Memorial

I went yesterday to the funeral of an old friend, from a long past life. I haven't seen or spoken to him for probably twenty five years, though I have stayed in touch with his family via FB.

We all knew each other in the days of Jen's early childhood, meeting when they brought their children in to the library where I worked, seeing each other regularly for a number of years, finding common ground and interests. Jen was the same age as their youngest, Jamie, and she adored his two older sisters.  We were good friends at a difficult time of my life but as often happens, our families drifted apart, each overburdened with the challenges life sometimes brings.

Seeing his lovely children grown with children of their own, hearing their moving tributes to their Dad, I was caught up in long ago memories of warm summer weekends; the children playing together somewhere in the evening air as Mon, Pete and I chatted about life, and how best to live it, or  wandered in the bee buzzy garden, examining small trees, bean rows and the grand compost heap. I gained so much from our friendship and am deeply grateful for it.

My love of slow trees is one legacy of those garden chats; Pete picking up one of his trees in mid October, and blowing vigorously so that a few more precarious leaves dropped, turning to me with his wonderful grin; "see, it's Autumn".

These trees were all planted or gathered from the wild then,

The beech not yet showing buds

guelder rose, hiding holm oak and birch

gnarled roots witness time's passage

delicate branches

This rowan was gathered from the wild back then. It lived as a slow tree for many years, and was finally grounded when we moved here. Left where it was, right at the edge of the footpath, it would have been trampled into the ground. It likes this sunny spot and gives the local birds flowers and berries as the sunlight flutters in its leaves.

Our ruminations also developed thoughts about mindfulness and how to live a meaningful life; about how children could be treated, cherished, nurtured in a kinder, less pressured world. There was a quote yesterday from Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk whose writings fostered my engagement with the philosophy. As life has become more physically painful for me, that philosophy has been so valuable. Another a legacy.

And today, this time of year, is ripe for reflections on loss and living; how often we don't recognise the preciousness of now, and the people who surround us; the wisdom of reflecting on the treasures life has already offered us; a point to pause and breathe and just be with what life is.

Thank you Pete, and Mon xx

A new rose bed

We've had a flower bed in front of our dilapidated shed for some years now. When we first moved here in 2010 there was nothing, just grass, weeds and muddle.

So, in 2012, having painted the shed, and wired it up to give the roses more support, we dug out the grass weeds and muddle and planted it up with irises, which started life in our old garden in 2008

These were beautiful for a couple of years,

but gradually we got less and less flower and more and more weeds - the lack of flower I think because the soil was poor and tended to be very waterlogged in the winter - the weeds due to my not having the energy or is that diligence, to keep on top of things.

So this year, taking our cue from the two rather beautiful roses which thrive and were here when we arrived,

my Good Soul dug up the remaining irises, still quite a collection I might add, and will take them off and nurture them until we decide where to try next. They have been very forgiving so far, so I hope they do well once we move them to their new place - probably in the front garden where they will get lots of sunshine to bake their rhizomes.

I then spent about six days, on and off, taking it mindfully, pacing myself to avoid too many aches and pains, and dug through the whole bed. I pulled out all the weeds and as much suspicious root as I could, then turned in a generous quantity of composted manure and mulch and mix to feed the soil. The process reminds me in an odd way of making pastry or mixing up a cake - not that I do much baking, but it's a similar thing, just on a much larger and more exhausting scale and the heat comes from the sun rather than an oven!

Having done all that I have planted it up with three more roses; deep plum, stripy pink and dusky peach, in the hope that, like those already there, they too will thrive. I've tucked in some annuals; blue pansies and some pinks,

and rich rusty magenta petunias,

Also a few perennials; columbine, my very favourites, to join the self seeded one that was there already,

don't you just love their little curly topped seedheads?

really, you can't have too many

Also some speedwell, a couple of sedums from another much loved Aunt's garden and a some geraniums (not pelargonioums) which will bush up and give us more blue and pink. Oh, and added some edging to the bed - a slightly obtrusive plastic one that I hope will tone down a bit as the years go by. It should prevent the grass from taking over again.

Now to sit back and look forward to seeing what the summer will bring.

Qute a change from the picture up top eh? Look how those roses have grown.

Mindful gardening

It was Bank Holiday weekend so I spent some time gardening. Of course I did, it's what we do on Bank Holidays, but with physical frailties, how to do this safely. I am always conscious that, unlike Mum, Ganna and Connie my bones aren't yet fragile, but I still need to be careful with any sort of excercise outside the usual walking to and fro!

Doing Pilates regularly, and Tai Chi occasionally help me to minimise damage from tweaks and strains. Both draw your focus in to how the body moves;  make you aware of which muscles should be working and which should be supporting; where your weight and balance are. I try to bring this awareness into gardening particularly, because it's easy to do myself a mischief, so here's how I try and make it work .....

Mindful weeding and digging .....

Push the small hand fork into the soil, just to the fork's depth, then a wiggle waggle carefully in a criss cross pattern to loosen things. Do this over a small area, making sure not to extend beyond the natural reach. Then down to hands and knees and, bit by bit, work the loosened soil with a hand fork, pulling out the weeds and their roots, apologising to worms if you accidentally bring them to the surface and tucking them back into a bit of soil you're not digging. Work each small area, changing the task frequently to use different muscle groups, so: fork in soil, push down with foot, wiggle waggle, repeat several times, down to hands and knees, sift, lift, discard, apologise to the beetles, repeat. Do for no longer than 30 minutes, preferably 20 then rest. 

