The tale of the Handy Heffalumps (and a little bit of Norway)

I have some Handy Heffalumps given to me in the dim distant past by a friend. We knew each other for many years as friends and work colleagues; at one stage she was also my very kind boss but, as often happens, post retirement we have lost touch. Life sometimes intervenes. The Heffalumps usually live in my handbag, and are taken out to carry bits of shopping all over my home town. At every use I send a "thank you Rhona" to her, wherever she is, and hope life is being kind to her. They are one of those miraculous breed of fold out shopping bags which, by some Zen principle of origami, can be persuaded to go neatly back into their inbuilt carry pouch, if you are especially patient! 

 

They haven't travelled abroad before though, until now, when they went to explore Norway, in an airplane across the sea

Along the way the Heffalumps saw many wonders, tucked away in my bag

Edvard Grieg's house nestled in the woods above the water

His little composing hut, sheltered down on the shoreline

The eerily wonderful Fantoft Stave Church, again, tucked away in the woods

The delights of Bergen looking Christmassy

It was here we boarded our cruise ship to go hopping up the coast. On the way we saw Art Nouveau Alesund

But, on one fateful shore trip, the Heffalumps were dropped, position unknown, complete with pair of cleats they were carrying!

The owner's bag went on past more wonderful sights in Trondheim: the glorious cathedral (where cleats might have been very useful in all that ice)

Many strange bits of delightful street art or memorial 

until the owner suddenly stopped, here, realising the Handy Heffalumps were gone!  

Powerhouse Brattørkaia – Snøhetta

There was some considerable sadness for such a mundane thing, but they had been my companion, memento of my friend, for many years.

The shining gods of the eco powerhouse must have been smiling on me though, along with some kind fellow cruiser, who retrieved that nylon bag, bringing it back to the ship. The following day I and my Heffalumps (and cleats) were happily reunited in the lost property section of our Hurtigruten ship. I will never know who rescued them, and they will never know the impact of their kindness. So thank you, whoever you were, for returning a nylon shopper (plus all essential pair of cleats) to MS Polarlys in early December. Your kindness enabled the Heffalumps to see more delights, including

A snow hotel with huskies

wonderfully Jule festive looking ports

The crossing the circle ceremony onboard; occasion of much jolliness and laughter at others' discomfort. Feel free to speculate as to the contents of the icy silver bucket! A ladle was involved.

The rather magical Arctic Cathedral in Tromso

Glorious scenery

Days where sunrise and sunset are all the daylight you get, while the sun hides below the horizon. 

More Christmas cheer

And many more marvels besides. The Heffalumps may have been deployed on several occasions to carry wool, or fabrics, or other lovely things back to the ship. 

And the question you always get asked, "Did you see them?"

I am thrilled beyond measure to say I did.

I hope you have all had a very merry Christmas, Solstice, Yule or whatever other way you celebrate the turning of the year.

Oh my darling columbine

These flowers greeted a grieving child, the spring after she lost her Daddy, her home, most of her Mummy: the year she turned eight, the year life turned upside down. They have a special place in my heart

Petersfield was a long way away and in Hastings, in Ganna's house, life was utterly changed. Mummy was out at work all the time, but behind Ganna’s house, in the garden, that secret, quiet space, there were columbine and grape hyacinths, and space to heal.We have a new variety, self seeded, in our front garden. Such delicate tones

They give me great joy

things with meaning

I come from folk who save things. This could be called hoarding, but perhaps, for us, it is more about keeping connections alive. My grandmother, mother and I all experienced sudden loss of a parent/husband, coupled with the loss of our home environment in which that loved person once existed.

In Ganna's case, she and her two sisters lost their father when they were teenagers. In my case I was seven. Our respective mothers then had to reconstitute their lives without their husbands and with dependent young people. In Ganna's case, she and her sisters came from Ireland to St Leonards on Sea, leaving their old lives behind ands starting again. In my case, Mum and I had to up sticks and move to Hastings from our happy life in Petersfield. She went back to full time work and life went on, because that was what one did in the sixties, no grief counselling or even a sense that it was needed. I cannot imagine how hard that was for her. As life has continued, even those two loved women have become lost to me.

I wonder whether these losses have meant that remnants of that old life take on an almost talismanic power; keepers of the past. As long as these curtains, our dining table, that chair are here, then the past, which includes that lost loved one, isn't entirely gone. The article has known their touch.

There is a laundry basket: wicker, worn, much used. It may well be 90 years old, bought when Ganna was first married in the 1920s. In recent years the wicker ties holding the lid on have  creaked a greeting to me each time I pop another piece of laundry in. I have known it for most of my life. Recently, the final tie holding lid and basket together died. The lid became a separate entity.

I sensibly, if a little wistfully, ordered a replacement. The replacement arrived, but the old basket remained in the way, for weeks. I couldn't face ditching it! Then a thought occurred. I store upright things in my craft room, cardboard rolls, baking parchment, rolls of needlepoint canvas and the like. The basket is the perfect height to hold them.

So now a muddled corner has more clarity, the bigger muddle surrounding it has been rationalised. But most importantly, I sill have that battered, venerable old basket, which existed in different bedrooms through loss and moves, still with the touch of Ganna's and Mum's hands captured in its weave.

I expect I should have just broken it up and burned it, or taken it to the tip.

I'm glad I didn't ...

 

A little light tidying up

It is that time of year again; days get shorter, evenings milder, and things need a bit of a tidy up before winter gets here.

Yesterday was the escallonia hedge by the garage/workshop. Virginia Woolf had a fondness for escallonia, I'm not so sure. It has the most annoying habit of sending out great long bushy shoots with bee friendly clusters of flowers right at the very tip. It makes the car jump each time I park it. My preference would be for the hedge to evoke the smooth and rolling Downs, but I haven't yet found a pruning regime that encourages this (the Woolf's gardener at Talland House knew better, but I'll bet bees never frequented those straight tidy hedges). I tolerate the untidiness because oh the bees do love the flowers. My compromise this year is to take off shoots which were tickling the car door and bonnet, but leave those long ones at the top so the bees still have some nectar. I'll take those out once flowering has really finished and tidy it all up.

It does look much neater now, apart from the Fraggle Rock hairdo!

Yesterday the Japanese anemone in the back garden promised me good gardening weather. Today there was less sun, but it was also cooler.

First, another result of being too tolerant. There is a veritable forest of little fennel plants gleefully sprouting in the gravel. They smelt delicious as I plucked them up.

One of my favourite flowers, Love-in-a-Mist, popped themselves here from next door, much to my delight. I love the straight stems and contrast between the soft buff of the seedpods against the dark fence ..... but they really should come down

After that, I created a little bower where cyclamen peep out at the bottom of the tree, and black cats snooze. Can you see him?

Perhaps here?

Definitely here!

Happy cat