and now need to begin to pack for the next one.  I really am coming back as a French teacher in my next life.