This is about what I can manage in half an hour.

which is a start, but also a bit daunting in the context of what's left, the bed where the old dears live. I cleared and replanted it last year, but it has got a bit uppity while my back was turned. No wonder the old dears grumble.

I was amused a couple of weekends ago by a friend who, hearing I was digging, declared that I must be better. I never feel that "better" is an option. Managing, and sometimes not quite managing is closer to the truth. The last thing I want is to sound self pitying, but it's hard to be real about this stuff without it looking like a whinge or being mawkish! The truth is, I wake up almost every morning exhausted, usually in some pain, but still feel lucky to be where I am and with the people I belong to. Life is good and the world is beautiful, rain or shine

So, here's another recent project; the little bed next to the well just outside the sitting room, which I look out on from my chair. The flowering currant has finished, the hydrangea just coming into leaf and some rather oversized bergenia which were threatening to engulf the Japanese lady have been moved to a more appropriate spot, much to her relief.

The whole area has been weeded and replanted. My good soul did the digging and planting, once I had finished dithering about deciding where things should go. Little delicate woodland plants, much more in keeping with the size and situation of the bed.

The cherub expresssed a preference,

the chaps had had their say

and our wild canine visitor had made her suggestions.

Later on she brought the new kid on the block along to give his/her opinion as well. More interested in what tasty morsels the birds might have left I think.

Oh, and I really am thrilled with my new galoshes! They've got sparkles, and I'm still far too much of a child not to love them

Sunny March Garden

It was a beautiful afternoon and I had time at home so I gave a proportion of it to the garden as it was so balmy.

The little crocus by the step to the kitchen garden (for which read work in progress) had just one brave flower last year, not four inches from getting kicked by unmindful passing feet. Now has two to cup the sunlight in their petals

 These two chat quietly in the sun, wondering if thier patch is going to be any tidier this year

 while the moon peers down through the tracery of the rose arch

 A few skeletal hydrangea flowers still cling to their stems

 though others have been rigorously pruned to, hopefully, improve their shape

 a plane passes overhead, flinging a scarf of wispy condensation across the moon

 The camellia flower flings the light back from its glowing petals

 and Mad Dog daisy is, as ever, cross!

I think, while gardening, about how to best prevent hurting myself, which is a genuine risk. I garden mindfully, watching what my body is doing, remembering to "put on" my core muscles while I rake, or bend, breaking tasks into smaller bits, so that I vary the activity and therefore the movements I make. I rest frequently and try to limit myself to an hour, though this often stretches to two! Best of all though, when there is time, I have a good warm bath when I come in, to relax the muscles and soothe anything that might, foolishly, think itself strained! That way I can get up the next day with plenty of aches, but no injuries. Preferable to a slipped disc or torn muscle!

Oh, and don't forget the cup of tea and chocolate biscuits!

mindful body

One of the things I keep thinking about,and feel I could blog about, is living this life of mine, in which I have to manage constant pain. Because that is simply how my body is. I can't remember having no pain in my body, ever, though I know I must have as a child. 

We have a genetic condition in the family, which we inherit from Howard C Rowe, my great grandfather.

Howard C Rowe

In most of the slim strand of women descended from him, it manifests itself in very brittle bones.

My lovely Mum,

Mum with Dad in their youth

 dear Ganna, my second mother, once Dad was gone

Ethel H Lomer, nee Rowe

Great Aunt Connie, whom I barely remember, but whose strong personality lingers in family tales

A Constance Rowe

all had this life inhibiting fragility. They fell, they broke. Simple as that.

I and my daughter Jen, who is 25 this year, are the lucky ones, we don't break. But we do hurt. If we jarr our bodies, we often injure muscle or tendon and that takes forever to heal. If we leapt slightly awkwardly as children, we tore, or bruised really badly. For years I have been restricted to nothing faster than brisk walking pace, I know a muscle may tear if I move more quickly. But our bones don't break, which is a Good Thing.

And I still have dreams about running!

This does mean, though, that we hurt most of the time. Not screaming agony type hurt - though occasionally it gets a bit exciting, just nagging, every move you make, grinding sort of hurt, day by day, in all the usual suspect places. So we have to manage it. I try, each day, to keep part of my focus on moving in ways that minimize the damage. I try to hold this focus not in a life restricting way, but accepting that there are things I simply should try to avoid doing. I absolutely exclude gardening from this list of things, but I garden very carefully, as I've talked about before!

There are also things that I, that anyone can do, to support this fragility. I took advantage of training offered by the local physio department on using core muscles to support bad backs. I listened and carried the advice away into life, not enough admittedly, but some. I focus on supporting movement with those muscles, as often as I am mindful to. Simple things like getting out of a chair, tying a shoelace, benefit from this sort of focus: from remembering to cradle the back carefully with those muscles, just before you move. Things which we often do mindlessly, I try to be mindful of.

The mindful bit comes from Buddhism, from the writings of various good souls much wiser than me, and is about recognizing the value of being alive, and trying to use the hours, minutes, seconds, that we are truly awake to, in a meaningful, life affirming way. remembering that even though your back is really, really sore, there are still good things to notice about simply being alive!

I could ramble more about this - I'd rather not preach - but I may return to it from time to time.