Sprinting through the Days

The last few days have been, for a reason I can't quite put my finger on, a little bit manic. Maybe it's all the harvest services I've had to attend--I definitely don't need to hear a rendition of 'Harvest Samba' again anytime soon. But if you feel like listening to it, you can here. I have listened to primary school children sing this song for 5 years. I'm kind of done with it.

The other day my twelve-year-old son asked me, quite seriously, 'What do you DO all day?' I'm sure many stay-at-home mums can relate to this question, and the desperate need to answer it with a laundry list (literally!) of all the things you do all day. Midway into my explanation of what I did--laundry, housework, errands, cooking, oh--and the full-time job writing I'm supposed to have--my son's expression glazed over. Actually, it was more like two seconds into my vehement description. Still I persevered. When I finished he came to, shook his head, and said, 'That sounds so boring.' Well, sort of, yes.

People these days are talking about mindfulness a lot, and I admit I roll my eyes a bit at the concept. And yet some days I get to bed and I feel like I've barely breathed. Every moment of the day has been relentlessly timetabled--and I don't even have that much to complain about, because my kids aren't in endless activities, I can work from home, and my husband's schedule is somewhat flexible. Yet it still feels BUSY.

I think we all tend towards busy-ness; in some ways it is easier to be busy and not have time than to be relaxed and 'in the moment'. Easier not to have to think about things too deeply or spare too much for impromptu conversations. I am trying to be less busy, or at least more flexible. Trying to look for opportunities to chat to neighbors or other parents at the school gate, to meet people's eyes in the street and smile. Little things, but I think they're important.

And meanwhile I am trying to get the Harvest Samba out of my head. Any tips?

Beautiful Places

Today started with storms and rain and wind but by midday it had cleared to balmy gorgeousness, and so I decided to take a walk with the dog. Recently my daughter's boyfriend told us about a circular beach walk that we hadn't known about it in 4 years of living here. It's called:

 It starts by walking up the aptly named Rottington Road, which involves a very steep hill:

The views, however, were well worth it. When you finally emerge from between the high hedgerows, the world spreads out before you like a living map: sea on one side and rolling pasture on the other, the sky high and blue above.

Have you ever seen something so beautiful you feel frustrated because you don't know if you can appreciate it enough? You look and look but it's as if you can't take it in; your heart hurts. I felt that way today and I recalled one of the first time I felt that way, when I was twelve and my parents took me on a trip to the Cotswolds. The memory was poignant as we are sad to leave Cumbria, but in moving to the Cotswolds we are going to another beautiful, heart-hurting place--I mean that in a good way, of course.

From the Rottington Road I turned onto the footpath that led to the sea, down grassy slopes dotted with sheep, a scene that was perfectly pastoral.

With lovely summer flowers along the way:

And helpful gates across the stiles:

And finally the sea emerged in the distance, like a promise:

And I finished with a lovely walk across the beach at low tide!

I will miss this place so much when we leave, but I was encouraged that beautiful places can be found just about anywhere, if you have the heart to look for them. I'll leave you with a last photo of the beck I passed. Can you see the mother duck with her ducklings? Rebirth is always happening.