ITALY TRIP - hard to leave home

I've always said "You need to live where you live."

My philosophy is to build a life that you are happy to inhabit - work which you believe to be worthwhile, community involvement that embeds you and contributes to your identity and satisfaction with life. Hobbies which develop your skills. 

Ideally, instead of fantasizing about the next holiday, one should approach it with a modicum of regret, a disruption to the life you have built up. 

That is certainly how we have felt as we approach our Italian trip this year. 

I am leaving behind my books, my enamelling gear, my thriving pot plants. Nigel is abandoning his fruit bushes where redcurrants, blackcurrants and gooseberries are all coming to maturity, his first tomatoes ripening in the greenhouse. 

Both of us hate leaving our roses in their full glory.

Yet it is our community that has come to our rescue.

A young lad from church has agreed to water our patio pots and restock our bird feeders for the dozens of finches and tits who feed there.

Carole has agreed to be foster mother to my seven orchids in full bloom.

Our neighbours have agreed to empty our mail box and in return we have asked them to help themselves to soft fruit as it ripens.

The garden will have moved on when we return, but hopefully our friends will have everything under control.

Leaving Home

Since our children have left home, there have just been the two of us in the house.  It’s been quiet.  Then we hit on the idea of keeping doves. (See previous posts 1 & 2.)

So that the doves would recognise our dovecote at home, we took them through a process known (appropriately) as “homing”.  We used a net to keep them cooped up for six weeks in the dovecote.

The moment for their freedom had arrived at last. Perran, Carenza and Will joined us for the occasion and our neighbours came across. 

Uncertainly, our six snowy doves teetered on the perches of the dovecote not sure what was expected of them. At last, one or two at a time, they fluttered up to the roof where the golden afternoon light caught them, then on into the wild blue yonder, flapping like learners, unaccustomed to the air.

We knew that they should be “homed” by now and come back to roost at nightfall. But as they departed I found myself wondering “What if they don't?”

I realised that I had recreated for myself a reenactment of the traumatic moment when the children flew the nest.  Old emotions rushed back to the surface.

With the pigeons vanished into the sky, Perran, Carenza and Will left for their homes.

At nightfall I was able to text them “Four have come back.”

We were both relieved that some had come back and disappointed of course that not all had returned . 

The following day, only three returned.

Nigel and I kept going out anxiously, but however many times we counted, it only amounted to three doves in the cote.

Finally, on the third evening, a magnificent total of five arrived home, and it has been five ever since.

Possibly our local sparrowhawk got number six, but I’m not complaining. 

They came back.

How do we lure our children home ?

Perran and Carenza moved off to rent a house with friends Zac and Ella three months ago now. 

It was the same week that we buried Nigel’s father and we could almost hear the grinding sound of the generations rolling slowly over.

The twins are less than twenty miles from us, but it’s in London. 

We are unlikely to drive there because, as we discovered on moving day, the traffic wardens are super-alert.  Like polar bears who can smell a seal from half a mile away, even when it’s beneath a meter of ice. Not that the polar bears issue seals with tickets – their paws are too big to work the machine.  But I digress.

The public transport links are good.  But why would they want to come out to St Albans?  What for?  Their part of London is full of exciting things to do and favourite friends to do them with. 

Nigel and I have discovered that if we present ourselves in London after work with tickets for a play or exhibition and a table booked for dinner, the twins show up looking smart and make entertaining company. 

But I am after a more sustainable relationship.  

I am developing ways in which to lure them home to us.  We have nice garden to sit in, whereas the twins’ nearest open ground is a prison exercise yard (that’s how come they could afford to rent in that area).  We have a warm wood-burning  stove and decent home-cooking.  Surely that will be enough….

As long as they don’t expect us to be polite to them or make intelligent conversation all will be well.

Missing you

So the twins moved out. 

Some, although very definitely not ALL of their gear has gone with them.

Just like a beach during one of those especially low tides at Easter, parts of their bedrooms were exposed that hadn’t seen the light of day in months.

It stimulated in me a primitive urge to clean.  One that I am normally able to overcome. 

But perhaps cleaning would make me feel better.

Faced with the carpet under their beds, the hoover gave an asthmatic wheeze and demanded to be emptied.

It also became obvious that many of the shampoos/skin scrubs and cleansing products which STILL jostled for position on the bathroom shelf never were going to be used again, and could now be recycled.

But just as I had my sleeves rolled up and a black bag gaping, I heard a key in the door.

Perran was home.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got a couple of days’ holiday and we haven’t got wi-fi connected yet.”

I think our central heating may have been an added attraction.

Although obviously I have been telling everybody that it was just that he missed me so much!

However, it’s the weekend and he’s gone again now, and I’m on my way upstairs once more to attack the ‘dust bunnies’ under his bed.

Actually, I’ve just had a good look at them – make that ‘dust rhinos’.