New nests

In the last couple of months, all of my children have moved house into proper civilised flats. Still rentals rather than the distant glittering dream of a mortgage. But definitely smarter than in the past. 

It seems like just yesterday we were dragging new bedding into university halls of residence (or not, in the case of Carenza who forgot hers).  I had a really bad back at that point, so while Nigel hauled a massive suitcase of clothes I would carry a pack of paperclips.

Perhaps because of such past uselessness, none of the children involved me in their move this time.

It felt weird.

 

I wanted to see where they were living.  Help them settle in.  It is a basic Mum function. 

At a very primitive level, I have a need to interfere with their interior design.

I have now managed to blag my way into Perran and Carenza’s flat, and mighty fine it is.  I think they wanted to hold off until it was perfect – being new householders, they don’t realise yet that it will never be perfect. But I was still impressed.

And I have a ticket to go to Edinburgh in November. Pascoe thinks I am coming to see him, but in fact, it is his flat that I am interested in.

On Skype, Pascoe tells me he has been enjoying watching the antlike continuous parade of new Edinburgh students entering Wilkinsons and leaving with an armful of essentials which ALWAYS includes a clothes airer.

“That was us once,” I say.

The Dove and the Passion Flower

The last few weeks have been about trying again.

A year ago we attempted to establish our own flock of doves but failed to source bonded pairs of birds as we should have. 

Over winter we appeared to be running an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local sparrowhawk. In the spring the two remaining pairs nested but magpies raided them persistently. Finally they drifted off to join a bigger flock just down the road.

Three weeks ago we got new birds and netted them in so they would learn to think of our dove cote as home. Then on the night of a dear friend's funeral, a fox broke in, killed one dove and made a hole big enough for others to get out.

Now we are trying once more with four new pairs of doves.

Meanwhile in the back garden, we just planted a passion flower for the fourth time. We're usually good with flowers, but clearly not passion flowers. Maybe this time.

In both cases, we think it's worth trying again because we have a vision. A flock of doves wheeling above our house and landing on the roof.  A sunny back wall bursting into life with the exotic green and violet blooms of the passion flower.

With both flowers and birds, we've taken note of what went wrong and tried to improve our chances of success this time.

Wish us luck

Extinction Rebellion

A really potent army recruitment poster of 1915 had a child asking his father, “Daddy, what did YOU do in the Great War?”

There is nothing more powerful than the thought that we will be called to account for our actions.  Especially if it our own children and grandchildren who are suffering as a result. 

So Nigel and I joined Extinction Rebellion.  It’s not like we have an excess of spare time or a shortage of hobbies.  It just seems incredibly urgent.

Many people would like to carry on the way we are - "If we ignore climate change, maybe it'll go away." Plus there is a strong mesh of business interests which does not want us to consume fewer resources. 

However, I have studied history and archaeology and I know that mighty civilisations like ours have fallen and that sometimes it has been for environmental reasons.

It is devastatingly inaccurate for us Brits to say, "We'll be okay." 

Actually global climate crisis will affect all of us. The millions who are being drowned and scorched will strive for survival. Society will break down on an unprecedented level.

Ours is the last generation that can prevent this. I am haunted by the vision of my someday grandchildren asking me what I did to ensure the planet was habitable for them. I want to have some sort of answer for them.

The death of a friend

When we downsized to our new house four years ago, Ann and Helen kindly came to help me unpack the kitchen.  We worked hard for several hours and at the end of the day we were all tired.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I said.

But I had reckoned without Ann’s characteristic of being a completer/finisher.  It was one of the things that made her so effective, but at that moment, I could have done without it.

“Let’s just leave it now.”

But she was determined to finish the job.  And because she was tired, a dish slipped from her fingers and got chipped.

The dish was part of a set, so I kept it.  But every time I used it, the chip annoyed me a little.

However, this summer, Ann suffered a terrible horse-riding accident, and after three weeks in a coma, she died.

She leaves a great gap in all our lives and when her funeral took place, four hundred and fifty people arrived from all over the country to pay tribute to the extraordinary person she was.

It has been too hard to write about, but suffice it to say, that chipped dish is now the most precious one in my house.