"That time of day when the sun hasn't come up yet but you can already feel it coming. It's an elusive warmth, like a subtle promise whispered in your ear, and you can go on with your day knowing you've been given another chance to get it right."
– Cassia Leo
So I had this idea for the guys to go go-karting after seeing it on TV I admit. I thought they would have a blast. The costs at the local places I found were crazy high though so the idea was shelved for a while and the boys didn't know anything was in the works anyway. When we were out walking at the beach last week however we stumbled upon this small course. I elbowed my husband and said hey, seriously, check out these prices. This could happen! Could this happen? Right now?
Yes says he, so we called Kieran over to get his brothers. He had been eyeing the karts nonchalantly and said, "Sure, what for?" I told him Dad was going to take them for a ride. He stopped a split second slack-jawed while that sank in. "What? Now??" Yes. "OH MY WORD! Guyyyyssssss!!!! We're gonna ride!!!!"
Pretty darned exciting it was. I think it made their summer.
(connection is very slooooow this week so no resizing, sorry)
With wind whipping our hair we braved the chalky coastline of Dover. Since there was a dip in the terrain it was literally 'uphill both ways.' We have hiked higher and farther – hello Lake District? This one ended up kicking us in the pants though. Maybe it was the sandals. Note to self, always bring the hiking shoes because you always need them.
We headed out at the end of a rainy day and the clouds gradually cleared by the time we reached the lighthouse a few miles out. The water and sky deepened in color with every step. Truly breathtaking by the time we got back.
Classic car shows are even more fun in another country. We never fail to see makes and models we've never before seen. This show was chock full of candy story color. Perfect summer fun.
A thin grey man demanded, "What do you want?"
"Shelter, and food for the little ones."
The mistress entered, a resolute looking woman who had seen too many paupers to be swayed by emotion. She took their names and briefly told them to follow her to the washhouse where they were stripped and made to wash all over with cold water in shallow stone troughs. Their clothes, such as they were, were removed and workhouse uniforms provided. They were a course grey serge cut to fit almost any size of person. There were a variety of odd shoes. No undergarments were provided. Then their heads were shaved.
They were taken to the Masters office for segregation. Everyone dreaded this moment and four strong inmates were brought in to take the children away. Rough hands were laid on the children. She heard the sounds of screaming children and doors banging. Then she heard no more. Over the next four years, one by one, they all died."
It took a bit of hunting around but I was determined to find the Southwell Workhouse while traveling through Nottinghamshire. This particular facility is now restored by the National Trust whose docents and displays gave us a full history of English poor law as well as daily life in the workhouse. Having read and watched Call the Midwife and Larkrise to Candleford we had a good idea of the horror with which people regarded these institutions. From what we have since learned it was well-founded.
This whole visit set off a series of rabbit trails, researching more books and websites. I believe Oliver Twist will be next.
Some rabbit trails I have followed:
The Real Oliver Twist Workhouse
5 Days as a Tramp Among Tramps
One of my favorite English manors so far. The interior boasted a soft color palette, a fine art collection, library shelves full to the brim, and linens to die for. And teacups. I always notice the china.
Today's highlights:
6:30am: My husband woke me up after his P90x.
7:15am: I am dressed, have tossed protein bars into my purse, filled to-go cups, and we get in the car to take Aidan to the hospital for his surgery.
8:45am: Aidan heads back for surgery. Husband goes to get us coffee and I read my book. I just finished a memoir by the daughter of a famous actress turned new age guru which I won't link because though it was a powerful and enlightening (pardon the pun) read, it was super Shades of Gray-ish. At least I am guessing it was, having not read that. My current book about a journalist turned 1930's Mexican senora could not be more different. It is a breath of fresh air and my faith in humankind is restored.
11:30am: called to recovery. (I won't post an 'after' but suffice it to say he no longer looks so chipper. Upside is he no longer has a deviated septum nor a pair of enlarged tonsils and with any luck he will be breathing normally again soon.)
1:30pm: heading home to begin the first of the post-op irrigations we will be doing 4 times a day for the next two weeks. Good thing I have a strong stomach…
2:00pm: Aidan is settled on the couch with meds. Husband does some work from home so Moira and Tess and I go out to get groceries. On the way we pass an old house getting a new thatched roof and I remember I want to get a pic of this process but there is no good place to pull over.
4:30pm: The available kids unload groceries and help with chores. I mop and wipe down the kitchen, bathroom and laundry room because it seems the sensible thing to do right at that moment. The logic escapes me just now. ; )
5:00pm: Kids run around out in the sunshine while we do another irrigation with Aidan.
5:30pm: I roast beets and sautee cabbage and sausages. Crusty bread is sliced for the grain eaters. Moira makes some jello and Kieran makes some popsicles for Aidan.
6:30pm: We gather everyone (but Aidan) up again to eat and say the rosary around the table. Alannah comes home from work and gets on the treadmill.
7:30pm: Moira and I take the dogs out to walk a few miles. On the way out I notice the whatever-it-is (bird? it is happening in the hanging baskets too) that has been messing with the potted flowers is at it again and I go back to ask Kieran to tuck the plants back under the soil.
8-9:00pm: Walk. It's that time of year where we dodge the sprinklers as they spray over the farm road. And we hear a loud animal from the woods in the distance that sounds for all the world like very, very loud kittens, but it is not that. (After two yrs we are still trying to identify!)
9:00pm: A neighbor who knew us and where we lived (but whom we did not know) stopped us to ask if we had seen her little dog. We are told he is a small black terrier and worries her to bits. He is terribly naughty. She knows he wants to run and play, but it's a worry. They are a worry aren't they? Such a worry, she says. Such a worry. We promise to keep an eye out.
9:15pm: Home again. Aidan needs meds. Girls have pj's on and we brush teeth. Brendan comes down in his pj's to see could he please have one of Aidan's popsicles before bed (yes ; )) I tell Abbie Rose it's bedtime and Mommy is sleepy and she sagely recommends I go to my room soon. Soon. I should do that….
9:55pm: Husband and Aidan are watching a movie. My tea is steeping. It's almost "soon."
"Let us suppose that it is summertime, that you are in the country, and that you have fixed upon a certain day for a holiday ramble. Some of you are going to gather wildflowers, some to collect pebbles, and some without any very definite aim beyond the love the holiday and of any sport or adventure which it may bring…"
You can keep time by the flowers here. First come the snowdrops, then the daffodils, and after, the tulips. About then the apples trees bloom. As they begin to fall the lilacs burst out. The rapeseed fields have their day in May.
Then come the poppies. Along the fences, beside the grain fields, clustered on embankments lining every country road. Like the rest they won't last long but right now those orange-red fragile petals are quivering in the wind at every turn.
{this moment} ~ A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
more moments here
right now…
Seasonal rec league soccer just wrapped up.
I am between novels. Suggestions? Barbara's looked good. While talking with Rebecca she made a good pitch for Count of Monte Cristo . Hmmm
There is pie cooling.
There are breakfast burritos in the freezer. Aidan and his dad are working out before work in the mornings, which makes people hungry. Very early.
I am enjoying the peace of mind that can only come with owning a new vacuum cleaner. That peace of mind replaced the initial horror of emptying the canister the first time and realizing the old vacuum really REALLY wasn't working.
Talking to the landlord has netted some interesting history of our house. (the house we live in -which is his house actually) While the plumber was measuring for a new shower to replace the 60s era olive green one, the landlord was saying the house was built by 'Sir Henry Bombry of horse racing fame. You know Sir Henry,' he says. 'He was good friends with Mr Darby and they favored a flat race. They wagered over whether the flat course would be named after one or the other of them and the other guy won.' Now, truth be told I still get lost here and there and sometimes am not translating properly in my head. I heard 'Bombry' and 'DARbee'. After asking for spelling I realized that was Bunbury and DERBY, like Kentucky. Duh.
Ok, long story short I am still not sure which Bunbury built the house. The horse guy appears to have been Charles who did have a brother named Henry who was an illustrator but did not wager over horse races. The family owned much of the land locally – like miles of it. Our landlord's father was born in "the village" down the road. Me: there is a village down the road? yes, says he but you Americans might not recognize it as a village. (truly, you wouldn't, perhaps due to the absence of street lights, sidewalks, stores, or houses in close proximity…) He bought this house which he had eyed while growing up and our landlord was then born here.
And now I am here typing in the parlor. It is all very incredible really.
Moira-made bows. Big sisters rock!
Starry Sky Journal 